Presently he began to enjoy the meadow with his eyes also. Its wonders amazed him at every step he took. You could not see the tiniest speck of earth the way you could in the forest. Blade after blade of grass covered every inch of the ground. It tossed and waved luxuriantly. It bent softly aside under every footstep, only to rise up unharmed again. The broad green meadow was starred with white daisies, with the thick, round red and purple clover blossoms and bright, golden dandelion heads. “Look, look, Mother!” Bambi exclaimed. “There’s a flower flying.” “That’s not a flower,” said his mother, “that’s a butterfly.” Bambi stared at the butterfly, entranced. It had darted lightly from a blade of grass and was fluttering about in its giddy way. Then Bambi saw that there were many butterflies flying in the air above the meadow. They seemed to be in a hurry and yet moved slowly, fluttering up and down in a sort of game that delighted him. They really did look like gay flying flowers that would not stay on their stems but had unfastened themselves in order to dance a little. They looked, too, like flowers that come to rest at sundown but have no fixed places and have to hunt for them, dropping down and vanishing as if they really had settled somewhere, yet always flying up again, a little way at first, then higher and higher, and always searching farther and farther because all the good places have already been taken. Bambi gazed at them all. He would have loved to see one close by. He wanted to see one face to face but he was not able to. They sailed in and out continually. The air was aflutter with them. When he looked down at the ground again he was delighted with the thousands of living things he saw stirring under his hoofs. They ran and jumped in all directions. He would see a wild swarm of them, and the next moment they had disappeared in the grass again. “Who are they, Mother?” he asked. “Those are ants,” his mother answered. “Look,” cried Bambi, “see that piece of grass jumping. Look how high it can jump!” “That’s not grass,” his mother explained, “that’s a nice grasshopper.” “Why does he jump that way?” asked Bambi. “Because we’re walking here,” his mother answered, “he’s afraid we’ll step on him.” “O,” said Bambi, turning to the grasshopper who was sitting on a daisy; “O,” he said again politely, “you don’t have to be afraid; we won’t hurt you.” “I’m not afraid,” the grasshopper replied in a quavering voice; “I was only frightened for a moment when I was talking to my wife.” “Excuse us for disturbing you,” said Bambi shyly. “Not at all,” the grasshopper quavered. “Since it’s you, it’s perfectly all right. But you never know who’s coming and you have to be careful.” “This is the first time in my life that I’ve ever been on the meadow,” Bambi explained; “my mother brought me....”