eplied the Stone. "When _your_ back aches, it's
only a part of you. But when _my_ back aches, it's all of me except the
middle."

"The middle ache is the worst of all," said Twinkle, solemnly. "Well, if
you don't want to go," she added, jumping up, "I'll say good-bye."

"Anything to be sociable," said the Stone, sighing deeply. "I'll go
along and keep you company. But it's lots easier to roll down than it is
to roll up, I assure you!"

"Why, you're a reg'lar grumbler!" exclaimed Twinkle.

"That's because I lead a hard life," returned the Stone, dismally. "But
don't let us quarrel; it is so seldom I get a chance to talk with one of
my own standing in society."

"You can't have any standing, without feet," declared Twinkle, shaking
her head at the Stone.

"One can have _under_standing, at least," was the answer; "and
understanding is the best standing any person can have."

"Perhaps that is true," said the child, thoughtfully; "but I'm glad I
have legs, just the same."

Chapter III
Some Queer Acquaintances

"WAIT a minute!" implored a small voice, and the girl noticed a yellow
butterfly that had just settled down upon the stone. "Aren't you the
child from the farm?"

"To be sure," she answered, much amused to hear the butterfly speak.

"Then can you tell me if your mother expects to churn to-day," said the
pretty creature, slowly folding and unfolding its dainty wings.

"Why do you want to know?"

"If she churns to-day, I'll fly over to the house and try to steal some
butter. But if your mother isn't going to churn, I'll fly down into the
gulch and rob a bees' nest I know of."

"Why do you rob and steal?" inquired Twinkle.

"It's the only way I can get my living," said the butterfly. "Nobody
ever gives me anything, and so I have to take what I want."

"Do you like butter?"

"Of course I do! That's why we are called butterflies, you know. I
prefer butter to anything else, and I have heard that in some countries
the children always leave a little dish of butter on the window-sill, so
that we may help ourselves whenever we are hungry. I wish I had been
born in such a country."

"Mother won't churn until Saturday," said Twinkle. "I know, 'cause I've
got to help her, and I just hate butter-making!"

"Then I won't go to the farm to-day," replied the butterfly. "Good-bye,
little girl. If you think of it, leave a dish of butter around where I
can get at it."

"All right," said Twinkle, and the butte