Then once more the little girl heard her nurse calling her, and the voice came from such a long way off that somehow the sound made Priscilla feel just the least bit lonely. In about a minute and a half she would get up and follow the others. She would hide, though, and watch Susette clap her hands to her ears, and hear her give one of those jumpy little French screams when she came to the mill and there was no one there. No one could be quite so funny as Susette when she was really and truly frightened. Priscilla was still smiling at the way the prim little nurse was sure to behave when she caught sight of something that made Susette, and the children, and the bridge, and the old mill, all fly out of her head just the way she had seen a flock of English sparrows dart out of the front lawn when Rover pounced down upon them from the terrace. It was only a big yellow and black bumble-bee, but who in this world ever saw a bumble-bee act like--well, the best way is just to go ahead and tell what it really did. Almost the very first thing, and before Priscilla had time to even think whether she liked him or not, he put his little front foot up to his pert little countenance and wiggled his saucy little fingers at her, in a most objectionable manner. It was exactly for all the world like what the butcher’s boy did when Priscilla offered him a cream chocolate on the first day of April. At least, that’s the way it looked to Priscilla, but, between you and me, I rather suspect the bumble-bee was just wiping off the pollen that had stuck to his lips ever since dinner time. He hadn’t any napkin, you know, so what else could he do? However, that wasn’t any excuse at all for what he did next. Remember, Priscilla had her eyes on him all the time, so there couldn’t be any mistake about it. The bumble-bee just simply reached up and raised his--yes, it was really--a dainty little three-cornered hat--just like the one in the picture of her great-great ancestor in the dining-room. Then he bowed, and he did it every bit as politely as Mr. Alwin, the minister, when he came up the front steps Sunday afternoon. Did you ever hear of anything like it? At first Priscilla thought she must have fallen asleep, so she sat bolt upright and rubbed her eyes. The moment she moved the bumble-bee again took off his hat, but for the life of her Priscilla couldn’t tell what he did with it. Once it seemed as if he must have slipped it under his left wing, but it’s quite as likely that he swallowed it. At any rate, there he sat with his head cocked to one side, and his little black bead of an eye twinkling impertinently, as if he had just asked, “Did you speak, ma’am?” It was very provoking.