"Look!" he said. "The butterfly is not dead, though I question if it lives long. The life of the longest lived is but short at best. Get some honey and water, and let us see if we can revive it."
Bee brought the honey and water and watched closely as her father took a long, slender needle and carefully unwound the proboscis of the insect inserting it in the honey mixture. At first the little creature scarcely knew what to make of the proceeding, but soon it began to suck the fluid eagerly. Then it rose from his hand and flew about the room, returning almost immediately to the saucer of sweets.
"Will it live?" asked Bee much interested.
"I hardly think so. I have known of a few cases where their lives were prolonged beyond the natural limit by artificial means, but it does not happen often. I fear this one is too far gone. If not, you will have a butterfly pet."
But alas! even as he spoke the butterfly gave a convulsive quiver and lay still.
"It's gone," said the naturalist, lifting it carefully.
"You can keep it for your collection, can't you, father?"
"Yes; I will keep it, Beatrice. Of course I can not say positively that it is the very same Teinopalpus Imperialis that I hatched from the egg myself, but I believe that it is the one. For, how should such a choice specimen exist here when it is so rarely found in its native haunts? Could it be possible—"
He paused, thoughtfully gazing at the dead butterfly. He roused himself presently and turned toward her.
"I am glad that you returned as you did, my daughter. Joel brought the mail, and there are matters to be discussed between us."