the garden; and, as she thought of her children, she said to a caterpillar that was crawling upon the leaf, ‘I am going to die. I feel my strength fast failing, and I want you to take care of my little ones.’
“The caterpillar promised, and the butterfly folded her wings and breathed her last.
“Then the caterpillar did not know what to do. She wanted some instruction with regard to her charge: so she thought she would ask a lark, that went soaring up into the blue sky. At first the lark was silent, and plumed his wings and went up—up—up, as if to gather wisdom for his answer; and then he came, singing, down and said,—
“‘I’ll tell you something about your charge; but you won’t believe me. These young butterflies that you look for will become caterpillars.’
“‘Poh! poh!’ said the old caterpillar. ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’
“‘No; I told you you wouldn’t. And what do you suppose they will live upon?’ said the lark.
“‘Why, the dew and the sweet honey from the flowers, to be sure,’ replied the caterpillar. ‘That is what all butterflies live on.’
“‘They won’t, indeed,’ said the lark. ‘They will eat cabbage-leaves.’ And he went soaring away again into the clear heavens.
“Presently, back he came and said to the caterpillar,—
“‘I’ll tell you something stranger still about yourself. You’ll be a beautiful butterfly.’