They had passed through Eastry, a village four miles from Deal,
when Frank exclaimed, "There is a green hairstreak. The first I've
seen this year. I have never caught one before."

Cautiously approaching the butterfly, who was sunning himself on
the top of a thistle, Frank prepared to strike, when it suddenly
mounted and flitted over a hedge. In a moment the boys had scrambled
through the gap and were in full pursuit. The butterfly flitted
here and there, sometimes allowing the boys to approach within
a few feet and then flitting away again for fifty yards without
stopping. Heedless where they were going, the boys pursued, till
they were startled by a sudden shout close to them.

"You young rascals, how dare you run over my wheat?"

The boys stopped, and Frank saw what, in his excitement, he had
not hitherto heeded, that he was now running in a field of wheat,
which reached to his knee.

"I am very sorry, sir," he said. "I was so excited than I really
did not see where I was going."

"Not see!" shouted the angry farmer. "You young rascal, I'll break
every bone in your body," and he flourished a heavy stick as he
spoke.

Charlie Goodall began to cry.

"I have no right to trespass on your wheat, sir," Frank said firmly;
"but you have no right to strike us. My name is Frank Hargate.