A butterfly painted a velvety red with white spots came floating along
the surface of the corn, and played round his cap, which was a little
higher, and was so tinted by the sun that the butterfly was inclined to
settle on it. Guido put up his hand to catch the butterfly, forgetting
his secret in his desire to touch it. The butterfly was too quick--with a
snap of his wings disdainfully mocking the idea of catching him, away he
went. Guido nearly stepped on a humble-bee--buzz-zz!--the bee was so
alarmed he actually crept up Guido's knickers to the knee, and even then
knocked himself against a wheat-ear when he started to fly. Guido kept
quite still while the humble-bee was on his knee, knowing that he should
not be stung if he did not move. He knew, too, that humble-bees have
stings though people often say they have not, and the reason people think
they do not possess them is because humble-bees are so good-natured and
never sting unless they are very much provoked.

Next he picked a corn buttercup; the flowers were much smaller than the
great buttercups which grew in the meadows, and these were not golden but
coloured like brass. His foot caught in a creeper, and he nearly
tumbled--it was a bine of bindweed which went twisting round and round
two stalks of wheat in a spiral, binding them together as if some one had
wound string about them. There was one ear of wheat which had black
specks on it, and another which had so much black that the grains seemed
changed and gone leaving nothing but blackness. He touched it and it
stained his hands like a dark powder, and then he saw that it was not
perfectly black as charcoal is, it was a little red. Something was
burning up the corn there just as if fire had been set to the ears. Guido
went on and found another place where there was hardly any wheat at all,
and those stalks that grew were so short they only came above his knee.
The wheat-ears were thin and small, and looked as if there was nothing