“But I know you didn't! You never do! You always walk with your chin up--you're so dreadfully conceited. Well, let's see how many legs are broken this time. Why, none of them, I declare! And what's the good of having six legs, my dear, if you can only kick them all about in the air when you tumble? Legs are meant to walk with, you know. Now don't begin putting out your wings yet; I've more to say. Go to the frog that lives behind that buttercup--give him my compliments--Sylvie's compliments--can you say compliments'?” The Beetle tried and, I suppose, succeeded. “Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of that salve I left with him yesterday. And you'd better get him to rub it in for you. He's got rather cold hands, but you mustn't mind that.” I think the Beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for Sylvie went on in a graver tone. “Now you needn't pretend to be so particular as all that, as if you were too grand to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is, you ought to be very much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody but a toad to do it, how would you like that?” There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added “Now you may go. Be a good beetle, and don't keep your chin in the air.” And then began one of those performances of humming, and whizzing, and restless banging about, such as a beetle indulges in when it has decided on flying, but hasn't quite made up its mind which way to go. At last, in one of its awkward zigzags, it managed to fly right into my face, and, by the time I had recovered from the shock, the little Fairy was gone. I looked about in all directions for the little creature, but there was no trace of her--and my 'eerie' feeling was quite gone off, and the crickets were chirping again merrily--so I knew she was really gone. And now I've got time to tell you the rule about the crickets. They always leave off chirping when a Fairy goes by--because a Fairy's a kind of queen over them, I suppose--at all events it's a much grander thing than a cricket--so whenever you're walking out, and the crickets suddenly leave off chirping, you may be sure that they see a Fairy. I walked on sadly enough, you may be sure. However, I comforted myself with thinking “It's been a very wonderful afternoon, so far. I'll just go quietly on and look about me, and I shouldn't wonder if I were to come across another Fairy somewhere.” Peering about in this way, I happened to notice a plant with rounded leaves, and with queer little holes cut in the middle of several of them. “Ah, the leafcutter bee!” I carelessly remarked--you know I am very learned in Natural History (for instance, I can always tell kittens from chickens at one glance)--and I was passing on, when a sudden thought made me stoop down and examine the leaves.