“What—borer?” Maya covered herself with her wings and turned so that the stranger could see nothing but her face.
“Borer, that’s what I said.—Don’t fall off your base, mademoiselle.—You’re a wasp, aren’t you?”
To be called a wasp! Nothing worse could happen to little Maya.
“I never!” she cried.
“Hoppety-hop,” answered he, and was off again.
“The fellow makes me nervous,” she thought, and decided to fly away. She couldn’t remember ever having been so insulted in her life. What a disgrace to be mistaken for a wasp, one of those useless wasps, those tramps, those common thieves! It really was infuriating.
But there he was again!
“Mademoiselle,” he called and turned round part way, so that his long hindlegs looked like the hands of a clock standing at five minutes before half-past seven, “mademoiselle, you must excuse me for interrupting our conversation now and then. But suddenly I’m seized. I must hop. I can’t help it, I must hop, no matter where. Can’t you hop, too?”
He smiled a smile that drew his mouth from ear to ear. Maya couldn’t keep from laughing.
“Can you?” said the grasshopper, and nodded encouragingly.