ith her mouth still full.

"Please empty your mouth--finish chewing and swallowing your
nectar. One can't understand a word you say."

Maya obeyed, but the excited owner of the house gave her no time
to repeat her question.

"It was an ant," he burst out angrily. "Do those ants think we
save and store up hour after hour only for them! The idea of
going right into the pantry without a how-do-you-do or a
by-your-leave! It makes me furious. If I didn't realize that the
ill-mannered creatures actually didn't know better, I wouldn't
hesitate a second to call them--thieves!"

At this he suddenly remembered his own manners.

"I beg your pardon," he said, turning to Maya, "I forgot
to introduce myself. My name is Peter, of the family of
rose-beetles."

"My name is Maya," said the little bee shyly. "I am delighted to
make your acquaintance." She looked at Peter closely; he was
bowing repeatedly, and spreading his feelers like two little
brown fans. That pleased Maya immensely.

"You have the most fascinating feelers," she said, "simply
sweet...."

"Well, yes," observed Peter, flattered, "people do think a lot
of them. Would you like to see the other side?"

"If I may."

The rose-beetle turned his fan-shaped feelers to one side and
let a ray of sunlight glide over them.

"Great, don't you think?" he asked.

"I shouldn't have thought anything like them possible," rejoined
Maya. "My own feelers are very plain."

"Well, yes," observed Peter, "to each his own. By way of
compensation you certainly have beautiful eyes, and the color of
your body, the gold of your body, is not to be sneezed at."

Maya beamed. Peter was the first person to tell her she had any
good looks. Life was great. She was happy as a lark, and helped
herself to some more nectar.

"An excellent quality of honey," she remarked.

"Take some more," said Peter, rather amazed by his little
guest's appetite. "Rose-juice of the first vintage. One has to
be careful and not spoil one's stomach. There's some dew left,
too, if you're thirsty."

"Thank you so much," said Maya. "I'd like to fly now, if you
will permit me."

The rose-beetle laughed.

"Flying, always flying," he said. "It's in the blood of you
bees. I don't understand such a restless way of living. There's
some advantage in staying in one place, too, don't you think?"

Peter courteously held the red curtain aside.

"I'll go as far as our observation petal with you," he said. "It
mak