ng them, and I was that mad I upped
and let him have that dish pan full of hot water and wet feathers in
his face. 'There,' says I, 'you're christened in the face now
yourself,' I says. 'You can go and dip the rest of yourself,' says I,
'but see you do it somewhere else besides my kitchen,' I says. I don't
think he's crazy to marry me any more, and Daddy January's sort of
soothing to my feelings, besides being close to hand. Yes'm, I guess
you'd better give me the black dress, Miss Mary Virginia, if you don't
mind: it'd come in awful handy if I had to go in mourning."

"The black dress it shall be," said Mary Virginia, gaily. She turned
to my mother. "And what do you think, p'tite Madame? I've a rare
butterfly for John Flint, that an English duke gave me for him! The
duke is a collector, too, and he'd gotten some specimens from John
Flint. The minute he learned I was from Appleboro he asked me all
about him. He said nobody else under the sky can 'do' insects so
perfectly, and that nobody except the Lord and old Henri Fabre knew as
much about certain of them as John Flint does. Folks thought the duke
was taken up with _me_, of course, and I was no end conceited! I
hadn't the ghost of an idea you and John Flint were such astonishingly
learned folks, Padre! But of course if a duke thought so, I knew I'd
better think so, too--and so I did and do! Think of a duke knowing
about folks in little Appleboro! And he was such a nice old man, too.
Not a bit dukey, after you knew him!"

"We come in touch with collectors everywhere," I explained.

"And so John Flint has written some sort of a book, describing the
whole life history of something or other, and _you've_ done all the
drawings! Isn't it lovely? Why, it sounds like something out of a
pleasant book. Mayn't I see collector and collection in the morning?
And oh, where's Kerry?"

"Kerry," said my mother gravely, "is a most important personage. He's
John Flint's bodyguard. He doesn't actually sleep in his master's bed,
because he has one of his own right next it. Clelie was horrified at
first. She said they'd be eating together next, but the Butterfly Man
reminded her that Kerry likes dog-biscuit and he doesn't. I figure
that in the order of his affections the Butterfly Man ranks Kerry
first, Armand and myself next, and Laurence a close third."

"Oh, Laurence," said Mary Virginia. "I'll be so glad to see Laurence
again, if only to quarrel with him. Is he just as logical as