They set out upon the walk. Louisa runs hither and thither over the grass,
returning continually to her mother to bring her flowers and curiosities.
Her mother looks at them all, seems to approve of, and to sympathize in,
Louisa's wonder and delight, and even points out new charms in the objects
which she brings to her, that Louisa had not observed.

At length Louisa spied a butterfly.

"Mother," said she, "here's a butterfly. May I run and catch him?"

"You may try," said her mother.

Louisa ran till she was tired, and then came back to her mother, looking a
little disappointed.

"I could not catch him, mother."

"Never mind," said her mother, "you had a good time trying, at any rate.
Perhaps you will see another by-and-by. You may possibly see a bird, and
you can try and see if you can catch _him_."

So Louisa ran off to play again, satisfied and happy.

A little farther on a pretty tree was growing, not far from the path on one
side. A short, half-decayed log lay at the foot of the tree, overtopped and
nearly concealed by a growth of raspberry-bushes, grass, and wild flowers.

"Louisa," said the mother, "do you see that tree with the pretty flowers at
the foot of it?"