ened statue-like at the window and fell to whining in his
throat. The garden gate had clicked.

Dreading that any mortal eye should see me thus in my grief, knowing
it was beyond my power of endurance to meet calmly or to speak
coherently with any human being at that moment, I turned, with the
instinct of flight strong upon me. I knew I must be alone, to face
this thing in its inevitableness, to fight it out, to get my bearings.
The gate was turning upon its hinges; I could hear it creak.

Hesitating which way to turn, I looked up to see who it was that was
coming into the Parish House garden. And I fell to trembling, and
rubbed my eyes, and stared again, unbelievingly. There had been plenty
of time for him to have visited the bank and withdrawn his account;
there had been plenty of time for him then to have caught the
three-o'clock express. I had heard the train come and go this full
hour since. Surely my wish was father to the thought that I saw him
before me--my old eyes were playing me a trick--for I thought I saw
John Flint walking up the garden path toward me! Pitache barked again,
rose, stretched himself, and trotted to meet him, as he always did
when the Butterfly Man came home.

He walked with the limp most noticeable when he tried to hurry. He was
flushed and perspiring and rumpled and well-nigh breathless; his coat
was wrinkled, his tie awry, his collar wilted, and bits of grass and
twigs and a leaf or so clung to his dusty clothes. The afternoon sun
shone full on his thick, close-cropped hair, for he carried his hat in
his hands, gingerly, carefully, as one might carry a fragile treasure;
a clean pocket handkerchief was tied over it.

He was making straight for his workroom. I do not think he saw me
until I stepped into the path, directly in front of him. Then,
stopping perforce, he looked at me with dancing eyes, wiped his red
perspiring face with one hand, and nodded to the hat, triumphantly.

"Such an--aberrant!" he panted. He was still breathing so rapidly he
had to jerk his words out. "I've got the--biggest, handsomest--most
perfect and wonderful--specimen of--an aberrant swallow-tail--any man
ever laid--his eyes on! I thought at first--I wasn't seeing things
right. But I was. Parson, parson, I've seen many--butterflies--but
never--another one like--this!" He had to pause, to take breath. Then
he burst out again, unable to contain his delight.

"Oh, it was the luckiest chance! I was standing on th