Ralph was walking with papa in the fields, when he saw a red and black b.u.t.terfly. It was on a thistle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A b.u.t.tERFLY.}]

"I will catch him," said Ralph. So he walked slowly up to the thistle and put out his hand to catch the b.u.t.terfly. But the b.u.t.terfly spread his wings and flew up in the air. In a moment he came back and lighted on the thistle again.

Ralph wanted to try to catch him again, but papa said, "The b.u.t.terfly is eating his dinner."

"Does he eat the thistle?" asked Ralph.

"He eats the honey in the thistle," said papa. "We will sit down and I will show you the honey. Each thistle head has a great many tiny flowers. See, like these!" and papa pulled some of them out. Then he took one of the blossoms between his thumb and finger. He pressed the slender tube till Ralph saw a wee drop of honey at the end. Then Ralph wanted to do the same. So he pressed one after the other of the purple tubes and found a drop of honey in each.

"Does the b.u.t.terfly squeeze them that way?" asked Ralph.

"No; he has no thumb and finger," said papa.

"How can he get the honey, then?" Ralph asked.

"He finds it with his long sucker, which reaches to the bottom of these slender tubes."

"I wish he would eat this honey, papa, now I have got it all ready for him," said Ralph. "I'll ask him."

So he walked slowly towards the b.u.t.terfly, holding out the little purple blossoms.

"Here's some honey all squeezed," he said softly; "don't you want it, b.u.t.terfly?"

But the b.u.t.terfly opened and shut his pretty spotted wings and then flew away.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RALPH.]

Ralph looked sorry. "Never mind," said papa, "he isn't used to having little boys wait upon him. He likes to get his dinner himself."

[Ill.u.s.tration: {TWO b.u.t.tERFLIES.}]

Bright the sun! gay the flowers!

Gently falls the rain!

O the jolly, the blithesome hours, Summer is come again!

Eggs in my nest, snails to eat, A whole round world for my home, I sing, I sing, so sweet, so sweet!

Summer again is come!

[Ill.u.s.tration: A LITTLE BIRD SAT ON A TWIG.]

TOM'S LETTER.

This is the letter a little English boy wrote to his American cousin whom he never had seen. He wrote it on his slate in "print letters,"

and his sister Bess copied it on paper in "writing letters."

The words were spelled wrong on the slate. He worked four evenings to write it all.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WAY TOM WROTE IT.]

"DEAR COUSIN d.i.c.k:

"You thought I would like to write letters because I am old like you--ten years. But I am not a school-boy, like you. I am a home-boy.

I think home-boys don't study regular, and learn truly like school-boys. Mother says she will tell your mother in her letter about how I have been sick always.

"I think I would like to be a school-boy, but I wouldn't either.

School-boys are mean. If the new boy is lame and shy, they think that is big fun. _I_ do not see how the tricks can be any fun then.

"If I was a school-boy I would not think it was fun to trip a lame boy up. I would not think it fun to see him splash down backward into a pool, and when he soused under and wet his lame back ice-cold, I would not call, 'Cry-baby!'

"But that is what the school-boys did that day I went.

"So I can't write handsome letters. Do you trick new boys the first day they come to your school in America? I have had twelve sore throats since, and I wear a scarf in the house.

"I can knit, and I can mend, and I color pictures. But that is not learning as school-boys learn. Girls are good to me, and there is a school where they are all girls, but I think I would not like to go to it--would you? Write again.

"Your cousin Tom."

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A LITTLE GIRL HELPS TOM AWAY FROM THE BULLIES.}]

[Ill.u.s.tration: LADY FLORENCE.--_From the painting by G. A. Storey, A. R. A._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: HOW PLEASANT TO LIE ON THE LOUNGE.]

JANEY'S PRESENT.

Janey had been very sick. She had not left her room for a month. But she was much better. Why, she was really hungry this morning! And here comes mamma with a nice breakfast! She looked at the pleasant room while she ate her toast and drank her milk.

"It isn't such an old, headachy place now," she said. "But please open the windows and let all the sickness out." Then mamma put on the soft red wrapper and knitted slippers that auntie had made for her to wear on this very day. How pleasant it was to lie on the lounge with her own dearest doll Belinda b.u.t.ton, tucked away under the afghan! She could see the children at play through the open window and hear their merry laughter.

"Mamma," she said, "I am so glad to be well. I want to make a present.

May I give some things to Bobby's lame sister? Not Belinda: she knows how sick I have been, and would not leave me. But I want to give her my red leather ball, and white rabbit and the picture book cousin George sent me. And mamma, will you buy a new dolly who has no mother, for Nellie?"

Was not that a kind thought of Janey's? and you may be sure Nellie had them.