“Bobbie, of the family of rose-beetles.”
Maya had to laugh to herself. She knew very well he was not a rose-beetle; he was a dung-beetle. But she passed the matter over in silence, not caring to mortify him.
“Don’t you mind the rain?” she asked.
“Oh, no. I’m accustomed to the rain—from the roses, you know. It’s usually raining there.”
Maya thought to herself:
“After all I must punish him a little for his brazen lies. He’s so frightfully vain.”
“Bobbie,” she said with a sly smile, “what sort of a hole is that one there, under the leaf?”
Bobbie started.
“A hole? A hole, did you say? There are very many holes round here. It’s probably just an ordinary hole. You have no idea how many holes there are in the ground.”
