lovely!" Mrs. Wren exclaimed when Rusty gave her his captive.

And he was so glad that he hastened away to try to find another just like that one. But he hadn't gone far before he said, "Ugh! I hope I haven't made a mistake. I don't like the taste of that beetle." And he dropped down upon the ground and carefully wiped his bill upon the grass.

He couldn't help feeling somewhat worried.

"I don't believe the children will notice anything wrong," he muttered. "So far, they've never refused anything that was offered them. But if Mrs. Wren tried to eat that beetle herself, I fear there'll be trouble."

And there was. Rusty knew it a few minutes later, when little Mr. Chippy's son, Chippy, Jr., came flitting up and peeped in his childish voice, "Please, sir, Mrs. Wren wants you at once."

There was nothing to do except to go home. And Rusty went.

He found Mrs. Wren much upset.

"Are you trying to poison us?" she demanded.

"No, indeed—my love!" Rusty Wren replied meekly.

"Well, you made a terrible mistake, then," she declared.

Meanwhile Rusty Wren was looking all around. Yet he couldn't see the pretty beetle (meaning Mrs. Ladybug) anywhere. "Somebody must have swallowed it, anyhow," he thought.

"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 flourishing crops."

Before she found time to spare for her visit to the garden a traveler entered the orchard one day. At least, he had every appearance of having come from other parts. For he carried a traveling bag—an old-fashioned carpetbag—and he seemed to have lost his way.

As soon as Mrs. Ladybug saw him she couldn't help thinking what a handsome person he was. He wore a yellow coat. And instead of being spotted with black, as her gown was, it was striped.

"Good morning!" said the stranger.

"Good morning!" said Mrs. Ladybug. "Can I be of any service to you?"

The stranger took off his cap. He was a most polite chap.

"Perhaps you can help me," he replied.

"I'm looking for Farmer Green's vegetable garden. Do you know where it is?"

"Indeed I do!" Mrs. Ladybug cried. "It's at the end of this orchard, just beyond the fence."

"And the potato patch—I suppose I'll have no trouble finding that?" the stranger went on.

"Follow your nose!" said Mrs. Ladybug. "You're headed right for it now."

The stranger thanked her. And he was about to move on. But of course Mrs. Ladybug wanted to talk more than that before he got away.

"The potatoes are fine this season," she remarked.

The stranger looked greatly pleased.

"That's good news," he told her. "Have you seen them yourself?"

"Not yet!" Mrs. Ladybug answered. "But I heard Farmer Green say they were fine. And he ought to know if anybody does."

"He certainly ought," the stranger agreed. Then, thanking Mrs. Ladybug once more, he hurried toward the garden.

"One moment!" she called. There were several questions that she wanted to ask the newcomer. She was wildly curious to know who he was and where he came from and what business had brought him to Pleasant Valley.

But he couldn't have heard her. Anyhow, he was out of sight in no time, leaving Mrs. Ladybug almost bursting with the questions that had sprung to her lips.

"He might have waited a second," she muttered. "But if he has traveled a long way no doubt he's eager to get to his journey's end."

Luckily Mrs. Ladybug had kept her eyes open when talking with the gentleman in the striped yellow coat. And as he turned to leave her she looked closely at his carpetbag. On one side of it she read, in big letters:

P. BUG
COLORADO

VII
A HANDSOME STRANGER

Little Mrs. Ladybug was too excited to work. Ever since meeting the stranger in the orchard she had been able to think of nothing but him. Perhaps if she hadn't happened to notice his carpetbag, with the words, "P. Bug, Colorado," upon its side, she might not have been so stirred up.

Anyhow, Mrs. Ladybug kept wondering what business had brought the stranger to Pleasant Valley. She wished she could find out what he was going to do in the potato patch. She wanted to ask him why he chose to have black stripes on his yellow coat, instead of spots. How long had he been traveling? When did he expect to leave the farm? There was no end to the questions that Mrs. Ladybug burned to put to him.

Meanwhile she told the news to everybody she saw. For Mrs. Ladybug dearly loved to spread choice morsels of gossip. It pleased her mightily to tell her neighbors something they didn't know.

People listened to her story with great interest. They were eager to learn all about the stranger, whom Mrs. Ladybug declared to be very handsome.

Mrs. Ladybug made her news last as long as possible