FOR Mrs. Ladybug, finding her unknown cousin in Farmer Green’s vegetable garden was not an easy task.  Since Chirpy Cricket hadn’t been able to tell Mrs. Ladybug what colors her cousin wore, Mrs. Ladybug didn’t know what to expect.

“I wish I knew whether she was dressed in red, black, blue, yellow or some other color,” Mrs. Ladybug complained to herself.  “But I don’t know that.  I don’t even know if she carries an umbrella.”

There was nothing Mrs. Ladybug could do except to ask everyone she met.  So she inquired right and left if anybody happened to be acquainted with her cousin.  And at last Betsy Butterfly came to Mrs. Ladybug’s help.

“Look among the squash vines!” Betsy Butterfly advised her.  “I noticed somebody there that looks a bit like you.  Maybe it’s your cousin.”

That was very kind of Betsy Butterfly.  Mrs. Ladybug was no friend of hers.  Indeed, Mrs. Ladybug had often found fault with Betsy for being too pleasure-loving.  But Betsy Butterfly was not one of the kind that nurses grudges.  She was only too glad to do Mrs. Ladybug a favor.

Mrs. Ladybug thanked her ­albeit somewhat grumpily.  Then, flying to the place where Farmer Green had planted his squashes, she found a person at whom she stared hard for a few moments.

“Do you want to speak to me?” this strange lady inquired.  She was a gay appearing creature, dressed in yellow, with black patches on it.

“I can’t tell whether I care to talk to you or not,” said Mrs. Ladybug.  “It all depends.  If you’re my cousin, I do.  If you aren’t, I don’t.”

The strange lady laughed lightly.

“I wonder ­” she replied ­“I wonder if you are Mrs. Ladybug.”

“I am,” said Mrs. Ladybug.

“Then I’m your cousin!” cried the other.  “At last I’ve met you!” And she rushed towards Mrs. Ladybug with every intention of embracing her.

Mrs. Ladybug backed hastily away.

“Not so fast!” she exclaimed.  “If you really are my cousin, well and good!  But how do I know that you aren’t an impostor?”

“A what?” the strange lady faltered.  She was, quite naturally, somewhat taken aback by Mrs. Ladybug’s coolness.

“How do I know that you’re not a cheat?” Mrs. Ladybug asked her.  “Have you any references?”

“Any what?” stammered the would-be cousin.

“Any letters about yourself,” Mrs. Lady explained.  “For all I know, you may be dissembling.”

“I may be whatting?” quavered the lady in yellow.

“Dear me!” Mrs. Ladybug muttered to herself.  “Must I address this person in words of one syllable?” Then, to her companion she said bluntly, “Tell me why you think you and I are related!”

“That’s easy!” cried the yellow one.  “I belong to the Ladybug family.”

Now, you might think that would have satisfied Mrs. Ladybug.  But she wasn’t convinced yet.

“My family ­” she declared ­“my family are all famous workers.  If you’re one of us, where are your working clothes?  Where’s your red and black polka dot?”

The cousin tittered.  She seemed to be a silly sort of creature.

“I haven’t any red and black polka dot,” she replied.  “These are my working clothes that I’m wearing now.”

Mrs. Ladybug shook her head.  It was plain that she didn’t approve of those clothes ­nor of their wearer.