, and began to
descend again as if lured downward by her own dainty reflection. Yet
she had not quite forgotten, for now she only came within six or seven
inches of the traitorous surface. Now her heavenly wings supported her
for a moment almost motionless.

In that moment a splendid shape, gleaming like a bolt of silver, shot a
clear foot into the air and fell back with a massive splash. The
turquoise butterfly was gone.

"Oh--h!" cried the Babe, almost with a sob in his voice. He loved the
blue butterflies as he loved no others of their brilliant and perishing
kindred.

"_Gee_!" exclaimed Uncle Andy. "But he's a _whale_!"

The Babe, in his surprise at this remarkable statement, forgot to mourn
for the fate of the blue butterfly.

"Why, Uncle Andy," he protested. "I didn't know whales could live here
in this little lake."

Uncle Andy made a despairing gesture. "Oh," he murmured wearily, "a
fellow has to be _so_ careful what he says to you! The next time I
make a metaphorical remark in your presence, I'll draw a diagram to go
with it!"

The Babe looked puzzled. He was on the point of asking what "a
metaphorical" was, and also "a diagram"; but he inferred that there
were no whales, after all, in Silverwater. He had misunderstood Uncle
Andy's apparently simple statement of fact. And he felt convicted of
foolishness. Anxious to reinstate himself in his uncle's approval by
an unexpected display of knowledge he waived "metaphorical" aside, let
"diagram" remain a mystery, and remarked disinterestedly:

"Well, I'm glad there ain't any _swordfish_ in Silverwater."

"Bless the child!" cried Uncle Andy. "Whatever has been putting
swordfish into your head?"

"Bill!" replied the Babe truthfully.

"And what do you know about swordfish, then?" proceeded his uncle.

The Babe was much flattered at the unusual favor of being allowed to
air his information.

"They're awful!" he explained. "They're as big as a canoe. And
they've got a sword as long as your leg, Uncle Andy, right in their
tail, so they can stab whales and porpoises with it, just carelessly,
without looking round, so as to make pretend it was an accident. And
they're quicker than greased lightning, Bill says. So you see, if
there was one here in the lake, we couldn't ever go in swimming."

Uncle Andy refrained from smiling. He puffed thoughtfully at his pipe
for half a minute, while the Babe waited for his verdict. At length he
said, be