said. "She has told me all
about it, and I think she deserves to be punished by staying at home."

"Oh, but please, Mrs. Eldridge," said Mollie, "let her off this time! It
was my fault as well as hers, for you see I provoked her by answering
back."

"Say you are sorry, Fannie."

"Yes, truly, mamma, I am," said Fannie, with tears in her eyes; "and
I'll take any seat, or I'll stand up all the afternoon, if you'll only
let me go, and I _will_ try to break myself of getting angry so easy;
see if I don't!"

On the strength of these promises Mrs. Eldridge gave her consent, and
the little girls crossed the lawn hand-in-hand, in loving companionship.
So harmony was restored in the Society, and all ate their gingerbread
with a relish. Sammy and Roy would have liked better to have munched
their share on the piazza-steps, without plate or napkin. Under the
circumstances, however, they behaved very well; for, though Roy took
rather large mouthfuls, and Sammy licked his fingers when he thought no
one was looking, these were small delinquencies, and you will be glad
to know that the girls were too well-bred to appear to notice. Mollie,
now fully restored to favor, was allowed to pass the finger-bowl, while
Susie collected the plates, distributed the work, and made every thing
snug and tidy in the room. Then Miss Ruth commenced the story of

THE SWALLOW-TAILED BUTTERFLY.

"When I was ten years old, my brother Charlie and I spent a summer with
Aunt Susan, who lived in the old homestead some miles out of town.

"One night after tea she sent us into the garden to gather some sprigs
of fennel for her to take to prayer-meeting--all the old ladies in
Vernon took dill or fennel to evening meeting. I had just put my hand to
the fennel-bush when I drew it back with a scream.

"'What's the matter?' said Charlie.

"'A great, horrid green worm,' said I. 'I almost touched it!'

"'Here, let me smash him!' said Charlie; 'where is he?'

"'Oh, don't touch him!' I cried; 'he might bite you. Oh, dear, I hate
worms! I wonder what they were made for!'

"'That kind was made to turn into butterflies,' said Tim Rhodes.

"Tim was working Aunt Susan's garden on shares that summer, and had
heard all we said, for he was weeding the onion-bed close by.

"'What, that fellow!' said Charlie; 'will he turn into a butterfly?' and
we both of us looked at the caterpillar. He was about as long and as
thick as my little finger, of a bright leafy green,