Bee and Butterfly Part 23

I won't wear the hat, if you don't want me to; but I think you might let me. You are getting awfully selfish."

Bee turned from her quickly and looked out of the window. Was she selfish? It was true that formerly she had not minded letting Adele wear her things. Why should she care now? A remembrance of Mrs. Medulla's words came to her: "A winsome and lovable personality is worth all the beauty in the world." After all, why should she permit a mere hat to upset her temper, and spoil her afternoon?

"You may wear it, Adele," she said. "It does become you."

"You're a dear!" Adele ran to the gla.s.s to pin on the hat securely.

"What does a clever thing like you care about what you wear? You have a mind above clothes."

"Yes; I dare say," remarked Bee abstractedly. "Are you ready to go down now?"

Doctor Raymond was waiting for them, and they set forth. The air under the great trees that bordered the road was balmy. The hot July sun brought out the cool sweet smell of the leaves. Gleams of fire fell through the boughs and dappled the soil at intervals. On these sunflakes numerous fritillary b.u.t.terflies with silver under wings were fluttering, and countless flies were humming. Presently Adele darted aside with an exclamation.

"It's a dead b.u.t.terfly," she cried, holding the insect up to view. "It was sitting so still on the thistle that I thought it was asleep. And the poor little thing was dead all the time."

"It's shamming," said Doctor Raymond with a laugh. "That is one of the tricks of The Painted Beauty. If we leave it alone for a few seconds we shall find that it will come to life again."

He took the creature from her and laid it gently on the gra.s.s. They waited, watching it curiously. All at once the apparently lifeless b.u.t.terfly began a slight vibration of its wings. Suddenly it rose and was gone; as strong and free as ever.

Adele clapped her hands in delight, and Bee smiled. She was acquainted with the b.u.t.terfly, and had seen the trick before.

"I never saw anything so cunning in all my life," cried Adele. "Are all b.u.t.terflies as cute, Uncle William?"

"Not all; but the most of them have marvelous life histories. Come, girls! we must not loiter. We have two calls to make, you know."

Chapter XVII

The Two Calls

"A thousand flowers, By the road-side and the borders of the brook, Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew Were on them yet, and silver waters break Into small waves and sparkle as he comes."

--_Summer Wind. Bryant._

"Thanky, honies, yer moughty good ter an ole worman. Thanky kindly." Old Rachel beamed upon the two girls from the depths of a rocker, her black face s.h.i.+ning with delight at sight of all the good things they had brought.

"Have you been sick long, Aunt Rachel?" asked Bee, putting jelly, chicken, and other delicacies upon the only table the cabin afforded.

"Bress ye, chile! I ain't what yer call sick. Jest a-ailin' like. Dat's all. I went ter my son's in Possum Holler fer a spell, an' I ain't been right peart sence. But I'll be as spry as eber purty soon."

"Well, we will look after you until you are," spoke the girl gently.

"Yes, honey. I'll 'pend on you all ter look aftha me. I was moughty good ter yer ma. She'd 'prove of yer lookin' aftah ole Rachel. 'Deed she would." The old woman kept her eyes fixed on Adele as she talked. "Is yer a fairy, er an angel, honey?" she asked.

"Neither," Adele laughed gaily. "I am just a common, everyday girl, Aunt Rachel."

"No, honey. 'Scuse me. No common ebbery day ga lain't a-gwinge ter look like yer. Does dey, Miss Bee?"

"No, indeed," answered Beatrice. "Now Aunt Rachel, I'll bring or send you something every day, and father said to tell you that he was going to have the doctor look in on you."

"Now ain't dat jest like yer pa? He don't fergit dat I was wid Mis'

Raymond in her las' sickness. Tell him I'm much obleeged ter him. He was moughty fond ob yer ma; yer pa was, an' she was ob him too. Put a flower ebbery day on his table when he'd go in ter study."

"Why, Aunt Rachel, you never told me that before," cried Bee.

"Didn't I? I fergit things, Miss Bee. She did dough. Yas'm. Sometime hit 'ud be a rose, sometime a pansy; but allers a posy ob some kind 'ud go on dat man's table ebbery mo'nin'. You k.u.mmin' ebbery day, Miss Bee?"

"Yes, Aunt Rachel."

"Den you k.u.m too, honey." The negress appealed to Adele. "Lawsie, chile, yer jest a sight for soah eyes. You am suah. Hit does me good jest ter look at yer. You am de Lily ob de Valley, an' de Rose ob Sharon. You suah am."

"Yes, yes, I'll come." Adele received this homage with laughing protest, but she was none the less pleased because it was homely.

"Hit suahly will do me moah good dan de vittles," went on the negress.

"An' I ain't a-sayin' nuffin agin good eatin' eider."

"I'll come," promised Adele again. "I'll come every day."

"Bress yer heart, chile. Thanky, Miss Bee."

"Good-bye until tomorrow," said Beatrice kindly. "Be careful of yourself, and if you need anything send to the house for it. We will come to see how you are tomorrow."

"I won't need nuffin elsen but a sight ob dat bressed angel," declared old Rachel as the girls bade her good-bye, and left the cabin.

Through the woods they went to the road where they found Doctor Raymond waiting for them, and they started for the visit to Mrs. Medulla.

"How is old Rachel?" he asked.

"I did not think her very ill," remarked Adele. "Did you, Bee?"

"She said that she was just ailing," replied

Bee, "and that she would be all right in a few days. I thought she was a little feverish. She took quite a fancy to Adele."

"I can well believe it," answered Doctor Raymond heartily. Each time he saw the girl she seemed more lovely. Today in her white dress with Bee's white lace hat upon her head, and her eyes velvety as the heart of a purple pansy she looked the angel Aunt Rachel had called her.

"I wonder," thought Bee as they entered the gate of the Brawley place where the Medullas lived, "I wonder if Percival and his mother will be as much taken with Adele as every one else is?"

"Your daughter and I are friends already, Doctor Raymond," said Mrs.

Medulla, drawing Bee to her as she greeted them graciously.

"I am glad to hear it," observed the scientist courteously. "My daughter is so unfortunate as to be obliged to devote a great part of her time to me, and I have been away from civilization so long that I am scarcely the companion for her. The influence of a woman of culture cannot fail to be of great benefit to her."

"Thank you," replied the lady quietly. "And is this the cousin of whom you have spoken, Beatrice?"

"Yes;" answered Bee, watching her intently to see if she too had fallen a victim to Adele's beauty. The lady smiled at the girl's fixed gaze, cognizant of what was pa.s.sing in her mind. She was too well bred to betray the astonishment she felt at Adele's wondrous loveliness, and she was filled with a great commiseration for Beatrice.