Maya remembered Cassandra’s telling her that the nation of bees commanded great respect in the insect world. Now she was going to see if it was true; she was going to see if she, Maya, could compel respect. Nevertheless her heart beat a little faster because her tone had been very loud and peremptory.
But actually the blue-bottle was frightened. He showed it plainly. When he saw that Maya wasn’t going to let anyone lay down the law to her he backed down. With a surly buzz he swung himself on to a blade that curved above Maya’s leaf, and said in a much politer tone, talking down to her out of the sunshine:
“You ought to be working. As a bee you certainly ought. But if you want to rest, all right. I’ll wait here.”
“There are plenty of leaves,” observed Maya.
“All rented,” said the blue-bottle. “Now-a-days one is happy to be able to call a piece of ground one’s own. If my predecessor hadn’t been snapped up by a frog two days ago, I should still be without a proper place to live in. It’s not very pleasant to have to hunt up a different lodging every night. Not everyone has such a well-ordered state as you bees. But permit me to introduce myself. My name is Jack Christopher.”
Maya was silent with terror, thinking how awful it must be to fall into the clutches of a frog.
“Are there many frogs in the lake?” she asked and drew to the very middle of the leaf so as not to be seen from the water.
The blue-bottle laughed.
“You are giving yourself unnecessary trouble,” he jeered. “The frog can see you from below when the sun shines, because then the leaf is transparent. He sees you sitting on my leaf, perfectly.”
Beset by the awful idea that maybe a big frog was squatting right under her leaf staring at her with his bulging hungry eyes, Maya was about to fly off when something dreadful happened, something for which she was totally unprepared. In the confusion of the first moment she could not make out just exactly what was happening. She only heard a loud rustling like the wind in dry leaves, then a singing whistle, a loud angry hunter’s cry. And a fine, transparent shadow glided over her leaf. Now she saw—saw fully, and her heart stood still in terror. A great, glittering dragon-fly had caught hold of poor Jack Christopher and held him tight in its large, fangs, sharp as a knife. The blade of the rush bent low beneath their weight. Maya could see them hovering above her and also mirrored in the clear water below. Jack’s screams tore her heart. Without thinking, she cried: