Percival gave a cry of delight as they entered the laboratory, and some b.u.t.terflies rose from the thistles upon which they were resting. Like autumn leaves released from their moorings they floated about, brilliant bits of color. Soaring, curving, dropping into the depths of the corners of the room, the b.u.t.terflies rose and fell, rose and circled higher, higher, up to the very ceiling; then they came tumbling down among the thistles, settling and unsettling themselves airily, noiselessly, making their selection of resting places slowly and daintily.

"This is the very last one to burst its chrysalis," remarked Bee, indicating a queenly Swallowtail whose flutterings denoted weakness.

"Soon it will circle about in its first flight. See the l.u.s.tre of its wings, Percival. Did you ever see anything more beautiful?"

"They are like flowers," cried the boy enthusiastically, all the artist in him revelling in the beauty and daintiness of the insects. "Flying flowers! They--Gee! Look at the worms!"

"They are not worms; they are caterpillars," explained Bee. "See how they are feeding upon the leaves? When the time comes that they have eaten enough they will spin a bed for themselves like this," showing him a coc.o.o.n. "After a short sleep they burst forth into beautiful b.u.t.terflies."

"Do they feed on the different colored plants so as to have different colors?" he queried.

"Why, Percival, that is a sweet fancy," she cried. "I never thought of that. I'll ask father if that is what makes them the pretty colors. You like them too, don't you?"

"I like the b.u.t.terflies, but I don't like those creepy, crawly things from which they come."

"That is the most beautiful part of it, father says," said Bee. "They are humble, earth-bound creatures at first; then after a period of preparation they become beautiful winged insects, basking in the sunshine and sipping sweets from flowers."

"I like that part of it," said the boy again. "But those hairy things give me the creeps. Let's get out of this."

So they adjourned to the veranda forthwith.

"Do you know, my mother said that she rather fancied you?" announced Percival presently. "She said that you were very pleasant, and that such a nice girl would be good for me to be with this summer. So I am to cultivate your acquaintance."

"Indeed!" Beatrice laughed merrily, and then became grave. "Percival, you are terrible," she said reprovingly. "You ought not to tell everything that your mother says. I am quite sure that she would not like it."

"She doesn't," he answered promptly, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

"But she can't help herself."

"Why can't she? She could punish you. That might do some good."

"I'd like to see anybody raise a hand to me," said the boy pompously, reaching down and plucking a blade of gra.s.s which he bit into nonchalantly. "They don't dare do it. You see, I am the head of the family. I make all the money in concerts. If it were not for me mamma and old Heinrich would not have a cent. So I do just as I please.

Sometimes," he laughed a malicious little laugh, "if I want anything real bad I throw a fit just before the performance. My! My! but isn't there some tall hustling then?"

He laughed again, but the girl regarded him with shocked, pained eyes.

Her disapproval was so evident that he moved about restlessly under her glance.

"If my mother were living," spoke Bee slowly, "and I could provide for her by playing, or in any other way, I would be so glad to have her that I would do anything I could for her. And I would try not to cause her pain by being naughty."

"Oh, I don't mind playing," confessed he. "I like to take care of my mother, and she is all right. We are great friends, but she doesn't always give me what I want. I have to get it someway."

"If I were she I wouldn't give in to you," spoke the girl severely. "If she would not you would go on and play anyway when you found that you could not have what you wished. Now wouldn't you?"

"I never thought about it just that way," observed the Prodigy thoughtfully, "but--yes; I guess I would. You needn't go tell my mother though. I'd have no end of trouble in getting the things I want, and old Heinrich is bad enough now."

"I am not a tattletale," exclaimed Bee indignantly. "I don't repeat things which I know people would rather I would not tell."

"You mean that for me, Beatrice Raymond," cried the boy rising. "I won't trouble you by telling you anything more; that's certain. You may come over to see my mother if you want to. I won't be at home to you. You are entirely too dicta--dicta--" He struggled valiantly with the word for a moment, then gave it up, and bowing stiffly, stalked majestically away.

Beatrice's impulse was to call him back and apologize. Then, as she saw him give a quick backward glance at her, a light broke upon her mind, and she coolly retreated into the house.

"The rogue! he is just too spoiled for anything," she laughed. "He did that, thinking that I would run after him. Well, I won't. A little judicious snubbing will do him good."

"Has Joel come back from town, Aunt f.a.n.n.y?" she asked as she entered the kitchen.

"Yes'm; he done k.u.m back, Joel is. He brung a lettah from yer pa, I 'specs. Hit ain't from no lady nohow, an' no udder gem'mens gwine ter write dat I knows anything erbout."

"Certainly it is from father," said Bee, breaking the seal eagerly.

"Although I might have a half dozen gem'mens writing to me for all you know," she added, teasingly.

"No, yer ain't, honey. Dey may k.u.m in time, but yer too 'voted ter yer pa right now for hit."

And so she talked while Beatrice perused her letter. It was short, and ran as follows:

"My dear Daughter:

"I am writing in haste to inform you that I shall be home Sat.u.r.day morning, and shall bring with me four of the Faculty of the University. They are enthusiastic Lepidopterists, and I am sure that you will enjoy meeting with them. Now, my child, they will remain for dinner, and while you manage very nicely indeed with Aunt f.a.n.n.y, I fear that this may tax your ability too far. Could you not get some capable person to a.s.sist you for the day?

"I hope that you have not been very lonesome, and a.s.suring you that it will afford me the greatest pleasure to be with you again, I am as ever,

"Your affectionate father,

"William Raymond."

Bee sat still for a long time gazing at the letter. Something about the tone of it chilled her heart, and she could not but contrast it with that other letter which also told of his homecoming. How full of love, and tenderness, and longing, that had been; while this--Oh! would he never, never care for her? Her eyes filled with a quick rush of tears.

"Am hit bad news, honey?" queried Aunt f.a.n.n.y anxiously.

"No; no, indeed." Bee dashed away her tears, and tried to speak cheerfully. "Father is coming home Sat.u.r.day, and he will bring company for dinner. There will be four scientific men with him, and he fears that we shall not be able to manage by ourselves. What do you think?"

"Huh!" snorted the negress scornfully. "I'se cooked for more'n dat many.

Dey's nuffin but mens what ebber elsen dey is. I reckon dey feeds like udder gem'mens if dey is satanic."

"Scientific, Aunt f.a.n.n.y," corrected the girl with a quick transition from melancholy to mirth. "Satanic means--"

"Nebber you min' what hit means, chile. I doesn't want no udder worman a-trapesin' erbout my kitchen. You heah me? No'm; we'll manage, Miss Bee. Jes' yer think what ter hab, an' I'll cook hit. We'll git ole Rachel's Tillie ter wait on de table, an' dat's all de help we'll need.

She's a likely gal!"

"All right, Aunt f.a.n.n.y. We will try it, and if we find that we are not going to succeed we will get help. I'll think what to have, and we will surprise father by giving a nice dinner."

Resolutely putting from her all thought of her father's coldness Bee bent her whole energy to a study of a tempting menu for the dinner.

"When Aunt Annie was going to have company she always studied to please them," she mused. "Some way her dinners always just suited the guests.

If I could have this dinner not only nice but distinctive, I should be pleased. Father is susceptible to the influence of a good dinner. I guess that all men are even if they are satanic." She laughed at the recollection of Aunt f.a.n.n.y's mistake, then concentrated her mind anew upon the problem. Presently she jumped up, clapping her hands in glee.

"I have it! I have it!" she exclaimed joyfully. "They are Lepidopterists. I'll give them a b.u.t.terfly dinner."

With a definite purpose in view she could proceed to better advantage.

Still, it took hours and a great deal of anxious thought to perfect her plan. The next few days were busy ones, but when at length Sat.u.r.day came, everything was in readiness for the guests.