Part 2

“O, auntie, how could you kill a beautiful butterfly?” exclaimed the little girl. “Catch it, though, I’d love to see it close to. But there, now!” she added in a disappointed tone as the butterfly flitted away, “It’s gone; they always fly away from me.”

Aunt Doris went back to her chair carrying the caterpillar in the leaf with her. She seemed to be studying it for a moment and then asked, “Do you know what I have here, Neva?”

“Why, that caterpillar,” answered the little girl in a surprised tone. Then growing curious she left the hammock and went nearer her aunt’s chair.

“Yes,” said her aunt, “you are right, yet if I should keep it long enough it would turn into a butterfly just like the one that flew away a moment ago; but I suppose I had better kill it as you wish me to.”

“O, please don’t,” said Neva quickly as her aunt started from her chair, “I didn’t know ’bout it’s ever being a butterfly. Will it really be like that other one, and could you keep it long enough; and how can you tell what kind of a butterfly it will be?”

Aunt Doris laughed as she said, “Three questions all in one breath. I know it will be that kind of a butterfly because I’ve studied about butterflies and caterpillars. It has another name beside caterpillar and that is larva. It is a very good name for it means a mask. You know when a thing is masked you can’t tell quite what it is by its looks and so you might call this caterpillar a masked butterfly.”

“I think it is a good name,” said Neva, “’cause I never would guess it was going to be a butterfly; but can we keep it until it isn’t masked?”

“Yes, if you will run and ask Nora for a small pasteboard box we will fix a house for it,” said her aunt.

Neva ran into the kitchen and soon returned with a shoe-box asking, “Will this do? It’s the littlest one there was.”

“Yes, that will make a nice, roomy house,” replied her aunt, laying the caterpillar gently in the box. Then taking a piece of netting from her work basket she tied it over the top in place of the cover. “Now it will have plenty of light and air,” she said. “The next thing will be to get it something to eat.”

“What do caterpillars like?” asked Neva.

“Mostly leaves,” replied her aunt.

“Well, there is one leaf in the box; won’t it eat that?” asked the little girl, watching the caterpillar crawling over it.

“No, dear, caterpillars are very particular about their food; they all eat leaves, but different kinds of caterpillars eat different kinds of leaves. This kind feeds on the leaves of the milk-weed. The butterfly is always very careful to lay the eggs on the plant whose leaves supply the food of the caterpillar so when the little caterpillar comes out of the tiny egg its food is all ready for it.”

“Why, Aunt Doris! How can butterflies ever know so much? They don’t eat leaves, do they?” asked Neva in a surprised tone.

“No, butterflies eat honey and overripe fruit and such things; it is indeed wonderful that they can select the right plant, but the One who made the butterfly gave it wonderful instinct. Who is He, Neva?”

“Our Father,” answered the little girl. “I know that we sing in school:

‘The little sparrow falleth not But Jesus taketh heed.’

but I never thought of His paying much attention to such a little thing as butterflies. I’m not afraid of this caterpillar now; I just, almost, pretty nearly love it.”

Aunt Doris smiled, then setting the box upon the railing she said: “This caterpillar must have taken quite a journey; we will go down the road a ways and see if we can find some milk-weed leaves for it.”

Neva ran ahead and her bright eyes soon discovered the leaves. When they had been placed in the box the little girl sat and watched the caterpillar make a good meal, while her aunt explained to her how it would first become a chrysalis and then a butterfly.

“How long does it have to be a caterpillar?” she asked.

“Twenty or thirty days,” answered Aunt Doris. “But I think that this one is quite old and will hang itself up before long now.”

“How can you tell, auntie?”

“I judge by the color and size. When this caterpillar is very young it is greenish, but as it grows older it casts its skin several times; each time it grows brighter and weighs more.”

“Why, how can it ever cast off its skin?” questioned Neva in astonishment.

Aunt Doris smiled as she replied: “Wait until it is ready to become a chrysalis and you will see.”

