“WHAT a splendid butterfly! Oh, Elsie, I really must catch it. It is a prize not to be had every day, I can tell you." And, cap in hand, Arnold Wood set off running towards the rose-bush on which a fine large butterfly had just alighted, when a hand was laid on his shoulder and a gentle voice pleaded, "Please don't catch the pretty butterfly, Arnold; you don't really want it, why not let it enjoy its short life?”
Arnold did not try to free himself from the hand of his sister; but only said in a half-vexed tone, as he saw the butterfly flutter off to a honeysuckle in a neighbor's garden, "I never saw such a girl as you are, Elsie; a month ago you made me promise I would not take birds' nests, and now I must not catch even a butterfly.”
Elsie smiled and said, "Did you ever hear of a butterfly telling its own story?”
“Now, Elsie, you are only laughing at me. How could a butterfly speak, or anybody understand even if it could? But as you are so fond of reading natural history, I have no doubt you know all about it. Now as I gave up my chance of making it a prisoner to please you, I think it is only fair you should tell me all about it. But as it is holiday time and I am not inclined for lessons, you are to tell the story just as if you were a butterfly.”
Story of a Butterfly, Supposed to Be Told by Itself
The first thing I can remember about myself is being a very tiny caterpillar, so small indeed that your eyes, Master Arnold, quick and bright as they are, might very easily have overlooked me. I had a great many brothers and sisters; each of us had just crept out from an egg not larger than a grain of sand, which the butterfly who was our mother, had gummed with great care on the under side of the leaves of a very fine nettle.
We were all very hungry, so tasted one of the leaves and finding it good to eat soon made a hearty meal.
Mothers and nurses, I am told, say that babies grow fast, and if they mean caterpillar babies I am sure the remark is a true one, for I throve so fast that in a few days my skin was too small for me. Rather uncomfortable you may be sure, but one day I had no appetite for my dinner, all I cared for was to be quiet, and after resting for some time I found I was able to slip my body out of my skin.
I soon felt quite well again, and began to eat faster than before, as if to make up for lost time; in about a week I again required a change of skin, so made myself as comfortable as I could on the under side of a leaf and waited for my new coat—only in a short time to be cast off like my old one. Five times the change of which I have told you took place, and as my appetite increased with my size, I was soon a very fine caterpillar and quite ready to pass into what is called the pupa or chrysalis state.
I now found out that I was able to spin, not a web like the spider's, but a silken thread strong enough to bear the weight of my body, and with this I made myself fast, head downwards, to a twig not far from the nettle bed that had been my nursery.
I don't think I was at all pretty to look at, for my skin was all dried up and soon began to crack. Getting out of it was very hard work, I can assure you, but I took "Try, try again" for my motto, and at last I was free from the now useless skin. My old stomach was gone too, I had no longer any desire to feed on nettles; I was now a winged creature, but my wings were too small and weak to be of any use to me, and while I wondered what was going to happen next, a sticky fluid that covered my whole body became dry and hard enough to form a kind of case or shell, and I fell asleep.
How long the sleep lasted I really cannot tell you, but when I awoke the sun was shining brightly. I burst the walls of my prison and came forth as you see a gorgeous butterfly, my wings covered with a great number of tiny feathers. They carry me lightly from flower to flower. My tongue is long and, being formed something like a corkscrew, is just suited for dipping in search of the honey that is now my food. I do not lay up a store for winter use, like the industrious bees. But as few of my race will survive the first frosts, I do not expect to need any. Now my story is told; but before I say Good-bye, let me remind you that you, little boy, have a soul that will live forever, and you have a Book too, the Holy Bible, in which you are told how by faith in the Lord Jesus, you may receive a new and everlasting life.