EFFIE AND BOBBIE
When Maya awoke the next morning in the corolla of a blue
canterbury bell, she heard a fine, faint rustling in the air and
felt her blossom-bed quiver as from a tiny, furtive tap-tapping.
Through the open corolla came a damp whiff of grass and earth,
and the air was quite chill. In some apprehension, she took a
little pollen from the yellow stamens, scrupulously performed
her toilet, then, warily, picking her steps, ventured to the
outer edge of the drooping blossom. It was raining! A fine cool
rain was coming down with a light plash, covering everything all
round with millions of bright silver pearls, which clung to the
leaves and flowers, rolled down the green paths of the blades of
grass, and refreshed the brown soil.
What a change in the world! It was the first time in the
child-bee's young life that she had seen rain. It filled her
with wonder; it delighted her. Yet she was a little troubled.
She remembered Cassandra's warning never to fly abroad in the
rain. It must be difficult, she realized, to move your wings
when the drops beat them down. And the cold really hurt, and she
missed the quiet golden sunshine that gladdened the earth and
made it a place free from all care.
It seemed to be very early still. The animal life in the grass
was just beginning. From the concealment of her lofty bluebell
Maya commanded a splendid view of the social life coming awake
beneath. Watching it she forgot, for the moment, her anxiety and
mounting homesickness. It was too amusing for anything to be
safe in a hiding-place, high up, and look down on the doings of
the grass-dwellers below.
Slowly, however, her thoughts went back--back to the home she
had left, to the bee-state, and to the protection of its close
solidarity. There, on this rainy day, the bees would be sitting
together, glad of the day of rest, doing a little construction
here and there on the cells, or feeding the larvae. Yet, on the
whole, the hive was very quiet and Sunday-like when it rained.
Only, sometimes messengers would fly out to see how the weather
was and from what quarter the wind was blowing. The queen would
go about her kingdom from story to story, testing things,
bestowing a word of praise or blame, laying an egg here and
there, and bringing happiness with her royal presence wherever
she went. She might pat one of the younger bees on the head to
show her approval of what it had already done, or she might ask
it about its new experiences. How delighted a bee would be to
catch a glance or receive a gracious word from the queen!
Oh, thought Maya, how happy it made you to be able to count
yourself one in a community like that, to feel that everybody
respected you, and you had the powerful protection of the state.
Here, out in the world, lonely and exposed, she ran great risks
of her life. She was cold, too. And supposing the rain were to
keep up! What would she do, how could she find something to eat?
There was scarcely any honey-juice in the canterbury bell, and
the pollen would soon give out.
For the first time Maya realized how necessary the sunshine is
for a life of vagabondage. Hardly anyone would set out on
adventure, she thought, if it weren't for the sunshine. The very
recollection of it was cheering, and she glowed with secret
pride that she had had the daring to start life on her own hook.
The number of things she had already seen and experienced! More,
ever so much more, than the other bees were likely to know in a
whole lifetime. Experience was the most precious thing in life,
worth any sacrifice, she thought.
A troop of migrating ants were passing by, and singing as they
marched through the cool forest of grass. They seemed to be in a
hurry. Their crisp morning song, in rhythm with their march,
touched the little bee's heart with melancholy.
Few our days on earth shall be,
Fast the moments flit;
First-class robbers such as we
Do not care a bit!
They were extraordinarily well armed and looked saucy, bold and
dangerous.
The song died away under the leaves of the coltsfoot. But some
mischief seemed to have been done there. A rough, hoarse voice
sounded, and the small leaves of a young dandelion were
energetically thrust aside. Maya saw a corpulent blue beetle
push its way out. It looked like a half-sphere of dark metal,
shimmering with lights of blue and green and occasional black.
It may have been two or even three times her size. Its hard
sheath looked as though nothing could destroy it, and its deep
voice positively frightened you.
The song of the soldiers, apparently, had roused him out of
sleep. He was cross. His hair was still rumpled, and he rubbed
the sleep out of his cunning little blue eyes.
