He would have loved to see one close by. He wanted to see one face to face but he could not. They flew 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.”

“Oh,” said Bambi, turning to the grasshopper, who was sitting on a daisy; “oh,” 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. . . .”

The grasshopper was sitting with his head lowered as though he were going to butt. He put on a serious face and murmured, “That doesn’t interest me at all. I haven’t time to stand here gossiping with you. I have to be looking for my wife. Hopp!” And he gave a jump.

“Hopp!” said Bambi in surprise at the high jump with which the grasshopper vanished.

Bambi ran to his mother. “Mother, I spoke to him,” he cried.

“To whom?” his mother asked.

“To the grasshopper,” Bambi said, “I spoke to him. He was very nice to me. And I like him so much. He’s so wonderful and green and you can see through his sides. They look like leaves, but you can’t see through a leaf.”

“Those are his wings,” said his mother.

“Oh,” Bambi went on, “and his face is so serious and wise. But he was very nice to me anyhow. And how he can jump! ‘Hopp!’ he said, and he jumped so high I couldn’t see him any more.”

They walked on. The conversation with the grasshopper had excited Bambi and tired him a little, for it was the first time he had ever spoken to a stranger. He felt hungry and pressed close to his mother to be nursed.

Then he stood quietly and gazed dreamily into space for a little while with a sort of joyous ecstasy that came over him every time he was nursed by his mother. He noticed a bright flower moving in the tangled grasses. Bambi looked more closely at it. No, it wasn’t a flower, but a butterfly. Bambi crept closer.

The butterfly hung heavily to a grass stem and fanned its wings slowly.

“Please sit still,” Bambi said.

“Why would I sit still? I’m a butterfly,” the insect answered in astonishment.

“Oh, please sit still, just for a minute,” Bambi pleaded; “I’ve wanted so much to see you close to. Please?”

“Well,” said the butterfly, “for your sake I will, but not for long.”

Bambi stood in front of him. “How beautiful you are!” he cried, fascinated. “How wonderfully beautiful, like a flower!”

“What?” cried the butterfly, fanning his wings. “Did you say like a flower? In my circle it’s generally supposed that we’re handsomer than flowers.”

Bambi was embarrassed.