Neva kept close watch of her new pet after that, she was so afraid some change might take place that she did not see. When bedtime came her aunt let her take the box up to her room and put it on the dresser that she might look at it the first thing in the morning.

“Why can’t we have a name for this creature?” Neva asked while she was getting ready for bed. “I mean a real name spelled with a capital, like mine?”

“When it gets to be a butterfly it will have a name,” replied her aunt.

“What will it be?” asked Neva.

“Danais,” replied Aunt Doris.

“Danais,” repeated Neva, “That’s a pretty name, let’s call it that now. There isn’t any last name to it, is there?”

“Why, yes, there is another name,” said her aunt, “but it is a pretty long one. It is Archippus, Danais Archippus; can you remember that?”

“Oh, yes,” said Neva, “I’ll say it over lots of times and then I’ll never forget it,” and when Aunt Doris went past the door a little later she heard a very sleepy voice saying “Danais Archippus, Danais Archippus, Archippus.”

The next two days the caterpillar crawled around in the box and ate or slept and although Neva looked at it anxiously many times she could see no change and she was beginning to feel a little impatient. Early the third morning she was awakened by a robin which was singing in a tree near her window. Almost before she had her eyes open she jumped out of bed and ran over to look in the box. A moment later Aunt Doris heard a mournful little voice saying: “Danais Archippus, I just believe you’re a goner.”

“Good morning, little girl, you are an early bird; is there trouble in the box?” she said going over to the dresser.

“There don’t seem to be anything in the box,” answered Neva in a sorrowful tone.

Aunt Doris gave one look and then she laughed. “Why, Neva, the sandman is still in your eyes, for you are looking at the bottom of the box and here is the caterpillar hung up on the netting by the little hooks in the tail. It is well that you wakened so early, for half an hour later our Danais Archippus would have been a chrysalis and you never could have seen it cast its skin.”

Then putting a soft shawl around the little girl she took her in her lap and let her hold the box.

Very soon the caterpillar commenced rolling off its skin, but although Neva watched every minute and almost held her breath, she could scarcely tell how a little, green case, which looked as though it might be made of wax, was hanging where the caterpillar had hung a few moments before, while the old skin lay shriveled up in the bottom of the box.

“Isn’t it beautiful, auntie?” she said. “How can God make so many beautiful things?”

“Yes, it is very beautiful,” replied her aunt, “but it will be more so after a little; we will set the box up now and look again after you are dressed.”

“You were right, auntie,” Neva called a little later. “The green case is a prettier color now and it has a row of such cute little gold knobs near the top. What do you s’pose they are there for?”

“You notice that they are placed just where the chrysalis bulges; they are put there to protect the little sleeper when the wind blows the case against anything. You know a chrysalis is usually suspended from a leaf out of doors, and so it needs some such protection,” explained Aunt Doris.

“And now how long will this be just a chrysalis and will it just hang and do nothing?” asked the little girl.

“If you are watching it closely you will see that it sometimes swings towards the light and sometimes away from the light just as its needs require. It is a sensitive little mummy. But my little Neva will have to be very patient for it may be twelve or even sixteen days before the butterfly appears.”

“It’s good I’m making you a long visit,” said Neva, “’cause I wouldn’t like to go home before the butterfly came.”

After ten days had passed the chrysalis began to look a little darker and the twelfth day Neva said, “Auntie, I b’lieve I see something that looks like a wing inside of this little case.”

“Sure, enough,” said Aunt Doris. “That means that Danais Archippus will soon come out of the little green house.” Almost before she had finished speaking the case began to move and then the part that was over the butterfly’s back burst and a crumpled little object dropped to the bottom of the box.

“Oh, what mussed up wings!” exclaimed Neva in an excited whisper, but already the butterfly had commenced distending them and soon they looked three times the size and were all smoothed out.

“Now will he fly?” asked Neva.

“No, the wings are still drooping a little because they are moist; he will move them back and forth after a little, but will not fly until they are perfectly dry.”

