ient times are explainable through natural causes. In France, during
the thirteenth century, one of these rains occurred, and the people,
believing that evil could be averted in no other way, slew ten thousand
hapless Jews."

"And all because of a little butterfly," observed Bee musingly.

"Yes; all because of a little insect that Moore calls 'winged flowers,'
or 'flying gems.'"

"How pretty!" cried Bee. "And they are like flowers, aren't they?"

"Well, they are certainly like them in that each kind has its own season
for appearing in perfect bloom; and thus they decorate the landscape.
Now let us go for our walk. When I return I must chloroform these
specimens. They are rather fine."

"Do let the lovely things go until tomorrow," pleaded the girl. "Surely,
they should have a little while of life."

"There speaks the woman, Beatrice. That is the reason that there are so
few naturalists among the sex. Yet I would not have it otherwise. Yes;
they may have life until tomorrow since you wish it. Theirs is but a
brief span at best. Come, get your hat, my daughter! You have been in
the house too long today."

Chapter X

A Butterfly and a Boy

"Out in the open country fields,
With the green grass blowing merrily,
The daisies nod and the dewdrop shine,
And the sunbeams dance right cheerily.

"A lassie and laddie come tripping along,
Like the fair day smiling brightly;
They pluck the flowers and they hum a song
As they shake off the dewdrops lightly."

--_Mary Aimee Goodman._

"Beatrice, do you see that butterfly on the verbena bed?" asked Doctor
Raymond one bright morning in July, as he and his daughter sat at work
in the study.

Beatrice glanced through the open window to the bed of verbenas, over
which hovered a large butterfly.

"It is beautiful!" she exclaimed looking with delight at the insect's
broad expanse of wing. "Wouldn't you call that an orange-red, father?
And see the white spots on the secondaries. What kind is it?"

"The Anosia Plexippus," answered her father. "You know it better perhaps
as The Monarch, or Milkweed Butterfly. It is a magnificent specimen. I
must have it for my collection. Where is my net, child?"

"Let me capture it for you, father," cried Beatrice, catching up her net
hastily. "I'll have it in a jiffy."

"Be careful not to bruise it, Beatrice," cautioned the scientist as she
vaulted lightly through the window.

The ins