Bee and Butterfly Part 34

"How came I here, and why do you carry me?"

"I am taking you home, Beatrice. You fainted. Do you not remember?"

"Oh, yes." The girl was silent for a moment, and then she asked, "did you go in the cabin?"

"I did, Beatrice. I went after you, but do not be alarmed. Dr. Black made me submit to vaccination. I have been exposed many times, and have no fear of the disease."

"You are sure, father?"

"Yes, my daughter."

Once more there was silence, but presently the girl's attention was attracted by his labored breathing.

"You must not carry me. I am too heavy," she cried slipping from his arms to the ground.

"Are you strong enough to walk, child? It is only the heat that makes me pant; not your weight."

"I am quite strong enough," answered Bee, but he still kept his arm about her, and so they proceeded homeward. Once more Beatrice broke the stillness, the darkness giving her courage.

"You were good to come to me tonight, father. I haven't deserved it.

Oh! you don't know how bad I have felt about losing that b.u.t.terfly."

"Never mind about it, Beatrice. I think we each have something to forgive the other. I have my confession to make also. I have judged you wrongly in many ways. There are many things that are becoming plain to me. I can only excuse myself by saying that I was more ignorant of the nature of a girl than even I knew. Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, father," cried Bee quickly, not quite comprehending his meaning but grasping the fact that they were to be friends.

"You are generous, Beatrice. But here we are at home. Go to your room, change your clothes and bring them to me as I wish to burn them. We are going to use every precaution against the spread of the disease, and while I am vaccinating the servants, you must go directly to bed. The afternoon has been a severe tax upon you."

"I am not a bit tired now," said Bee, who was happier than she had been for a long time.

"You do not realize the strain that you have been under, my daughter."

"Adele!" exclaimed Bee coming to a standstill. "Ought we to go in, father?"

"Adele is not here," answered he tersely. "She left for home as I went after you."

"I am glad of it," sighed Bee with relief. "Then there won't be the least doubt about her safety. Aren't you glad, too, father?"

"Yes;" replied William Raymond shortly, and there was that in his voice which kept the girl from saying anything more. It was long before she knew of the conversation between her father and her cousin.

"Good-night, my daughter," said Doctor Raymond with unwonted emotion, drawing her to him as she brought him the clothing as he desired, and prepared to withdraw to her own room. "I wonder if you realize what you have done today?"

"Yes;" answered Bee, looking up quickly, but her alarm subdued as she saw the light in his eyes. "I have done my level best to give every one in the house small pox; but, father, I'll--"

"There, child! go to bed and forget all about it. You are a n.o.ble little girl." Bending forward he kissed her tenderly.

Wondering and happy the girl retired, almost incredulous of the joy that had come to her.

Chapter XXV

The Door Is Opened

"b.u.t.terfly-haunted, the great purple asters Throng, gold-hearted, the edge of the road; Low to the gra.s.s the green boughs of the orchard Heavily droop with their ruddy-hued load."

--_Marian Warner Wildman._

Every precaution was used to prevent the small pox from obtaining a foothold in Walnut Grove, and so efficacious were the measures adopted by Doctor Raymond and the physician, Doctor Black, that the household escaped unscathed. Old Rachel died; and, as hers proved to be the sole case in the community, it could only be conjectured how she had taken the disease.

The solicitude manifested by the scientist for his daughter at this period established very tender relations between them. After the pangs and heart burnings of the summer it seemed like paradise to Bee. As it became apparent that the small pox was not to attack his household Doctor Raymond became once more absorbed in his labors, and remained such long hours in his study that Beatrice could not but wonder at it.

She was pondering the matter one morning as she went to the study door with her usual nosegay of flowers. She had not yet received permission to re-enter the room, and had been puzzled about getting the blossoms to him, but had solved the question by placing a small stand by the door, and setting the matutinal offering upon it. Upon this particular morning as she stood arranging the bouquet more to her liking the door opened, and her father appeared on the threshold.

"Bring in the flowers yourself, Beatrice," he said.

"May I?" cried Bee flus.h.i.+ng rosy red with pleasure. "Am I really to go in at last, father?"

"Yes, my daughter. Your place is waiting for you."

Gladly, yet almost timidly, Bee entered the study. It seemed a long, long time since she had been in it, yet in reality it was but a few weeks. With eyes that misted she glanced lovingly at the familiar objects: the books, the ma.n.u.scripts, her father's chair, and lastly at her own place at the table. Before it lay her pencil and note book.

"It has been waiting for you, Beatrice," said

Doctor Raymond with a smile noting her glance. "I have missed my little helper."

"Have you, father?" she asked shyly.

"Very much, my child. You kept yourself constantly in my mind by your flowers. I liked the attention. Your mother used to do that too. You are like her in many ways."

"Rachel told me that she did," said Bee. "That is the reason I did it.

That and because I liked to. Am I really to help you again, father?"

"Yes; although there is not much more to do. We are nearly at the end of the cataloguing. The larvae have all entered the pupa state, and--when the last of them come out, which will be in a few days, we have only to cla.s.sify and catalogue them which will end the work. I am boxing the collection ready for s.h.i.+pping to the University. Let us go see the new b.u.t.terflies, Beatrice, before we begin work. I have not been in the laboratory this morning."

Bee turned at once toward the laboratory, but as she reached the door she paused hesitatingly, a remembrance of the last time when she had lost the rare specimen clouding her pleasure.

"You have learned your lesson, Beatrice," spoke her father gently. "I feel sure that never again will you be guilty of carelessness. Let us think no more about it." He opened the door as he spoke, and they went in.

The caterpillars had disappeared. A few chrysalids depended from some twigs, and a number of b.u.t.terflies, like flowers reft from their stems, were flickering and pursuing each other in the suns.h.i.+ne which streamed through the windows. They settled, and Bee stole softly toward them and gently shook the thistles upon which they rested. The delicate creatures rose once more. Round and round they flew like great yellow and bronze and purple flowers, then softly, quietly settled again.

"How beautiful they are!" exclaimed Bee. "Is there another insect so pretty, I wonder?"

"Not to me," he replied. "Perhaps it is because of our interest in them that they appear so to us."

So it came about that Beatrice became her father's helper once more. Her studies were resumed, and the old delightful intimacy that had prevailed before the coming of Adele was renewed with a completer understanding of each other on the part of both father and daughter. The cataloguing progressed with rapidity. There came a day when Doctor Raymond laid down his ma.n.u.script with something approaching a sigh.