o
profound was the hush that followed. It was uncanny. Through the
dark leaves filtered the light, white and cool.

"Good night," said Maya, politely, thinking "good night" was the
greeting for the night like "good morning" for the morning.
"Please excuse me for interrupting, but the music you make is so
fascinating that I had to find out where it came from."

The chirper stared at Maya, wide-eyed.

"What sort of a crawling creature are you?" it asked after some
moments had passed. "I have never met one like you before."

"I am not a crawling insect. I am Maya, of the nation of bees."

"Oh, of the nation of bees. Indeed ... you live by day, don't
you? I have heard of your race from the hedgehog. He told me
that in the evening he eats the dead bodies that are thrown out
of your hive."

"Yes," said Maya, with a faint chill of apprehension, "that's
so; Cassandra told me about him; she heard of him from the
sentinels. He comes when twilight falls and snouts in the grass
looking for dead bodies.-- But do you associate with the
hedgehog? Why, he's an awful brute."

"I don't think so. We tree-crickets get along with him
splendidly. We call him Uncle. Of course he always tries to
catch us, but he never succeeds, so we have great fun teasing
him. Everybody has to live, doesn't he? Just so he doesn't live
off me, what do I care?"

Maya shook her head. She didn't agree. But not caring to insult
the cricket by contradicting, she changed the subject.

"So you're a tree-cricket?"

"Yes, a snowy tree-cricket.-- But I must play, so please don't
keep me any longer. It's full moon, a wonderful night. I must
play."

"Oh, do make an exception this once. You play all the time.-- Tell
me about the night."

"A midsummer night is the loveliest in the world," answered the
cricket. "It fills the heart with rapture.-- But what my music
doesn't tell you I shan't be able to explain. Why _need_
everything be explained? Why _know_ everything? We poor
creatures can find out only the tiniest bit about existence. Yet
we can _feel_ the glory of the whole wide world." And the
cricket set up its happy silvery strumming. Heard from close by,
where Maya sat, the music was overpowering in its loudness.

The little bee sat quite still in the blue summer night
listening and musing deeply about life and creation.

Silence fell. There was a faint whirr, and Maya saw the cricket
fly out into the moonlight.

"The night makes one feel sad," sh