"Make way, _I'm_ coming. Make way."
He seemed to think that people should step aside at the mere
announcement of his approach.
"Thank the Lord I'm not in his way," thought Maya, feeling very
safe in her high, swaying nook of concealment. Nevertheless her
heart went pit-a-pat, and she withdrew a little deeper into the
flower-bell.
The beetle moved with a clumsy lurch through the wet grass,
presenting a not exactly elegant appearance. Directly under
Maya's blossom was a withered leaf. Here he stopped, shoved the
leaf aside, and made a step backward. Maya saw a hole in the
ground.
"Well," she thought, all a-gog with curiosity, "the things there
_are_ in the world. I never thought of such a thing. Life's not
long enough for all there is to see."
She kept very quiet. The only sound was the soft pelting of the
rain. Then she heard the beetle calling down the hole:
"If you want to go hunting with me, you'll have to make up your
mind to get right up. It's already bright daylight." He was
feeling so very superior for having waked up first that it was
hard for him to be pleasant.
A few moments passed before the answer came. Then Maya heard a
thin, chirping voice rise out of the hole.
"For goodness' sake, do close the door up there. It's raining
in."
The beetle obeyed. He stood in an expectant attitude, his head
cocked a little to one side, and squinted through the crack.
"Please hurry," he grumbled.
Maya was tense with eagerness to see what sort of a creature
would come out of the hole. She crept so far out on the edge of
the blossom that a drop of rain fell on her shoulder, and gave
her a start. She wiped herself dry.
Below her the withered leaf heaved; a brown insect crept out,
slowly. Maya thought it was the queerest specimen she had ever
seen. It had a plump body, set on extremely thin, slow-moving
legs, and a fearfully thick head, with little upright feelers.
It looked flustered.
"Good morning, Effie dear." The beetle went slim with
politeness. He was all politeness, and his body seemed really
slim. "How did you sleep? How did you sleep, my precious--my
all?"
Effie took his hand rather stonily.
"It can't be, Bobbie," she said. "I can't go with you. We're
creating too much talk."
Poor Bobbie looked quite alarmed.
"I don't understand," he stammered. "I don't understand.-- Is
our new-found happiness to be wrecked by such nonsense? Effie,
think--think the thing over. What do _you_ care _what_ people
say? You have your hole, you can creep into it whenever you
like, and if you go down far enough, you won't hear a syllable."
Effie smiled a sad, superior smile.
"Bobbie, you don't understand. I have my own views in the
matter.-- Besides, there's something else. You have been
exceedingly indelicate. You took advantage of my ignorance. You
let me think you were a rose-beetle and yesterday the snail told
me you are a tumble-bug. A considerable difference! He saw you
engaged in--well, doing something I don't care to mention. I'm
sure you will now admit that I must take back my word."
Bobbie was stunned. When he recovered from the shock he burst
out angrily:
"No, I _don't_ understand. I can't understand. I want to be
loved for myself, and not for my business."
"If only it weren't dung," said Effie offishly, "anything but
dung, I shouldn't be so particular.-- And please remember, I'm
a young widow who lost her husband only three days ago under
the most tragic circumstances--he was gobbled up by the
shrewmouse--and it isn't proper for me to be gadding about.
A young widow should lead a life of complete retirement.
So--good-by."
Pop into her hole went Effie, as though a puff of wind had blown
her away. Maya would never have thought it possible that anyone
could dive into the ground as fast as that.
Effie was gone, and Bobbie stared in blank bewilderment down the
empty dark opening, looking so utterly stupid that Maya had to
laugh.
Finally he roused, and shook his small round head in angry
distress. His feelers drooped dismally like two rain-soaked
fans.
"People now-a-days no longer appreciate fineness of character
and respectability," he sighed. "Effie is heartless. I didn't
dare admit it to myself, but she is, she's absolutely heartless.
