dead creature; let's begin with this, and throw it away"; and as she
spoke she carried the box towards a window.

"What are you doing, aunty?" cried the boy. "That is my very best
chrysalis; it will turn into a beautiful moth by and by; one of the
finest of our butterflies, with wonderful marks on its wings."

"What nonsense!" said his aunt. "This little creature is utterly dead;
don't you see it is stiff and motionless."

"Don't you know about caterpillars, aunty dear?" exclaimed the boy,
holding fast to his box. "I'll tell you about it. This is a chrysalis;
and it seems entirely dead, but it's only the outside that is dead.
Inside, where we cannot see it, lies something that is alive; and by and
by, when the time comes, this shell will be cast off, for there will be
no farther use for it, and out will fly a new lovely creature with
exquisite wings."

"But, Fred, I don't understand how that can be possible! How can a poor
worm, that only crawls about all its life, die, and then suddenly turn
into a beautiful new creature with wings, and fly away leaving its old
body behind? Do you understand it, Fred?"

"No, I don't understand it, but I know it's so."

"Well, my dear boy," said his aunt, seriously, "what if there was
something hidden within little Nora, which was alive too, and which,
leaving the poor dead shell behind, has flown on shining wings away to
distant heights, where it is entering on a new and happy life!"