“Isn’t he just a beauty! How I wish mamma could see how he looks,” said the little girl in a longing tone.

“How would you like to have auntie paint his picture before he is ready to fly away?” asked her aunt.

Neva’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, will you?” she exclaimed. “I’ll run and get your paints.”

A few minutes later the Danais was taken from the box and placed on the tablespread and Aunt Doris’ brush was doing rapid work.

Neva was fascinated as her eyes traveled from her live butterfly to the beautiful deep orange wings trimmed with black and white which her aunt was painting.

“Why Aunt Doris,” she said, “It’s a zact match, it’s ’most a reg’lar twin. How large it is!”

“Yes, it is four and a half inches across the wings. It is the largest kind of an American butterfly.”

By the time the painting was finished the butterfly commenced flitting about the room. It soon found its way to the screen door and Neva said, “It looks just as if it was coaxing to go out.”

“Yes, butterflies don’t like to be shut up in the house,” said Aunt Doris, “and I think a certain little girl must want to play out too by this time, so I’ll open the door and watch you both fly.”

A few minutes later a happy little voice called from the lawn, “Oh, just look, auntie, Danais Archippus seems to be kissing all the flowers, he’s so glad to see them.”

When Neva went back to the city she took the picture of the Danais which her aunt had framed in a pretty gold frame, and also a great bunch of milkweed pods. She looked at them very proudly as her aunt put them in her trunk and said, “They will be such beautiful reminderments of my precious Danais Archippus, though of course I would remember him forever even if I didn’t have them, wouldn’t I, auntie?” and Aunt Doris looked into the earnest little face and smiled and felt sure that she would.

Grace T. Thompson.

THE INDIGNANT TURKEY. A TRUE STORY.

Near the pretty town of Madison, N. J., a turkey hen was at one time sitting on her nest of eggs. She knew that she must forego many a pleasant excursion about the poultry yard and through the meadows, where she and her mate had often picked up a sweet wormy meal. As the days grew into weeks Mr. Turkey Gobbler seemed to realize it, too, and decided to put up with widowhood no longer. So he visited a neighboring farm and enticed a good-natured lady turkey to return with him to his home. The patient, lawful wife, hatching her eggs, could do nothing about it. Her place was on the nest, and although doubtless her breast was ruffled with waves of jealousy, she had no means of avenging herself. But the day of retributive justice was surely and swiftly approaching. Hearing a great commotion in the barnyard one morning soon after the new turkey had been introduced to the fowls, the householder hurried out to investigate. There he found a strange turkey cock thrashing with all his might of claw, wing and beak the robber of his nest and affections, after which he proudly walked off with his mate, leaving the defeated and disloyal bird to make peace as best he could with her of whom he was not worthy.

Fanny Skelton Bissell.

THE CHIPPING SPARROW. (_Spizella socialis._)

The Chipping Sparrow visits the temperate regions of Eastern North America at that time of the year of which the poet Tennyson has said:

“Now fades the last long streak of snow, Now bourgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen rootes the violets blow.”

With the advancing seasons it passes still farther northward, till at last some of these birds have established their homes in Newfoundland and Southern Canada. They nest and rear their young from the Gulf States to the northern limits of their range.

Mr. Chapman has truthfully said: “The Chippy is among sparrows what the phœbe is among flycatchers—the humblest, most unassuming member of its family. Both show trustfulness, which, in spite of their unattractive appearance and far from pleasing voices, win our affection.”

Few of our feathered friends are more confiding or will show more confidence in us, especially when by quiet, kindly acts we attract them to our doorsteps. They love the habitations of man and will select the vines and bushes of the door-yard in which to build their homes. The name Social Sparrow is fully as appropriate as Chipping Sparrow. The latter name is derived from their song, which is best described as a “monotonous chippy-chippy-chippy-chippy,” ending at times in a quiet trill. Their happy dispositions and busy lives are inspiring.

“Bid the little homely sparrows, Chirping in the cold and rain, Their impatient, sweet complaining, Sing out from their hearts again; Bid them set themselves to mating, Cooing love in softest words, Crowd their nests, all cold and empty, Full of little callow birds.”

