"Yes; this is it, father," spoke Beatrice softly. "Uncle Henry had it tended carefully because he knew that you would wish it. Is it not beautiful? I think I love it best of all the roses." She bent over a cl.u.s.ter to inhale its fragrance as she finished speaking.

"It has grown," he said musingly. "It was so small. I should not have known it. I did not think to find so large a bush."

"You have been gone for years," she reminded him. "Have you forgotten, father? A small plant would have time to become a large shrub."

"True;" he said. "True." He broke a half blown bud from the bush and held it for a moment against his lips. "It was her favorite rose," he said, putting it in the b.u.t.tonhole of his coat.

The gravity of his face softened into tenderness, and his eyes were misty as he leaned over the rose bush. Bee gazed at him longingly. The impulse of her heart was to go to him, slip her hand in his, or to nestle against him caressingly. Had she done so father and daughter must have drawn very close to each other, but something--perhaps delicacy, perhaps shyness, perhaps a certain awe in which she held him--restrained her. Presently he straightened up, turned away from the bush with a sigh, and walked on. Beatrice followed him silently, and the golden opportunity was gone.

"I am hatching the larvae of the Thecla t.i.tus Fabricus from the eggs," he said as they left the garden a little later, "I wish to get the proper plants for them to feed upon."

"Then we must go to the woodland instead of the orchard," said Bee quickly. "You will need the leaves of the wild cherry, or the wild plum.

I believe that the caterpillars of the Coral Hair-Streaks feed upon them."

"How do you know?" questioned her father in astonishment.

"I studied b.u.t.terflies, father," explained the girl. "You know 'tis your specialty, and I wanted to be able to help you when you came home. I don't remember many of the technical names though," she added honestly.

"That just happened to be one that I knew. See! there goes a Copper."

Every step through the clover displaced myriads of small b.u.t.terflies with wings of some shade of coppery-red or orange. Dappled fritillaries and angle wings, blocked in red and black, often variegated by odd dashes and spots of burnished silver or peac.o.c.k eyes, crowded about the spreading thistle blossoms, or perched contentedly upon the many flowered umbrels of the milkweed.

"Then that is how you knew about protective mimicry?" asked he, after commenting upon the b.u.t.terfly pointed out by Bee.

"Yes." Beatrice laughed more gaily than she had for days as she noted his pleased expression. "He likes it because I studied them," she told herself gleefully.

"And that one pa.s.sing yonder. The one with the zigzag flight, my daughter. That is a Skipper, is it not?"

Beatrice turned a look of surprise upon him.

"Why, father! that is a Swallowtail," she cried. "How could you make such a--" She broke into a laugh suddenly as she saw his eyes twinkle.

"You were just trying to see if I knew," she cried.

"I'm afraid that I shall have to admit it," he said. "Have you any specimens?"

"A few, father. Some Swallowtails, some Brush-footed ones, a number of Blues, Coppers and Hair-streaks."

"Why! you are quite a lepidopterist," exclaimed Doctor Raymond. "And the eggs, the larvae and the chrysalids; do you have them too?"

The girl hung her head.

"N-no; I know one has to have those things as well as the b.u.t.terflies to study the science properly, but I have none. I think the b.u.t.terflies 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 b.u.t.terfly, 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 b.u.t.terfly, 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 this. You have the true spirit of a naturalist who accepts such happenings as a matter of experience. Are you fearful or timid? Do you get frightened easily?"

"I am not afraid of creeping things," answered Beatrice thoughtfully. "I don't believe that I know about other things. There has never been much to try me. At least, there never was anything until I saw those burglars the other night. I was scared then."

"You saw those men?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Doctor Raymond. "Where did you see them?"

"I forgot that you did not know, father."

"But I wish to know. Tell me all about it, Beatrice."

"It was the first night that I wore that horrid poultice for my complexion. I could not sleep, so I went down stairs to get a book from the library, and when I opened the door there were the two burglars putting the silver into a bag. I was so scared that I could not do anything but look at them. When they saw me they took me for a ghost and ran away. I did look scary, father; so, when I heard you coming, I hid under the couch because I did not want you to see me. When Aunt f.a.n.n.y was left alone I came out and ran up to my room. Yes; I was frightened.

I shook like a leaf after it was all over, and I was glad that you were going to be near me."

"I see, my daughter. There was reason for fear in that instance. Few girls would have done so well. I have not spoken of the matter before because I did not wish to alarm you, and I did not know that you knew of their visit. However, they will hardly bother us again as the authorities are keeping a sharp watch for them, and believe that they will soon have them in custody. I shall take that room next yours for mine permanently, I think. Perhaps you will feel a little safer to have me there, and there is no one on that side of the hall with you. Is it somewhat too remote for you? Come, child! It is time to get back and get some soda on that sting."

Chapter IX

With the b.u.t.terflies

"These be the pretty genis of the flowers, Daintily fed with honey and pure dew."

--_Hood._