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BAMBI

among the midges, up and up, till he reached the tree-top where he intended to sleep till evening. His wing-covers folded down hard and neatly and his wings vibrated with strength.

The midges divided to let the may-beetle pass through, and closed behind him again. His dark brown body, over which shone the vibrant glassy shimmer of his whirring wings, flashed for a moment in the sunshine as he disappeared.

“Did you see him?” the midges asked each other.

“That’s the old may-beetle,” some of them hummed.

Others said, “All of his offspring are dead. Only one is still alive. Only one.”

“How long will he live?” a number of midges asked.

The others answered, “We don’t know. Some of his offspring live a long time. They live forever almost. . . . They see the sun thirty or forty times, we don’t know exactly how many. Our lives are long enough, but we see the daylight only once or twice.”

“How long has the old beetle been living?” some very small midges asked.

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