Her hair was still loose and flying, but the girl felt that she could
not stay in the house. She must get somewhere where she could be alone.
Beyond the Medulla residence was a deep wood, and out into the road went
Beatrice, intending to reach its cool recesses. The warm sunshine had
brought out clouds of butterflies. Small white ones sported like fragile
flower petals in the bright rays. Silvery winged fritillaries sailed
hither and thither among the red clover blossoms. A Monarch rose from a
stalk of milkweed, and winged its stately flight just ahead of her. On a
mud puddle by the roadside a number of azures had collected, but
Beatrice, usually keenly alive to the presence of the beloved insects,
passed them unheedingly. As she reached the group of sycamore trees that
stood in front of the Medulla residence she paused abruptly as she
caught sight of Percival and a boy under the trees. The boy, whom she
recognized as the bully of the town, was dancing about the Infant
Prodigy, amusing himself after the fashion of boys by teasing him.

"Is it alive?" he cried, giving Percival a poke in the ribs. "Say, kin
ye speak?"

"I'll show you whether I can or not," pluckily retorted Percival who was
crying mad. He made a lunge at the boy as he spoke.

"Shoo!" said the boy, brushing off an imaginary fly. "Flies are purty
bothersome this year."

"Take that! And that! And that!" cried Percival, letting his small fists
fly at his tormentor.

"Stop tickling, I tell you," cried the bully, seizing his hands and
holding them tightly. "Say, sissy, give me one of your curls to remember
ye by; won't you?"

In a flash Beatrice comprehended the situation. As Percival began to
struggle helplessly in his tormentor's grip, she flew at the bully
impetuously.

"Why, it's a gurl!" exclaimed the boy as, dropping Percival's hands, he
turned to confront this new adversary.

"Yes," gasped Bee, punctuating her words by vigorous boxes on his ears.
"It is a girl. How do you like it?"

With all the strength of her pent-up emotion she sailed into her unhappy
victim. Had Bee been given to self analysis she would have known that,
aside from her desire to help Percival out of his dilemma, she rejoiced
in the opportunity to give vent to her own unhappiness. There followed a
few brief moments of spirited action on her part, interspersed with
howls of pain from the boy. Presently he broke away from her and fled
precipitantly. Flushed by the success