“Ah, bah,” said the bark-beetle. “Don’t take things so seriously. Just laugh when you see something funny; that’s all.”
“But I don’t feel like laughing. Often we laugh at something and later find out it was just because we haven’t understood.”
By this time the stranger had joined them and was looking down at Maya from the height of his pointed triangles of legs.
“Good-morning,” he said, “a real wind-storm—a pretty strong draught, don’t you think, or—no? You are of a different opinion?” He clung to the tree as hard as he could.
Fridolin turned to hide his laughing, but little Maya replied politely that she quite agreed with him and that was why she had not gone out flying. Then she introduced herself. The stranger squinted down at her through his legs.
“Maya, of the nation of bees,” he repeated. “Delighted, really. I have heard a good deal about bees.—I myself belong to the general family of spiders, species daddy-long-legs, and my name is Hannibal.”
The word spider has an evil sound in the ears of all smaller insects, and Maya could not quite conceal her fright, especially as she was reminded of her agony in Thekla’s web. Hannibal seemed to take no notice, so Maya decided, “Well if need be I’ll fly away, and he can whistle for me; he has no wings and his web is somewhere else.”
“I am thinking,” said Hannibal, “thinking very hard.—If you will permit me, I will come a little closer. That big branch there makes a good shield against the wind.”
“Why, certainly,” said Maya, making room for him.
Fridolin said good-by and left. Maya stayed; she was eager to get at Hannibal’s personality.