“No,” said Maya. “As a matter of fact, until now I have always been happy.”
“You may thank your lucky stars,” said Miss Loveydear with a note of disappointment in her voice.
Maya asked about the frog.
“Oh, him,” said Miss Loveydear. “He, it is presumed, met with the end he deserved. The hard-heartedness of him, to frighten a dying person! When I found him on the grass beside my brother, he was trying to get away. But on account of his broken leg and one eye gone, all he could do was hop round in a circle and hop round in a circle. He looked too comical for words. ‘The stork’ll soon get ye,’ I called to him as I flew away.”
“Poor frog!” said little Maya.
“Poor frog! Poor frog indeed! That’s going too far. Pitying a frog. The idea! To feel sorry for a frog is like clipping your own wings. You seem to have no principles.”
“Perhaps. But it’s hard for me to see any one suffer.”
“Oh”—Miss Loveydear comforted her—“that’s because you’re so young. You’ll learn to bear it in time. Cheerio, my dear.—But I must be getting into the sunshine. It’s pretty cold here. Good-by!”
A faint rustle and the gleam of a thousand colors, lovely pale colors like the glints in running water and clear gems.
Miss Loveydear swung through the green rushes out over the surface of the water. Maya heard her singing in the sunshine. She stood and listened. It was a fine song, with something of the melancholy sweetness of a folksong, and it filled the little bee’s heart with mingled happiness and sadness.