"Because I'm—I'm lonesome—and afraid—and—and—" but Buddy was almost crying, so he couldn't finish what he had started to say.
"What are you afraid of?" asked the voice, and this time it was on the side wall, close to Buddy.
"I'm afraid of you!" cried the little boy guinea pig, and he got farther under the bed clothes.
"Nonsense! Afraid of me!" exclaimed the voice, and this time, bless me; if it wasn't on the blanket, right over Buddy's nose. "Don't be afraid, little boy," the voice went on. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world. Why, I'm only a harmless, old June bug, you know. I blundered in here by mistake, somehow, because I saw your light, but now it's dark, and I can't see to get out. But land sakes, goodness me, and some buttermilk! Don't be afraid of me! I wouldn't hurt you for the world and the moon too."
"Well, I—I don't exactly know if I'm afraid of you or not," went on Buddy. "First I thought you were a fox or an owl. I—I guess I'm a little afraid of the dark, too."
"Nonsense! The dark can't hurt anyone," said the June bug. "The dark is good for sleeping. But if you're afraid, how would you like me to tell you a story? And that will pass the time until your papa and mamma come home."
"Oh, fine!" cried Buddy, and he wasn't afraid any more, for he loved to hear stories. So the June bug perched upon the bed clothes, where they were nice and soft, and he told lots of stories to Buddy.
He told about the cow that went to school, and about the bear who was bitten by a big, black bug, and about two good boys, and about three bad boys, who lived in a cave, and about an elephant, and about a horse that had four legs and, oh, I don't know how many stories.
Then the June bug sang this little verse, only, as I have a cold in my head you'll have to get some one else to sing it for you. Anyhow this is how it goes:
"I love to flip and flop and flap,