a far view out upon the tranquil, moonlit landscape. The quaking
leaves whispered delicately. The moth, perching directly
opposite Maya in the full light of the moon, slowly lifted his
spread wings and dropped them again, softly, as if gently
fanning--fanning a cool breath upon someone. Broad, diagonal
stripes of a gorgeous bright blue marked his wings, his black
head was covered as with dark velvet, his face was like a
strangely mysterious mask, out of which glowed a pair of dark
eyes. How wonderful were the creatures of the night! A little
cold shiver ran through Maya, who felt she was dreaming the
strangest dream of her life.

"You are beautiful," she said to the moth, "beautiful, really."
She was awed and solemn.

"Who is your companion?" the moth asked the sprite.

"A bee. I met her just as I was leaving my flower."

The moth seemed to realize what that meant. He looked at Maya
almost enviously.

"You fortunate creature!" he said in a low, serious, musing
tone, shaking his head to and fro.

"Are you sad?" asked Maya out of the warmth of her heart.

The moth shook his head.

"No, not sad." His voice sounded friendly and grateful, and he
gave Maya such a kind look that she would have liked to strike
up a friendship with him then and there.

"Is the bat still abroad, or has he gone to rest?" This was the
question for which the sprite had stopped the moth.

"Oh, he's gone to rest long ago. You want to know, do you, on
account of your companion?"

The sprite nodded. Maya was dying to find out what a bat was,
but the sprite seemed to be in a hurry. With a charming gesture
of restlessness he tossed his shining hair back from his
forehead.

"Come, Maya," he said, "we must hurry. The night is so short."

"Shall I carry you part of the way?" asked the moth.

The sprite thanked him but declined. "Some other time!" he
called.

"Then it will be never," thought Maya as they flew away,
"because at dawn the flower-sprite must die."

The moth remained on the leaf looking after them until the
glimmer of the fairy garments grew smaller and smaller and
finally sank into the depths of the blue distance. Then he
turned his face slowly and surveyed his great dark wings with
their broad blue stripes. He sank into revery.

"So often I have heard that I am gray and ugly," he said to
himself, "and that my dress is not to be compared with the
superb robes of the butterfly. But the little bee saw only what
is beauti