“Wretched bird,” exclaimed the caterpillar, “you are making fun of me. You are now cruel as well as foolish! Go away! I will ask your advice no more.”
“I told you you would not believe me,” cried the lark.
“I believe everything I am told,” persisted the caterpillar,—“everything that it is REASONABLE to believe. But to tell me that butterflies' eggs are caterpillars, and that caterpillars leave off crawling and get wings and become butterflies!—Lark! you do not believe such nonsense yourself! You know it is impossible!”
“I know no such thing,” said the lark. “When I hover over the cornfields, or go up into the depths of the sky, I see so many wonderful things that I know there must be more. O caterpillar! it is because you CRAWL, and never get beyond your cabbage-leaf, that you call anything IMPOSSIBLE.”
“Nonsense,” shouted the caterpillar, “I know what's possible and what's impossible. Look at my long, green body, and many legs, and then talk to me about having wings! Fool!”
“More foolish you!” cried the indignant lark, “to attempt to reason about what you cannot understand. Do you not hear how my song swells with rejoicing as I soar upwards to the mysterious wonder-world above? Oh, caterpillar, what comes from thence, receive as I do,—on trust.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked the caterpillar.
“ON FAITH,” answered the lark.
“How am I to learn faith?” asked the caterpillar.
At that moment she felt something at her side. She looked round,—eight or ten little green caterpillars were moving about, and had already made a hole in the cabbage-leaf. They had broken from the butterfly's eggs!