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BEE AND BUTTERFLY
A TALE OF TWO COUSINS
BY LUCY FOSTER MADISON
AUTHOR OF "THE PEGGY OWEN BOOKS," "A MAID OF SALEM TOWNE," "A COLONIAL
MAID OF OLD VIRGINIA," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
ADELIA B. BEARD
CHICAGO
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
COPYRIGHT 1913
BY M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
[Illustration: "WILLIAM," SHE CRIED, LAUGHING NERVOUSLY, "YOU HAVE MADE
A MISTAKE. THAT IS MY DAUGHTER, ADELE."]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I AN IMPULSE OF MISCHIEF
CHAPTER II THE OMEN OF THE BUTTERFLY
CHAPTER III THE GOOD NEWS
CHAPTER IV A JEST BECOMES EARNEST
CHAPTER V PROTECTIVE MIMICRY
CHAPTER VI A NIGHT OF MISERY
CHAPTER VII THE RESULT OF IMITATION
CHAPTER VIII A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS
CHAPTER IX WITH THE BUTTERFLIES
CHAPTER X A BUTTERFLY AND A BOY
CHAPTER XI AN INFANT PRODIGY
CHAPTER XII THE ARRIVAL OF GUESTS
CHAPTER XIII THE BUTTERFLY DINNER
CHAPTER XIV A LITTLE SERMON
CHAPTER XV THE ARRIVAL OF ADELE
CHAPTER XVI "IT IS SO HARD TO DO THE RIGHT THING"
CHAPTER XVII THE TWO CALLS
CHAPTER XVIII A BREACH OF TRUST
CHAPTER XIX THE CLOSED DOOR
CHAPTER XX BEE IS DISAPPOINTED IN PERCIVAL
CHAPTER XXI HOW THE DAY ENDED
CHAPTER XXII "I SHOULDN'T WANT YOU TO BE ANYTHING BUT PRETTY"
CHAPTER XXIII "THE GREATEST OF THESE IS CHARITY"
CHAPTER XXIV "YOU ARE A NOBLE LITTLE GIRL"
CHAPTER XXV THE DOOR IS OPENED
CHAPTER XXVI A GREAT SURPRISE
CHAPTER XXVII READY FOR THE VOYAGE
List of Illustrations
"WILLIAM," SHE CRIED, LAUGHING NERVOUSLY, "YOU HAVE MADE A MISTAKE. THAT
IS MY DAUGHTER, ADELE."
"I THINK THAT'S PRETTY GOOD FOR A GIRL."
BEE ENTERTAINS HER FATHER'S FRIENDS.
"OUT THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW SAILED THE BUTTERFLY."
"I WOULD NOT HAVE YOU ANYTHING BUT PRETTY."
FOREWORD
The wonderful evolution of a caterpillar, or grub, into a beautifully
winged creature must inspire admiration in every one. More marvellous
still is the growth of the human soul which in many respects resembles
the development of the butterfly. It is this thought which has induced
the author to attempt to depict the transformation of a careless maiden
into noble womanhood.
In this first book, the process has begun. There are heart burnings, and
troubles of girlhood. In the second book, the journeyings and adventures
with her father, together with her development of character are treated.
The third, and final volume, takes up the bursting into glorious
womanhood of the girl, glorified by the coming of love.
For the curious facts and superstitions regarding butterflies woven into
the story, the author desires to acknowledge her indebtedness to Dr. W.
J. Holland's Butterfly Book, which is a compendium of knowledge on the
subject. That the story may meet with favor, and inspire young hearts
with an appreciation of these beautiful insects is the hope of the
author.
L. F. M.
New York City.
Bee and Butterfly
Chapter I
An Impulse of Mischief
"When to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill."
--_Pope. Rape of the Lock._
It was four o'clock. The little town of Louisiana, Missouri, had
slumbered all afternoon in the spring sunshine, but woke suddenly to
life as the doors of the big brick school house opened, and the boys and
girls poured forth. As the outgoing stream of pupils reached the gate
several High School girls left the line, and withdrawing a short
distance from the others, formed a little group by themselves, standing
with faces turned expectantly toward the door of the building as though
they were waiting for some one.
"I wonder why Bee doesn't come!" exclaimed one of the girls impatiently
as the line dwindled to two or three pupils, and then ceased altogether.
"I don't see why she pokes around that old school house so long?"
"She was going to help Professor Lawrence with some specimens," spoke a
tall girl quickly. "You know Bee likes--"
"Bugs," finished the other girl with a shiver. "Oo-ooh! I wouldn't
handle the worms, and creepy, crawly things that Bee Raymond does for
anything."
"It isn't bugs at all," answered the tall girl with a trace of
indignation in her voice. "It's caterpillars and butterflies. Bee's
making a special study of them so as to surprise her father when he
comes from abroad. He's a Lepidopterist, you know, and she is working to
fit herself to be his secretary."
"Is he coming home soon, Edna?" queried one of the others.
