of
her pretty head. "I'm not learned in insects, doctor,--call him
anything that eats up butter-flies."

"Mr. Stoutenburgh will--you be a grub?" said the doctor. "Or a beetle?
I don't know anything else that I--as a butterfly--dislike more."

"No, I'll be a cricket--I'm so spry," said the Squire,--"and I'll be
down upon _you_ in some other form, doctor."

"You'll have to fly higher first," said the doctor. "Miss Essie
declares herself to be a purple Althaea. Miss Davids--an evening
primrose. Miss Deacon--a cluster rose. Miss Fax--a sweet pink. Miss
Chester--a daisy. Miss Bezac--what shall I put you down?" The butterfly
was making a list of his flowers and insects, and cards had been
furnished to the different members of the party, and pencils, to do as
much for themselves.

"I'd as lieve be balm as anything else, if I knew how," said Miss
Bezac; "but I shouldn't call _that_ putting me down."

"That fits, anyhow," said Squire Stoutenburgh.

"'Balm for hurt minds'"--said Dr. Harrison writing. "Miss Julia De
Staff is a white lily. Miss Emmons--a morning glory. Mrs. Churchill a
peony. Miss Derrick is mignonette. Mrs. Somers--?"

"I may as well be lavender," said Mrs. Somers. "You say I am in a good
state of preservation."

"What is Mr. Somers?"

"Mr. Somers--what are you?" said his wife.

"Ha!--I don't know, my dear," said Mr. Somers blandly. "I think I
am--a--out of place."

"Then you're a moth," said the doctor. "That is out of place too, in
most people's opinion. Miss Delaney, I beg your pardon--what are you?"

"Here are the two Miss Churchills, doctor," said Miss Essie--"hyacinth
and laburnum."

"I am sure you have been sponsor, Miss Essie. Well this is my garden of
flowers. Then of fellow insects I have a somewhat confused variety. Mr.
Stoutenburgh sings round his hearth in the shape of a black cricket.
Mr. Linden passes unnoticed in the invisibility of a midge--nothing
more dangerous. Mr. Somers does all the mischief he can in the way of
devouring widows' houses. The two Messrs. De Staff" (two very spruce
and moustachioed young gentlemen) "figure as wasp and snail--one would
hardly think they belonged to the same family--but there is no
accounting for these things. Mr. George Somers professes to have the
taste of a bee--but luckily the garden belongs to the butterfly."

"In other words, some one has put Dr. Harrison in a flutter," said Mrs.
Stoutenburgh.

"I haven't begun yet," said the doctor whee