The song of the Chippy lasts about four seconds and is repeated at frequent intervals throughout the day. They “frequently repeat their trills in the darkness of night when restless or disturbed.” Mr. Silloway has estimated that “if their total practice through the day amounts to five hours, it is probable that they utter more than two thousand songs in a day, and perhaps even more; a wonderful record for these little musicians.” The ground, the fence, the porch or a shrub serve alike as a rostrum from which, with uplifted heads, to utter their trills.

Were it not for the English sparrow the yards of our country residences would be alive with these companionable birds. They not only enjoy the society of man, but also the presence of their own kind. The male is very attentive and will share food that he has obtained with his mate, for whom he shows the greatest fondness. In fact, the love for each other exhibited by a pair of these sparrows is remarkable. Then, too, their attachment for the home bush, in which they have passed a happy season, is frequently shown by their returning to the same bush or one near by, not only the next season, but probably for several.

The delicate little home of the Chippy is sometimes a neatly and closely woven fabrication of the hairs of horses and cows. Because of this habit of using hair in its nest the Chippy is frequently called the Hairbird. More often, however, the hair is used in the lining, which is protected by an outer wall made of grasses, fine roots and twigs. The nest is seldom placed less than five feet from the ground. In this home, with its feltlike lining, are laid the four or five bluish green eggs, the larger ends of which are speckled with brown or black. The Chippy is not contented with a single family and usually raises two in a season.

The patient devotion of the parent birds to their young is very interesting. They teach the little birds to gather their own food and carefully guard them till they have gained sufficient strength and confidence to care for themselves. Even then parents and offspring remain near each other, lovingly feeding in the same pasture, till the cold autumn drives them to their summer home in the Southern States and Mexico.

CHRISTMAS IN BUNNYVILLE.

It was Christmas Eve in Bunnyville. Bunnyville was in a lovely great forest, and was the place where all the rabbits lived. Mr. and Mrs. Hare and six baby hares lived in a nice hollow tree, by the side of a clear stream of water, so that they never suffered for a cool drink or a bath. The little Hares were very much excited tonight, and were staying up far beyond the usual time, because they had so much to talk about, and were wondering what the morrow would bring. Now, this was to be the first time in their little lives that these dear little rabbits had ever hung up their stockings, for their papa and mamma had not known until recently that there was such a thing as Santa Claus.

Mamma Hare saw that her little soft, wooly babies were getting too much excited, so she said to them, “Now, children, you really must go to bed, or the Santa rabbit will not come to you at all, and then how will you feel? Come! Hurry, now.”

So they all scampered toward the mamma and gave her a good hug, with their little furry arms, and jumped into bed, all six of them in a row. The mamma leaned over them, and tucked them all in snugly, pulling the long gray moss up close around their necks, for the night was bitter cold, and the wind was howling fiercely around their tree home. Then she kissed each one, but her way of doing this was to rub her nose against each one of the little wrinkled noses, and that was a rabbit kiss.

They were soon sound asleep, and Mr. and Mrs. Hare were just dozing off, too, when they heard a queer, scratching sound, outside of their big tree, and they lay there peeping out from the moss with their bright eyes until suddenly, through the hole in the tree, there stepped—old Santa. He was a big—a very big—white rabbit, with long ears, and pink eyes, and long whiskers. He had such a kind face that they were almost tempted to speak to him, but they were afraid if they did he might get scared, and run away, before filling the stockings. Those were the funniest stockings you ever saw. Of course, the little rabbits did not wear stockings, only when it was very cold, they sometimes put on extra fur shoes to play in the snow. So the mamma had made each one a nice, large one, to hang up, and there they hung in a row, on some pegs driven to the inside of the tree. Old Santa looked around a minute, and soon spied these queer fur stockings; but he was used to that, for all the little bunnies he had visited that night had that same kind, so, with a low chuckle to himself, he took a big fur bag off his shoulders and reaching down into it he drew forth the loveliest things papa and mamma rabbit had ever seen. Their eyes fairly sparkled, as they thought of how delighted their babies would be when they awoke. Santa Claus did not forget anybody—not even papa and mamma, for they saw him stuffing a lot of things down at the foot of their bed, as he laughed to think of their surprise. When he left they jumped out of bed, and peeked through the tree, and saw him leap into a sleigh which was made out of a big, big pumpkin and drawn by tiny white mice. Their little silver bells tinkled as they flew over the snow—for the whole world outside was now covered with a beautiful sparkling robe of snow. The rabbits were awake long before the dawn next morning, and made such a noise, giggling and whispering, under their cover of moss, that the mamma could not sleep. Finally they said: “O, mamma, can’t we get up?”

