Aunt Susan, who lived in the old homestead some miles out of town.

"One night after tea she sent us into the garden to gather some sprigs
of fennel for her to take to prayer-meeting--all the old ladies in
Vernon took dill or fennel to evening meeting. I had just put my hand to
the fennel-bush when I drew it back with a scream.

"'What's the matter?' said Charlie.

"'A great, horrid green worm,' said I. 'I almost touched it!'

"'Here, let me smash him!' said Charlie; 'where is he?'

"'Oh, don't touch him!' I cried; 'he might bite you. Oh, dear, I hate
worms! I wonder what they were made for!'

"'That kind was made to turn into butterflies,' said Tim Rhodes.

"Tim was working Aunt Susan's garden on shares that summer, and had
heard all we said, for he was weeding the onion-bed close by.

"'What, that fellow!' said Charlie; 'will he turn into a butterfly?' and
we both of us looked at the caterpillar. He was about as long and as
thick as my little finger, of a bright leafy green, with black-velvet
rings dotted with orange at even distances along his body. He lay at
full length on a fennel-stalk, and seemed to be asleep; but when Charlie
touched him with a little stick, instantly there shot out of his head a
pair of orange-colored horns, and the air was full of the pungent odor
of fennel.