Bobbie had hardly uttered the last word when something dreadful happened. In his eagerness to appear indifferent he had lost his balance and toppled over. Maya heard a despairing shriek, and the next instant saw the beetle lying flat on his back in the grass, his arms and legs waving pitifully in the air.
“I’m done for,” he wailed, “I’m done for. I can’t get back on my feet again. I’ll never be able to get back on my feet again. I’ll die. I’ll die in this position. Have you ever heard of a worse fate!”
He carried on so that he did not hear Maya trying to comfort him. And he kept making efforts to touch the ground with his feet. But each time he’d painfully get hold of a bit of earth, it would give way, and he’d fall over again on his high half-sphere of a back. The case looked really desperate, and Maya was honestly concerned; he was already quite pale in the face and his cries were heart-rending.
“I can’t stand it, I can’t stand this position,” he yelled. “At least turn your head away. Don’t torture a dying man with your inquisitive stares.—If only I could reach a blade of grass, or the stem of the buttercup. You can’t hold on to the air. Nobody can do that. Nobody can hold on to the air.”
Maya’s heart was quivering with pity.
“Wait,” she cried, “I’ll try to turn you over. If I try very hard I am bound to succeed. But Bobbie, Bobbie, dear man, don’t yell like that. Listen to me. If I bend a blade of grass over and reach the tip of it to you, will you be able to use it and save yourself?”
Bobbie had no ears for her suggestion. Frightened out of his senses, he did nothing but kick and scream.
So little Maya, in spite of the rain, flew out of her cover over to a slim green blade of grass beside Bobbie, and clung to it near the tip. It bent under her weight and sank directly above Bobbie’s wriggling limbs. Maya gave a little cry of delight.
“Catch hold of it,” she called.
Bobbie felt something tickle his face and quickly grabbed at it, first with one hand, then with the other, and finally with his legs, which had splendid sharp claws, two each. Bit by bit he drew himself along the blade until he reached the base, where it was thicker and stronger, and he was able to turn himself over on it.