“Oh,” she said after a pause, grieving and pale, “if only one could speak of these things openly. I had a brother who gave promise of a splendid future, only, I’m sorry to say, he was a little reckless and dreadfully curious. A boy once threw a net over him, a net fastened to a long pole.—Who would dream of a thing like that? Tell me. Would you?”
“No,” said the little bee, “never. I should never have thought of such a thing.”
The dragon-fly looked at her.
“A black cord was tied round his waist between his wings, so that he could fly, but not fly away, not escape. Each time my brother thought he had got his liberty, he would be jerked back horribly within the boy’s reach.”
Maya shook her head.
“You don’t dare even think of it,” she whispered.
“If a day passes when I don’t think of it,” said the dragon-fly, “I am sure to dream of it. One misfortune followed another. My brother soon died.” Miss Loveydear heaved a deep sigh.
“What did he die of?” asked Maya, in genuine sympathy.
Miss Loveydear could not reply at once. Great tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks.
“He was stuck in a pocket,” she sobbed. “No one can stand being stuck in a pocket.”