"Not for two more years," responded Edna, who seemed to be well informed
on the matter. "And just think, girls! Bee hasn't seen him for ten
years."
"Fancy not seeing one's own father in all that time," remarked the girl
who had first spoken. "Of course, it's just splendid to get letters from
abroad, and to have all those lovely things he sends her; but I don't
know, I think I'd rather have my father."
"Why, so would Bee," laughed Edna. "She's just crazy for him to come
home. She--"
"There she is now," cried one, and with new interest each member of the
group turned to look at the girl who at this moment came through the
door of the school house.
Beatrice Raymond was a slender girl, tall for her fifteen years, with
movements full of unconscious grace; for she had always been much in the
open air and was accustomed to perfect freedom in her limbs. She could
run as fast and jump as far as many boys who "fancied" themselves as
athletes. Her hair was very dark, very straight, and very abundant. Her
eyes were large, dark, and expressive; her complexion was dark also and
without color. She created the thought in the minds of those observers
who looked below the surface that there was intellect--thoughtful,
loving, and perhaps unusual intellect. A strap of books was flung over
her left shoulder, boy fashion, and her hat was set carelessly on one
side of her head. She was laughing as she came to them, and the girls
crowded around her eagerly.
"What's the joke, Bee?" cried Edna.
"It's a conundrum," answered Beatrice merrily. "Professor Lawrence just
told it to me. See if any of you can answer it: 'Why are caterpillars
like buckwheat cakes?'"
"Pooh! that's easy. Because they make the butter fly," answered one of
the group. The others shouted with laughter as Bee turned an astonished
look upon her.
"How did you know?" she asked. "Professor Lawrence just told it to me."
"Why, Beatrice Raymond, that joke was old before Professor Lawrence was
born," said the one called Edna. "It's as old as--as the hills, and may
be older for all I know. If you weren't so deep in that old Butterfly
book you would have heard it long ago. Here! let me fix that hat. What
would your Aunt Annie say if you were to come home with it at an angle
of forty-five degrees?"
"Is it so bad as all that, Edna?" asked Bee indifferently. "Someway, I
never do get my things on right. Now Adele's are always just so. I do
believe that she could dress in the dark, and come out looking as neat
as a pin."
"Where is Adele, Bee? Why didn't she come to school this afternoon?"
"She was not feeling well, so Aunt Annie thought it best to keep her
home," answered Beatrice. "Aren't you going now, girls? I must hurry."
"Oh, Bee! why?" came from the group in a chorus. "We've been waiting for
you ever so long so that you could go with us to Edna's. Do come! It
won't be any fun unless you do."
"I can't," replied Bee. "I'd like to ever so much, but I must finish my
letter to father. It has to be written today so that it can reach New
York in time for Saturday's steamer."
"Will you come tomorrow then?" asked Edna. "You and Adele too."
"Yes, if Aunt Annie doesn't mind. Now I must go. Good-bye, girls."
"Bee," called one as Beatrice started on at a brisk walk.
"Well?" Bee paused good naturedly.
"Edna was telling us how long your father had been away, and I want to
ask you if you think he would know you if he were to meet you
unexpectedly?"
"Oh, Sue, that's mean!" came from the girls in shocked tones. "Don't
answer her, Bee."
"But I don't ask for meanness," went on Sue apologetically as she saw
the look that came into Bee's eyes. "I really want to know."
"Why, of course he would know me," uttered Bee hastily. "I'm his
daughter."
"Yes; but--" began the irrepressible Sue, when Edna caught her about the
waist and pressed one hand firmly over her mouth.
"Go on, Bee," she cried. "I'll attend to her. You'll have to hurry if
you get home in time to finish that letter."
Beatrice turned, and slowly went on her way. Her uncle's house, where
she lived, was in the western outskirts of the town more than a mile
distant from the school. It behooved her to hasten if she were to finish
her letter before tea time, but that question of Sue's had set her to
thinking.
On the death of her mother, ten years before, her father, overwhelmed
with grief at his loss, had accepted an offer to go abroad to complete a
collection of lepidoptera for Union University, leaving her in charge
of his brother's family. His letters had been frequent, and so tender
and loving that the question of recognition had never occurred to her.
The houses became fewer as Beatrice reached the edge of town where the
main street became a turnpike with green fields on either side, and a
clear view of the distant hills. It was a beautiful April day. At the
opening of the month spring had smiled invitingly; then, as though
repenting her forwardness, she had retreated for a time, advancing again
with coy hesitancy until today all her windows were open toward summer.
In the zenith was a blue so soft and dreamy that it drew the soul as
well as the eye toward it. A haze of Tyrian hue purpled the hills that
encircled the little town, and mellowed the glory of the sunshine. There
were splashes of green in the meadows so delicate as to be almost
yellow, and along the brooks the willows played their fast greening
boughs against a background of gray wood color. The very earth was
odorous and the air was like balm, but Beatrice, usually susceptible to
the beauties of Nature, was in too abstracted a mood to be conscious of
the loveliness about her.
"But of course he would know me," she told herself at length,
reassuringly. "Why, I should know him, and I was only five years old
when he went away."
