“Their mother knew nothing about the matter,” answered the lark; “but why do you ask me, and then disbelieve what I say? You have neither faith nor trust.”
“Oh, I believe everything I am told,” said the caterpillar.
“Nay, but you do not,” replied the lark.
“Why, caterpillar, what do you think those little eggs will turn out to be?”
“Butterflies, to be sure,” said the caterpillar.
“CATERPILLARS!” sang the lark; “and you'll find it out in time.” And the lark flew away.
“I thought the lark was wise and kind,” said the mild, green caterpillar to herself, once more beginning to walk round the eggs, “but I find that he is foolish and saucy instead. Perhaps he went up TOO high this time. How I wonder what he sees, and what he does up yonder!”
“I would tell you if you would believe me,” sang the lark, descending once more.
“I believe everything I am told,” answered the caterpillar.
“Then I'll tell you something else,” cried the lark. “YOU WILL ONE DAY BE A BUTTERFLY YOURSELF!”