what nation do you belong?"

"I come of the nation in the castle park. The ruling queen is
Helen VIII."

"Indeed," said the mosquito, and bowed low. "An enviable
lineage. My deepest respects.-- There was a revolution in your
kingdom not so long ago, wasn't there? I heard it from the
messengers of the rebel swarm. Am I right?"

"Yes," said Maya, proud and happy that her nation was so
respected and renowned. Homesickness for her people awoke again,
deep down in her heart, and she wished she could do something
good and great for her queen and country. Carried away on the
wings of this dream, she forgot to ask about human beings. Or,
like as not, she refrained from questions, feeling that the
mosquito would not tell her things she would be glad to hear.
The mite of a creature impressed her as a saucy Miss, and people
of her kind usually had nothing good to say of others. Besides,
she soon flew away.

"I'm going to take one more drink," she called back to Maya.
"Later I and my friends are going flying in the light of
the westering sun. Then we'll be sure to have good weather
to-morrow."

Maya made off quickly. She couldn't bear to stay and see the
mosquito hurt the sleeping child. And how could she do this
thing and not perish? Hadn't Cassandra said: "If you sting a
human being, you will die?"

Maya still remembered every detail of this incident with the
child and the mosquito, but her craving to know human beings
well had not been stilled. She made up her mind to be bolder and
never stop trying until she had reached her goal.

At last Maya's longing to know human beings was to be satisfied,
and in a way far, far lovelier and more wonderful than she had
dreamed.

Once, on a warm evening, having gone to sleep earlier than usual,
she woke up suddenly in the middle of the night--something that
had never happened to her before. When she opened her eyes, her
astonishment was indescribable: her little bedroom was all
steeped in a quiet bluish radiance. It came down through the
entrance, and the entrance itself shone as if hung with a
silver-blue curtain.

Maya did not dare to budge at first, though not because she was
frightened. No. Somehow, along with the light came a rare,
lovely peacefulness, and outside her room the air was filled
with a sound finer, more harmonious than any music she had ever
heard. After a time she rose timidly, awed by the glamour and
the strangeness of it all, and looked out. The whole