“You seem to be only of yesterday?” he said, and laughed—not so very politely. Altogether there was something about him that struck Maya as unrefined. The bees had more culture and better manners. Yet he seemed to be a good-natured fellow, because, seeing Maya’s blush of embarrassment, he softened to her childish ignorance.
“It’s a rose,” he explained indulgently. “So now you know.—We moved in four days ago, and since we moved in, it has flourished wonderfully under our care.—Won’t you come in?”
Maya hesitated, then conquered her misgivings and took a few steps forward. He pressed aside a bright petal, Maya entered, and she and the beetle walked beside each other through the narrow chambers with their subdued light and fragrant walls.
“What a charming home!” exclaimed Maya, genuinely taken with the place. “The perfume is positively intoxicating.”
Maya’s admiration pleased the beetle.
“It takes wisdom to know where to live,” he said, and smiled good-naturedly. “‘Tell me where you live and I’ll tell you what you’re worth,’ says an old adage.—Would you like some nectar?”
“Oh,” Maya burst out, “I’d love some.”
The beetle nodded and disappeared behind one of the walls. Maya looked about. She was happy. She pressed her cheeks and little hands against the dainty red hangings and took deep breaths of the delicious perfume, in an ecstasy of delight at being permitted to stop in such a beautiful dwelling.
“It certainly is a great joy to be alive,” she thought. “And there’s no comparison between the dingy, crowded stories in which the bees live and work and this house. The very quiet here is splendid.”
Suddenly there was a loud sound of scolding behind the walls. It was the beetle growling excitedly in great anger. He seemed to be hustling and pushing someone along roughly, and Maya caught the following, in a clear, piping voice full of fright and mortification.