"Oh, dear! then I s'pose it is." He came out of his covert, and on a sudden impulse added, hurriedly: "Aunt Valeria, do you care about your camphor-bottle?"
"Care about it?"
"Yes; do you mind if there's fireflies in it instead of camphor?"
He held it up, and the captives lit their pale lamps and fluttered despairingly.
"Oh, my dear! they'll die."
"No; they like it. It's such a beautiful bottle."
"But you've got the glass stopper in; they can't breathe."
In spite of his entreating, she took out the stopper, and put the end of her lace scarf over the opening.
"You won't take it away from me?"