“We should rather think not,” chorussed all the Butterflies.
“Look here,” said the Philosopher, picking up and exhibiting a large hairy Caterpillar of very unprepossessing appearance. “Look here, what do you call this?”
“An abnormal organisation,” said the scientific Butterfly.
“A nasty beast,” said the others.
“Heavens,” exclaimed the Philosopher, “the obtuseness and arrogance of these creatures! No, my poor friend,” continued he, addressing the Caterpillar, “disdain you as they may, and unpromising as your aspect certainly is at present, the time is at hand when you will prank it with the gayest of them all.”
“I cry your mercy,” rejoined the Caterpillar somewhat crossly, “but I was digesting a gooseberry leaf when you lifted me in that abrupt manner, and I did not quite follow your remarks. Did I understand you to mention my name in connection with those flutterers?”
“I said the time would arrive when you would be even as they.”
“I,” exclaimed the Caterpillar, “I retrograde to the level of a Butterfly! Is not the ideal of creation impersonated in me already?”
“I was not aware of that,” replied the Philosopher, “although,” he added in a conciliatory tone, “far be it from me to deny you the possession of many interesting qualities.”
“You probably refer to my agility,” suggested the Caterpillar; “or perhaps to my abstemiousness?”