He had caught the copper-red flicker of her sting, as it barely touched the victim, and it seemed to him like a jet of live flame.
When the hornet was gone the Child began once more to remember that little stick in the soft moss beneath him.

How had he ever forgotten it?
He decided that he must have been sitting on it for hours and hours.

But just as it was beginning fairly to burn its way into his flesh, a queer little rushing sound close at his side brought his heart into his throat.

It was such a vicious, menacing little sound.
Glancing down, he saw that a tiny wood-mouse had darted upon a big brown-winged butterfly and captured it.

The big wings flapped pathetically for a few seconds; but the mouse bit them off, to save herself the bother of lagging useless material home to her burrow.