not
know how I should have gotten along without you."

Well pleased by his words Beatrice left the house, and sauntered down
the road, past the place formerly occupied by the Medullas, and on
toward her favorite grove, sometimes pausing to pluck an early aster, or
spray of golden rod blooming along the dusty roadside. A stillness that
no bird note disturbed, for the birds that had not already departed were
clustered about those places where dripping springs were to be found,
prevailed throughout the cool recesses of the grove. The girl flung
herself down under an oak tree, idly watching the impatient tapping of a
squirrel in the branches above at the still resisting acorns. The
monotony of the soulless sunshine became irksome. The spirit of the
furred and feathered folk of the woods was stealing into her. Like them
she was heartily tired of the summer, and half stifled in the wornout
atmosphere of the sleepy silent August day.

"I am glad that tomorrow is the first day of September," she exclaimed,
sitting up and speaking aloud. "It is so hot. I want a change!"

At this moment a bright bit of color fluttered through the air and
dropped in the grass by her side.

"It's a butterfly," cried Bee. "A poor little butterfly that has come to
the end of its life."

She bent over the dainty insect and lifted it gently. A cry of delight
escaped her lips as she looked at it. The insect moved its wings
slightly, disclosing its gorgeous colorings.

"It's father's Teinopalpus Imperialis! It's the butterfly that I lost!"
she exclaimed joyfully. "It's father's rare specimen!"

She sprang up and ran to the house as fast as she could.

"Father, father," she called excitedly, bursting into the study. "See! I
have found your butterfly!"

"My butterfly, Beatrice?" Doctor Raymond glanced up from a letter he was
reading. His daughter was too intent upon the finding of the insect to
note that his face was very grave. "What do you mean?"

"The one I lost," cried Bee holding the creature toward him. "See the
spots on the wings, and these markings on the secondaries! It is the
very one, isn't it?"

"It certainly looks like it." The naturalist took the insect and
examined it critically. "Where did you find it?"

"I was in the grove," explained Bee. "All at once this butterfly
fluttered down by my side. I saw that it was yours so I brought it home
at once."

"Look!" he said. "The butterfly is not dead, though I question if it
lives