“I shall stay,” said Paula gravely, “until some day the big golden butterfly comes and takes me away, too.”
“How would you live?” he asked curiously.
“As I have always lived. We have the traps father and I made. I could make others. I know how to catch fish. I know many plants with leaves and roots good to eat when you cook them in water.”
“But what would you do all the time?”
“Why,” said Paula simply, “I would wait.”
“Wait?”
“Yes. For the big butterfly.”
Then Sheldon set himself manfully to his task. He sought to reawaken the interest which she had shown when he spoke of the world outside; he spoke of the thousand things she could see and do; he told her of other men and women; of how they dressed, of how they spent their lives, of their aims and ambitions, of their numerous joys; of aeroplanes and submarines; of telephones and talking machines; of music and theaters and churches. But Paula only shook her head, saying quietly:
“I shall stay here.”
“And never see any children?” asked Sheldon. “Little babies like Bill and Bet; little roly-poly rascals with dirty faces and bright eyes and fat, chubby hands? You’ll miss all that?”