“Yes, I guess you might as well,” she replied, “as you won’t go to sleep.” So out they scampered, all six of them, tumbling all over each other in their eagerness to see what good old Santa had brought them. O, how delighted they were, as they ran their little paws down into each fur stocking, and brought forth the most wonderful things, surely, that rabbits ever had.

There were little red apples, and all kinds of nuts, and nice green things to eat, and actually, a doll, made out of cornstalks, and corn-silk for hair. They had never had a doll before, and they hugged them to their little furry breasts with ecstasy. When the children were all through looking at their gifts the papa and mamma looked at the foot of their bed and found the things Santa had brought them. There were bushels of red and yellow apples, bags of wheat, great cabbages and celery, tender lettuce and all the good things so dear to the heart of a rabbit.

Dear, dear! Their mouths fairly watered, as they looked at these things. More than enough to last them all winter, and now they would not have to go out in the cold, bitter weather, searching for something to eat. They could stay in their good warm tree, and have a jolly time together, and eat all the good things they wanted. After breakfast the children all ran out and played snowball and frolicked around at leap-frog and such outdoor sports all morning, which made them so hungry that they felt as if they could eat up the whole lot of winter supplies. After a while mamma called them in, and they joyfully sat down to their Christmas dinner. There was a long table, just filled with good things, and the children all sat on big strong toadstools. My! how hungry they were. But mamma had known they would be, and had provided everything good that a rabbit likes, and actually had some tiny cakes, and little red candies. What a jolly meal that was! Everybody laughing and chewing away at something held tightly between their two little front paws, and wrinkling up their funny brown noses, smelling at all the good things on the table. It was quite late when they finished the merry meal, and after looking for some time at the things which Santa had brought, papa and mamma said: “Children, we have another surprise for you now.”

Another surprise! What could it be? It seemed to them that they already had every surprise in the world, and they could not imagine how anything else could be thought of.

Mamma made each of them put on a very heavy fur coat, and fur shoes, and they all went out, and went skipping over the cold white snow, until at last, through the darkness they caught a glimpse of something sparkling, and bright and beautiful. Bright lights hung everywhere, and in the center of it all was a tree—that was not like any tree they had ever seen before in all their little rabbit lives. It was a rabbit Christmas tree, just covered with beautiful gifts for all, and there all around the tree were dozens and dozens of rabbits many of whom were friends of theirs, and what a jolly crowd it was. Everybody good natured, and all jumping and hopping, as if their lives depended upon it. Pretty soon from out the darkness who should appear but Santa himself? O, what hurrying and scurrying of little furry feet there was, as all the little bunnies tried to get near him. He smiled upon them all as he stepped to the tree and began handing gifts to each and every one of them. And the funniest part of it was, that he knew every one of their names. After the gifts had all been distributed they all joined hands around Santa Claus, and went around in the wildest, merriest dance, that was ever danced by a party of rabbits. So light of feet and so happy were they that they fairly flew over the ground. Then the good old Santa told them good-by till next year, and jumping into his sleigh, vanished from sight. They all went home very tired, but O, so very, very happy to be tucked away again into their soft, warm nests of gray moss.

Jessie Juliet Knox.

TOPAZ.