With the Butterflies
"These be the pretty genis of the flowers,
Daintily fed with honey and pure dew."
—Hood.
The windows of the study were thrown wide to the breeze which came cool and fresh from the shrubberies laden with the odors of the garden. It was a cozy, old-fashioned room, plainly furnished, but with that most welcome adornment to lovers of letters—a multitude of books. A large, open fireplace, surmounted by a high mantel-piece, took up nearly the whole of one side of the room; before this was a writing table upon which were scattered books, pamphlets, letters, scraps of manuscript, blank paper, pens and inkstands; by no means primly arranged.
Three weeks had passed since Beatrice had taken her first walk with her father. That walk had been followed by others until now she accompanied him as a matter of course. Each day also she had gone to him for a time to study butterflies, and recently she had begun to help him catalogue his specimens. On this day father and daughter were in the study hard at work.
"There, child," remarked Doctor Raymond, laying aside his manuscript. "I think you have done enough for one day."
"I am not one bit tired," protested Bee eagerly. "I could work for hours yet."
"You are a delightful helper, Beatrice," commented he smilingly. "You are so willing and zealous; but for that very reason I must guard against your enthusiasm carrying you too far."
Beatrice flushed with gratification. It seemed to her that her father was really beginning to care for her. He had several times uttered words of commendation, and she knew that he was pleased with her application to study.
"If you wish you may go to the laboratory with me," continued her father. "There are several butterflies that should come out of their chrysalids today. You may be interested in seeing them. Then we will go for a walk."
"I should like to see them," cried Bee rising. "Are they rare specimens, father?"
"A few of them are. They are all European butterflies. The one specimen in all my collection that I prize the most highly is the pupa of the Teinopalpus imperialis—an Asiatic butterfly. It is found in the forests of Sikkin, and also in Central China, but is very rare. In fact, if this one of mine comes out all right it will be the only one of its kind in any collection. I have retarded the development of the chrysalis by cold until the present time. It is a magnificent butterfly, and I am anxiously waiting its coming out. Then there will be something to see, Beatrice. Still, while not so rare, these will be quite interesting, so we will go to see them."
The laboratory which joined the study was a large room with glass on two sides, fitted out with both a heating apparatus and a refrigerating process. Cabinets with glass-covered drawers filled with butterflies in all stages of development, from the egg to the perfect insect, lined one side of the apartment. Another side was fitted with shelves which were filled with drying ovens, breeding cages, field boxes, poison jars, setting boards, and all the paraphernalia of a naturalist. Twigs, branches of trees and leaves jutted out from artificial crevices on some of which innumerable caterpillars were feeding; on others the chrysalids had already formed, and hung awaiting the moment when they should be released from their sleep.
It was not a room that many girls would enjoy, but to Beatrice Raymond it was filled with charm. She was truly interested in the marvel of the evolution of the butterfly, and through that interest had overcome her natural repugnance to the caterpillar from which it came. Added to this was the growing delight in her father's society. It is doubtful if Doctor Raymond knew how much his daughter loved him, or if he returned her affection in like degree. He was much absorbed in his work, and had been without her for so many years that it was hardly to be expected that among so many interests she would be first. He did, however, delight in the girl's quick comprehension and her devotion to study. Then, too, Beatrice saw that he turned to her more and more for help in his work, and that he seemed to enjoy talking to her of his plans, and she was content, believing truly that all this would lead to a deep and abiding affection.
As they entered the laboratory several butterflies rose from some twigs, circled about the room and settled upon the portion of glass where the sun shone brightest.
"What children of the sun they are!" exclaimed the scientist, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.
"Oh, father," cried Bee. "Here is a drop of blood. Could one of the pretty things have hurt itself?"
"No, child; some lepidopterous insects always leave a drop of red fluid when emerging from the pupa state. This is especially true of the Vanessa urtica. Have you ever read of red rain, or the showers of blood of antiquity?"
"Yes;" answered Beatrice, eager to show her knowledge. "Professor Lawrence told us about it. He read some lines from Ovid, too. Let me see. I know:
"'With threatening signs the lowering skies were filled
And sanguine drops from murky clouds distilled.'
"He said that Ovid referred to the shower of blood."
"Here you have the explanation of that phenomenon, Beatrice. It used to be regarded as a prodigy that portended all sorts of evil, and whenever it occurred people were alarmed, and referred all disasters to its coming. It remained for the French philosopher, Peiresc, to give the first satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon.
"In July, 1608, an extensive shower of blood took place at Aix in France, which threw the people of that city into the utmost consternation. Great drops of blood were plainly to be seen in the city itself, upon the walls of the church yard, upon the city walls, and also upon the walls of villages and hamlets for several miles around. Naturalists said that this kind of rain was due to vapor drawn up out of red earth which congealing, fell afterward in this form. This explanation did not suit Peiresc, because he knew that such as are drawn aloft by heat ascend without color; as for example—red roses, the vapors of which are congealed into transparent water.
"In the meanwhile an accident happened that showed him the true cause of the occurrence. Six months before he had shut up in a box a certain worm, called palmer, which was nothing but a hairy caterpillar given the name of palmer because it wandered everywhere. This one was unusually large and of rare form. He had forgotten it, but one day, hearing a buzzing in the box, he opened it, and found the worm turned into a beautiful butterfly which presently flew away, leaving in the bottom of the box a large, red drop. At the same time of the month that this occurred an incredible number of butterflies were observed flying in the air. He was therefore of the opinion that such kind of butterflies resting upon the walls had there shed such drops of the same size and bigness. Upon investigation he found that these drops were not found upon housetops, nor upon round sides of stones which stuck out as would have been the case if blood had fallen from the sky, but rather where the stones were somewhat hollowed, and in holes where such small creatures might shroud and nestle themselves. Moreover, the walls which were spotted were not in the middle of towns, but such as bordered upon the fields. Nor were they upon the highest places, but only upon those of such moderate height as butterflies are wont to fly.
"After this whenever an event of this nature occurred scientists would find that it always happened when the Vanessa urtica, or the Vanessa polychloros species of butterfly were uncommonly plentiful in that particular district where the phenomenon was observed."
"Why, how strange that is, father."
"Yes, it is rather remarkable; but many of the so-called prodigies of ancient times are explainable through natural causes. In France, during the thirteenth century, one of these rains occurred, and the people, believing that evil could be averted in no other way, slew ten thousand hapless Jews."
"And all because of a little butterfly," observed Bee musingly.
"Yes; all because of a little insect that Moore calls 'winged flowers,' or 'flying gems.'"
"How pretty!" cried Bee. "And they are like flowers, aren't they?"
"Well, they are certainly like them in that each kind has its own season for appearing in perfect bloom; and thus they decorate the landscape. Now let us go for our walk. When I return I must chloroform these specimens. They are rather fine."
"Do let the lovely things go until tomorrow," pleaded the girl. "Surely, they should have a little while of life."
"There speaks the woman, Beatrice. That is the reason that there are so few naturalists among the sex. Yet I would not have it otherwise. Yes; they may have life until tomorrow since you wish it. Theirs is but a brief span at best. Come, get your hat, my daughter! You have been in the house too long today."