y might possibly interest a somewhat
wider public, and with great diffidence, and some misgivings, he sent
one or two of them to certain of the better known magazines. They did
not come back. He received checks instead, and a request for more.

Now the book and the several monographs he had already gotten out had
been, although very interesting, strictly scientific; they could
appeal only to students and scholars. But these papers were entirely
different. Scientific enough, very clear and lucid and most quaintly
flavored with what Laurence called Flintishness, they were so well
received, and the response of the reading public to this fresh and new
presentment of an ever-fascinating subject was so immediate and so
hearty, that the Butterfly Man found himself unexpectedly confronting
a demand he was hard put to it to supply.

He was very much more modest about this achievement than we were. My
mother's pride was delicious to witness. You see, it also invested
_me_ with a very farsighted wisdom! Here was it proven to all that
Father De Rance had been right in holding fast to the man who had come
to him in such sorry plight.

I suppose it was this which moved Madame to take the step she had long
been contemplating. Knowing her Butterfly Man, she began with infinite
wile.

"Armand," said she, one bright morning in early November, "_I_ am
going to entertain, too--everybody else has done so, and now it's my
turn. The weather is so ideal, and my garden so gorgeous with all
those chrysanthemums and salvias and geraniums and roses, that it
would be sinful not to take advantage of such conditions.

"I have saved enough out of my house-money to meet the expenses--and I
am _not_ going to be charitable and do my Christian duty with that
money! I'm going to entertain. I really owe that much attention to
Mary Virginia." She laid her hand on my arm. "I must see John Flint;
go over to his rooms, and bring him back with you."

I thought she merely needed his help and counsel, for she is always
consulting him; she considers that whatever barque is steered by John
Flint must needs come home to harbor. He obeyed her summons with
alacrity, for it delights him to assist Madame. He did not know what
fate overshadowed him!

My mother sat in her low rocker, a lace apron lending piquancy to her
appearance. She looked unusually pretty--there wasn't a girl in
Appleboro who didn't envy Madame De Rance's complexion.

"Well," said the Butterf