And with this she laughed aloud that she should have been so foolish as
to consider for even a moment the absurd possibility of her father's not
knowing her, and with her customary brightness of spirit restored she
quickened her steps, and soon reached her uncle's place.
There were many acres in the estate. Henry Raymond was a well to do
lawyer, and the walk to the dwelling lay through a large orchard. As Bee
came in sight of the house the door opened, and a girl, about her own
age, came out on the piazza, and ran down the steps to meet her. She was
an extremely pretty girl. A slim graceful figure was hers, with a proud
little head and sunny, shining hair that hung about her face with its
beautiful blue eyes like a halo. She seemed rather the personification
of loveliness than a flesh and blood maiden.
"What made you so late, Bee?" she cried. "I have been watching for you
fully an hour."
"I staid to help Professor Lawrence for one thing; then the girls
stopped me to talk with them. They want us to go to Edna's tomorrow
afternoon. Will you be well enough to go, Adele?"
"Oh, I'm all right now, Bee. Papa came home early with a box of
chocolates, and that seemed to be just what I needed."
Bee laughed.
"You butterfly," she said. "Always feeding on sweets. Did you leave me
any?"
"Well--" Adele Raymond hesitated. "Not many, and that's a fact, Bee. You
shouldn't have kept me waiting so long. And you haven't even noticed
that I have on a new hat."
"But I thought that yours had violets on it," remarked Bee as she
glanced at the hat. "That has red roses."
"Well, this one is yours, goosey. You're a funny girl, Bee, not to know
your own hat. I have been trying mine on, then I thought I'd wear yours
to meet you. And oh, Bee! the pictures have come too."
"What? Our photographs?" exclaimed Bee eagerly.
"Why Aunt Annie thought that we wouldn't have them for a week yet.
Where are they, Adele?"
"In the library. I never knew you to be so concerned about your picture
before, Bee."
"I am going to send one to father," observed Bee as she hurried into the
house. "It's come just in time to go out with the letter."
"But do come up stairs first, Bee, and see my new hat. Wouldn't you like
to see it?"
"I'd rather see the pictures," answered Bee making a dash for the
library, flinging her hat in one direction and her books in another as
she did so.
"Mamma won't like it if she sees your things lying about," observed her
cousin following her into the library.
"I'll pick them up just as soon as I see the photographs," said Bee
impatiently as she took up the pictures.
"Oh, Adele! how pretty you do look in yours; but mine--Oh, dear! it
certainly leaves much to be desired."
"Mamma said that your good looks lay in your expression," remarked her
cousin. "That is what makes it so hard to get a good picture of you,
Bee. You are not going to send it to Uncle William, are you?"
"Yes," answered Bee with determination. "I never would send one before
because I always hoped to get a good one, but tonight Sue Ford asked me
if I thought he would know me if he were to meet me unexpectedly, and I
am going to make sure of it. Now, if you don't mind, Adele, I'll begin
my letter at once."
"Oh, Bee. I have been so lonely and dull," pleaded Adele. "Must you
write it this very minute?"
"If I don't he won't hear from me at all this month, and father insists
on hearing once a month. It is such a little thing to do for him, and I
love to please him. It won't take me long."
"Of course then I must go away, and leave you alone," said her cousin
petulantly. "Mamma doesn't want me to bother you when you are writing to
him; but please don't be long, Bee."
"I won't," promised Bee, and at last she was left in peace.
An hour later Adele opened the door the merest trifle to peep in: "Mamma
wants you to come to her just as soon as you have finished Bee," she
said. "Are you through?"
"I have written the letter, but I haven't fixed the envelope for the
picture yet," answered Beatrice jumping up from the desk. "If you don't
mind doing it for me, Adele, I'll see what Aunt Annie wants."
"I don't mind a bit, Bee." Adele came into the room quickly. "Where is
the address?"
"Here!" Bee moved a slip of paper on the desk toward her. "He is to be
in Egypt this month."
"Just think of it," commented Adele bending over the desk. "That's a
long way off. Shall I put the picture in for you, Bee?"
But Bee had already left the room. Adele directed the envelope in her
best hand, then picked up her cousin's photograph, and looked at it
critically.
"Poor Bee!" she said aloud. "It isn't very good of her. I'd hate to have
my father think I looked like that if he was far away from me. And Bee
is much better looking. I suppose Uncle William won't mind though, as
she is his daughter. Now if it were my picture--"
She placed her own picture beside that of Bee's, and gazed at it
complacently. Suddenly she gave a little ripple of laughter:
"Wouldn't it be fun to send my picture instead of Bee's?" she exclaimed,
her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I believe I'll do it. Bee will never
know, and hers is really not good enough to send."
With this she slipped Bee's photograph into a drawer of the desk, placed
her own in the envelope, and sealed it just as Bee re-entered the room.
"You're a dear!" exclaimed Bee taking it from her, and picking up her
letter. "Aunt Annie wants me to go down town for her, and I'll be just
in time for the night mail."