“It is great sport to chase butterflies,” said Chatty. “They are such stupid creatures, yet they are very pretty. Who ever heard of sleeping on a thistle?”
“I think it would be much more comfortable than to sleep in a hole in the ground,” replied Tiny. “Mother said that butterflies always seem to match the seasons.” Tiny, without knowing it, began to imitate his mother’s voice and her way of talking. He spoke more slowly than she did, however, for he was trying hard to remember all she had told him about the pretty things. “When the world is still brown and bleak and the spring sun is beginning to warm things into life, the brown and black butterflies come. Then, when the violets spread carpets over the vales and in the woodlands, the blue butterflies appear. In summer come the queenly swallow-tail butterflies, clad in red, copper, and burnished silver. Often one dressed in pure white may be seen, for white is very comfortable to wear in warm weather. It reflects the hot rays of the sun. In the autumn the yellow and orange butterflies are more numerous. They are the color of the goldenrod and the sunflowers and the brown-eyed Susans. The yellow butterflies like to sip the honey from the yellow flowers, but the white butterflies seem to prefer the white clover. They are the most beautiful of all insects. Their four wings are colored on both sides. When they rest, their wings stand straight up and do not fold.”
“Butterflies are very queer animals,” said Chatty ungraciously. He was vexed with butterflies, because he knew so little about them. “Why do they sleep with their wings held high above their heads? I should think they would get so sound asleep that they would forget to hold them up.”
“It is natural for them to hold up their wings,” laughed Tiny. “Do you forget to breathe when you are sound asleep?”
“Of course not,” retorted Chatty, “nor do I forget to eat when I am hungry. However, I cannot see why the butterfly sleeps in such a silly position.”
“Some of them slowly open and shut their wings all the time they are asleep,” explained Tiny. “I never knew another creature that sleeps so gracefully as the butterfly does. I would rather take a nap on a thistle in the sunshine than roll up in a fluffy ball and sleep in a dark hole in the ground. You must not criticise those whose customs are different from yours. Perhaps the butterfly is quite as much amused at you.”
“There she goes again!” cried Chatty, suddenly. “I wish I were a flying-squirrel, that I might catch her. Wait a moment until I frighten her again.”
Chatty began to chase the butterfly once more. He was accustomed to running without looking where he was going, so he did not see the danger that awaited him.
