"You must be more careful," his wife told him severely. "That was a
horrid-tasting beetle that you brought home. It's lucky I discovered
that it was a queer one. The children--poor dears!--are so hungry that
any one of them would have bolted it had I offered it to him."

"Then you ate it yourself," Rusty Wren faltered.

"Oh, no, I didn't," said his wife. "I dropped it upon the ground. And no
doubt I'd have thrown it away, anyhow, no matter how it tasted."

"Why?" he asked her. "I thought it was a pretty beetle."

"It was pretty enough--I dare say," Mrs. Wren replied. "But it had a
very hard shell. It wouldn't have been safe to feed it to the children.
Nor should I have cared to eat it myself."

"I thought it was a pretty beetle," Rusty said again. "It was such a gay
color--bright red, you know. It seemed to me it would please the
children, and you, too."

Mrs. Wren still seemed to be somewhat out of patience.

"When you gather food for the youngsters, never mind about the color of
it!" she exclaimed. "If you want to bring them playthings, that's
another matter. But don't fetch home any more pretty red beetles for
them to eat."

"Very well--my love!" said Rusty Wren. And then he slipped away to hunt
for food, because the children were still clamoring for more.

Mrs. Wren talked a good deal, afterward, about her terrible experience.
Yet she never stopped to think about the pretty beetle--about little
Mrs. Ladybug. For Mrs. Ladybug had had a dreadful fright. Luckily she
wasn't hurt. But it was a long time before she was her usual busy, able
self again. And later, when she told her friends about her adventure,
she said that she couldn't understand how Rusty came to make such a
mistake.

"I supposed," Mrs. Ladybug declared, "that every bird in Pleasant Valley
knew I wasn't good to eat."

VI

THE TRAVELER

FARMER GREEN'S garden was growing fast. The sweet corn waved and rustled
whenever a breeze swept it. The beets and carrots sent their pert tops a
little higher each day. The cabbages began to puff their heads out as if
they felt of some importance in the world. And the potato vines were
actually pretty, with their white blossoms amid the green leaves. Farmer
Green was very proud of his potatoes. He said, in Mrs. Ladybug's
hearing, that they were the best he had ever raised.

"I must fly over to the garden and have a look at those potatoes," Mrs.
Ladybug thought. "It's always a pleasure to see flou