Off and away!
To get some
Sweet honey to-day!"_

while they found the golden honey cups, and filled their pockets with
honey to store away in their waxen boxes at home.

One day, while Grandmother and Lindsay were watching, a little brown bee
flew away with his treasure, and lighting on a rose, met with a cousin,
a lovely yellow butterfly.

"I think they must be talking to each other," said Grandmother, softly.
"They are cousins, because they belong to the great insect family, just
as your papa and Uncle Bob and Aunt Emma and Cousin Rachel all belong to
one family,--the Greys; and I think they must be talking about the honey
that they both love so well."

"I wish I could talk to a butterfly," said Lindsay, longingly; and
Grandmother laughed.

"Play that I am a butterfly," she proposed. "What color shall I be?--a
great yellow butterfly, with brown spots on my wings?"

So Grandmother played that she was a great yellow butterfly with brown
spots on its wings, and she said to Lindsay:--

"Never in the world can you tell, little boy, what I used to be?"

"A baby butterfly," guessed Lindsay.

"Guess again," said the butterfly.

"A flower, perhaps; for you are so lovely," declared Lindsay, gallantly.

"No, indeed!" answered the butterfly; "I was a creeping, crawling
caterpillar."

"Now, Grandmother, you're joking!" cried Lindsay, forgetting that
Grandmother was a butterfly.

"Not I," said the butterfly. "I was a crawling, creeping caterpillar,
and I fed on leaves in your Grandmother's garden until I got ready to
spin my nest; and then I wrapped myself up so well that you would never
have known me for a caterpillar; and when I came out in the Spring I was
a lovely butterfly."

"How beautiful!" said Lindsay. "Grandmother, let us count the
butterflies in your garden." But they never could do that, though they
saw brown and blue and red and white and yellow ones, and followed them
everywhere.

[Illustration: So the Grandmother played that she was a great yellow
butterfly.]

PART II.

It might have been the very next day that Grandmother took her knitting
to the summer house. At all events it was very soon; and while she and
Lindsay were wondering when the red rose bush would be in full bloom,
Lindsay saw, close up to the roof, a queer little house, like a roll of
crumpled paper, with a great many front doors; and, of course, he wanted
to know who lived there.

"You must not knock at any of th