But even if she hasn't got the _right feelings_, she ought to
have the _good sense_ to be my wife."
Maya saw the tears come to his eyes, and her heart was seized
with pity.
But the next instant Bobbie stirred. He wiped the tears away
and crept cautiously behind a small mound of earth, which his
friend had probably shoveled out of her dwelling. A little
flesh-colored earthworm was coming along through the grass.
It had the queerest way of propelling itself, by first making
itself long and thin, then short and thick. Its cylinder of a
body consisted of nothing but delicate rings that pushed and
groped forward noiselessly.
Suddenly, startling Maya, Bobbie made one step out of his
hiding-place, caught hold of the worm, bit it in two, and began
calmly to eat the one half, heedless of its desperate wriggling
or the wriggling of the other half in the grass. It was a tiny
little worm.
"Patience," said Bobbie, "it will soon be over."
But while he chewed, his thoughts seemed to revert to Effie, his
Effie, whom he had lost forever and aye, and great tears rolled
down his cheeks.
Maya pitied him from the bottom of her heart.
"Dear me," she thought, "there certainly is a lot of sadness in
the world."
At that moment she saw the half of the worm which Bobbie had set
aside, making a hasty departure.
"Did you _ever_ see the like!" she cried, surprised into such a
loud tone that Bobbie looked around wondering where the sound
had come from.
"Make way!" he called.
"But I'm not in your way," said Maya.
"Where are you then? You must be somewhere."
"Up here. Up above you. In the bluebell."
"I believe you, but I'm no grasshopper. I can't turn my head up
far enough to see you. Why did you scream?"
"The half of the worm is running away."
"Yes," said Bobbie, looking after the retreating fraction, "the
creatures are very lively.-- I've lost my appetite." With that
he threw away the remnant which he was still holding in his hand,
and this worm portion also retreated, in the other direction.
Maya was completely puzzled. But Bobbie seemed to be familiar
with this peculiarity of worms.
"Don't suppose that I always eat worms," he remarked. "You see,
you don't find roses everywhere."
"Tell the little one at least which way its other half ran,"
cried Maya in great excitement.
Bobbie shook his head gravely.
"Those whom fate has rent asunder, let no man join together
again," he observed.-- "Who are you?"
"Maya, of the nation of bees."
"I'm glad to hear it. I have nothing against the bees.-- Why are
you sitting about? Bees don't usually sit about. Have you been
sitting there long?"
"I slept here."
"Indeed!" There was a note of suspicion in Bobbie's voice.
"I hope you slept well, _very_ well. Did you just wake up?"
"Yes," said Maya, who had shrewdly guessed that Bobbie would not
like her having overheard his conversation with Effie, the
cricket, and did not want to hurt his feelings again.
Bobbie ran hither and thither trying to look up and see Maya.
"Wait," he said. "If I raise myself on my hind legs and lean
against that blade of grass I'll be able to see you, and you'll
be able to look into my eyes. You want to, don't you?"
"Why, I do indeed. I'd like to very much."
Bobbie found a suitable prop, the stem of a buttercup. The
flower tipped a little to one side so that Maya could see him
perfectly as he raised himself on his hind legs and looked up at
her. She thought he had a nice, dear, friendly face--but not so
very young any more and cheeks rather too plump. He bowed,
setting the buttercup a-rocking, and introduced himself:
"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."
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.
He heaved a tremendous sigh of relief.
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "That was awful. But for my presence
of mind I should have fallen a victim to your talkativeness."
"Are you feeling better?" asked Maya.
Bobbie clutched his forehead.
"Thanks, thanks. When this dizziness passes, I'll tell you all
about it."
But Maya never got the answer to her question. A field-sparrow
came hopping through the grass in search of insects, and the
little bee pressed herself close to the ground and kept very
quiet until the bird had gone. When she looked around for Bobbie
he had disappeared. So she too made off; for the rain had
stopped and the day was clear and warm.
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