“I believe you,” was all Puck said, and with that he tried to pull his head off.
“Mercy!” cried Maya.
“I must do this. You don’t understand. It’s something you know nothing about,” Puck rejoined calmly, and slid his legs over his wings till they curved round the tip of his body. “I’m more than a fly,” he added with some pride. “I’m a housefly. I flew out here for the fresh air.”
“How interesting!” exclaimed Maya gleefully. “Then you must know all about human beings.”
“As well as the pockets of my trousers,” Puck threw out disdainfully. “I sit on them every day. Didn’t you know that? I thought you bees were so clever. You pretend to be at any rate.”
“My name is Maya,” said the little bee rather shyly. Where the other insects got their self-assurance, to say nothing of their insolence, she couldn’t understand.
“Thanks for the information. Whatever your name, you’re a simpleton.”
Puck sat there tilted like a cannon in position to be fired off, his head and breast thrust upward, the hind tip of his body resting on the leaf. Suddenly he ducked his head and squatted down, so that he looked as if he had no legs.
“You’ve got to watch out and be careful,” he said. “That’s the most important thing of all.”
But an angry wave of resentment was surging in little Maya. The insult Puck had offered her was too much. Without really knowing what made her do it, she pounced on him quick as lightning, caught him by the collar and held him tight.