flies are
beautiful. Just like flying flowers!"

"Ah! you are like all amateurs, Beatrice." Doctor Raymond shook his head
gravely. "They are taken by the beauty of the butterfly, and so confine
themselves to the imago state entirely. Whereas, to know the insect
thoroughly, one should study it from the egg through all its stages to
the perfected form. But you are not alone in it, my daughter. There are
many men of wealth who make collections of the butterfly, as they do of
gems and other things. They, too, care only for the perfected insect.
In your case, you are young, and may be taught the proper manner of
study. I am glad that you are interested in such things. It will afford
me great pleasure to continue your instruction in the subject this
summer. That is, if you would like it?"

"Like it?" cried Beatrice, looking up at him with unfeigned delight. "I
should love it."

"Then we will consider that matter settled," he said with approval.
"Here are some wild cherry trees. Be careful, child! There are some
wasps."

But Beatrice, intent upon making herself useful, rushed forward eagerly
and began stripping off the leaves from the low hanging limbs.

"Do you want some of the twigs, father? There is a fine branch here
filled with leaves."

"Yes; but let me cut it for you." Doctor Raymond drew out a clasp knife
and started to open it.

"I can get it quite easily, thank you, father," said Bee, bending the
bough which broke suddenly with a sharp snap, disturbing a wasp that had
just settled comfortably on one of the twigs. With an angry buzz the
insect darted at the girl's hand, and thrust its sting into the
offending member.

"Oh!" she uttered, letting the branch fall and clasping her hand
quickly.

"You are stung," cried Doctor Raymond. "Give me your hand. At once!"

He caught up some of the damp earth and clapped it on the wound, holding
the mud in place.

"Does it hurt so much now?" he asked after a moment, binding his
handkerchief closely about the hand.

Beatrice's eyes shone through her tears. He cared because she was hurt.
A warm glow suffused her being, and nestled comfortingly about her
heart. She looked up and smiled.

"Hurt?" she exclaimed. "Nonsense! what is an old yellow jacket but a bee
gone into athletics!"

An expression of pleased surprise shot athwart her father's face and his
chuckle gave way to a peal of laughter.

"That is neat, child," he said. "Very neat! I like your way of taking