llar can be expected to do. The great, beautiful sun,
high up in the sky, sent his bright rays of light down to warm the
little caterpillar just as regularly and with seemingly just as much
love as he sent them to make the thousand wavelets of the swift-flowing
river sparkle and gleam like diamonds, or as he sent them down to rest
in calm, still sunshine on the quiet hill-tops beyond.

The little green caterpillar's life was a very narrow one. He had never
been away from his cabbage-leaf, in fact he did not know that there was
anything else in the world except cabbage leaves. He might have learned
something of the beautiful silvery moon, or the shining stars, or of the
glorious sun itself, if he had ever looked up, but he never did,
therefore the whole world was a big cabbage-leaf to him, and all of his
life consisted in nibbling as much cabbage-leaf as possible.

So you can easily imagine his astonishment when one day a dainty, white
butterfly settled down beside him and began laying small green eggs. The
little caterpillar had never before seen anything half so beautiful as
were the wings of the dainty, white butterfly, and when she had finished
laying her eggs and flew off, he for the first time in his whole life,
lifted his head toward the blue sky that he might watch the quick motion
of her wings. She was soon beyond the tallest leaves of the tomato
plants, above the feathery tips of the fine asparagus, even higher than
the plum trees. He watched her until she became a mere speck in the air
and at last vanished from his sight. He then sighed and turned again to
his cabbage leaf. As he did so his eyes rested on the twenty small green
eggs which were no larger than pin heads.

"Did she leave these for me to care for?" said he to himself. Then came
the perplexing question--how could he, a crawling caterpillar, take care
of baby butterflies. He could not teach them anything except to crawl
and nibble cabbage leaves. If they were like their beautiful mother,
would they not soon fly far beyond his reach? This last thought troubled
him a great deal, still he watched over them tenderly until they should
hatch. He could at least tell them of how beautiful their mother had
been and could show them where to fly that they might find her.

He often pictured to himself how they would look, twenty dainty little
butterflies fluttering about him on his cabbage leaf for a time, and
then flying off to the blue sky, for aught he kne