Maya thought she was losing her senses. For a long time she couldn’t utter a sound. In horror she listened to the munching and crunching above her as the body of Jack Christopher the blue-bottle was being dismembered.
“Don’t put on so,” said the dragon-fly with its mouth full, chewing. “Your sensitiveness doesn’t impress me. Are you bees any better? What do you do? Evidently you are very young still and haven’t looked about in your own house. When the massacre of the drones takes place in the summer, the rest of the world is no less shocked and horrified, and I think with greater justification.”
Maya asked:
“Have you finished up there?” She did not dare to raise her eyes.
“One leg still left,” replied the dragon-fly.
“Do please swallow it. Then I’ll answer you,” cried Maya, who knew that the drones in the hive had to be killed off in the summer, and was provoked by the dragon-fly’s stupidity. “But don’t you dare to come a step closer. If you do I’ll use my sting on you.”
Little Maya had really lost her temper. It was the first time she had mentioned her sting and the first time she felt glad that she possessed the weapon.
The dragon-fly threw her a wicked glance. It had finished its meal and sat with its head slightly ducked, fixing Maya with its eyes and looking like a beast of prey about to pounce. The little bee was quite calm now. Where she got her courage from she couldn’t have told, but she was no longer afraid. She set up a very fine clear buzzing as she had once heard a sentinel do when a wasp came near the entrance of the hive.
The dragon-fly said slowly and threateningly:
“Dragon-flies live on the best terms with the nation of bees.”