"You may wear it, Adele," she said. "It does become you."
"You're a dear!" Adele ran to the glass to pin on the hat securely. "What does a clever thing like you care about what you wear? You have a mind above clothes."
"Yes; I dare say," remarked Bee abstractedly. "Are you ready to go down now?"
Doctor Raymond was waiting for them, and they set forth. The air under the great trees that bordered the road was balmy. The hot July sun brought out the cool sweet smell of the leaves. Gleams of fire fell through the boughs and dappled the soil at intervals. On these sunflakes numerous fritillary butterflies with silver under wings were fluttering, and countless flies were humming. Presently Adele darted aside with an exclamation.
"It's a dead butterfly," she cried, holding the insect up to view. "It was sitting so still on the thistle that I thought it was asleep. And the poor little thing was dead all the time."
"It's shamming," said Doctor Raymond with a laugh. "That is one of the tricks of The Painted Beauty. If we leave it alone for a few seconds we shall find that it will come to life again."
He took the creature from her and laid it gently on the grass. They waited, watching it curiously. All at once the apparently lifeless butterfly began a slight vibration of its wings. Suddenly it rose and was gone; as strong and free as ever.
Adele clapped her hands in delight, and Bee smiled. She was acquainted with the butterfly, and had seen the trick before.
"I never saw anything so cunning in all my life," cried Adele. "Are all butterflies as cute, Uncle William?"
"Not all; but the most of them have marvelous life histories. Come, girls! we must not loiter. We have two calls to make, you know."