"'It smells like prayer-meeting,' said Charlie, and ran off to play; but
I wanted further information.

"'Mr. Rhodes,' said I, 'how do you know this kind of worm makes
butterflies?'

"'Because I've seen 'em do it, child. If you should put that fellow now
in a box with some holes in the top, so as he could breathe, and give
him plenty of fresh fennel to eat, in a week (or less time if he's full
grown) he'll wind himself up, and after a spell he'll hatch out a
butterfly--a pretty one, too, I tell you,'

"'I mean to try it,' I said; and I ran to the house and Aunt Susan gave
me an old ribbon-box, and Mr. Rhodes punched a few holes in the cover
with his pocket-knife; and after a little hesitation I picked the
fennel-stalk with the worm on it, and laid it carefully in the box,
making sure that the cover was tight. The box was then taken to the
house and deposited on a bench in the porch, for Aunt Susan objected to
entertaining this new boarder indoors.

"I gave my worm his breakfast the next morning before I had my own, and,
forgetting my aversion, sat by the open box and watched him eat, as his
strong jaws made clean work with leaf and stem.

"'He isn't so ugly, after all, Charlie,' I said; 'he is almost handsome
for a worm, with all those bright colors on him,'

"Then Charlie caught a little of my enthusiasm, and said _he_ meant to
keep a worm too. So he searched the fennel-bush and found three, and
tumbled them unceremoniously into the box.