"Aunt Susan listened to our talk a while and then repeated a text of
Scripture:--

"'Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his
glorious body?'"

"While we talked the butterfly grew stronger and more beautiful, until
at last, spreading his wings to their widest extent, he darted high into
the air and we lost him. But from the day I took the green worm from the
fennel-bush in Aunt Susan's garden I date my introduction to a
delightful study which I have followed all my life as I have found
opportunity. So you see it is no wonder I am fond of the swallow-tailed
butterfly; and I have another reason, for once on a time I tamed one so
that it sucked honey from my finger."

"Auntie, you are joking!"

"Indeed, no. It was a poor little waif which, mistaking chimney heat for
warm spring weather, hatched himself out of season, and whose life I
prolonged by providing him with food."

"The dear little thing! Tell us about it, please."

"Well, I had put away some chrysalids for the winter in a closet in my
sleeping-room, and one day my nurse--I was ill at the time--heard a
rustling in the box where they lay and brought it to me for
investigation; and, behold! when I opened it there was a full-grown
swallow-tail, who, waking too soon from his winter's nap, left the soft
bed of cotton where his companions lay sleeping side by side and, wide