“What a time the lark has been gone!” she cried at last. “I wonder where he is just now. He must have flown higher than usual this time. How I should like to know where he goes, and what he hears in that curious blue sky! He always sings going up and coming down, but he never lets any secret out.”
And the green caterpillar took another turn round the butterfly's eggs.
At last the lark's voice began to be heard again. The caterpillar almost jumped for joy, and it was not long before she saw her friend descend with hushed note to the cabbage bed.
“News, news, glorious news, friend caterpillar!” sang the lark, “but the worst of it is, you won't believe me!”
“I believe anything I am told,” said the caterpillar hastily.
“Well, then, first of all, I will tell you what those little creatures are to eat”—and the lark nodded his head toward the eggs. “What do you think it is to be? Guess!”
“Dew and honey out of the flowers, I am afraid!” sighed the caterpillar.
“No such thing, my good friend,” cried the lark exultantly; “you are to feed them with cabbage-leaves!”
“Never!” said the caterpillar indignantly.
“It was their mother's last request that I should feed them on dew and honey.”