lled with drying ovens, breeding cages, field boxes, poison jars,
setting boards, and all the paraphernalia of a naturalist. Twigs,
branches of trees and leaves jutted out from artificial crevices on
some of which innumerable caterpillars were feeding; on others the
chrysalids had already formed, and hung awaiting the moment when they
should be released from their sleep.

It was not a room that many girls would enjoy, but to Beatrice Raymond
it was filled with charm. She was truly interested in the marvel of the
evolution of the butterfly, and through that interest had overcome her
natural repugnance to the caterpillar from which it came. Added to this
was the growing delight in her father's society. It is doubtful if
Doctor Raymond knew how much his daughter loved him, or if he returned
her affection in like degree. He was much absorbed in his work, and had
been without her for so many years that it was hardly to be expected
that among so many interests she would be first. He did, however,
delight in the girl's quick comprehension and her devotion to study.
Then, too, Beatrice saw that he turned to her more and more for help in
his work, and that he seemed to enjoy talking to her of his plans, and
she was content, believing truly that all this would lead to a deep and
abiding affection.

As they entered the laboratory several butterflies rose from some twigs,
circled about the room and settled upon the portion of glass where the
sun shone brightest.

"What children of the sun they are!" exclaimed the scientist, his face
lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Oh, father," cried Bee. "Here is a drop of blood. Could one of the
pretty things have hurt itself?"

"No, child; some lepidopterous insects always leave a drop of red fluid
when emerging from the pupa state. This is especially true of the
Vanessa urtica. Have you ever read of red rain, or the showers of blood
of antiquity?"

"Yes;" answered Beatrice, eager to show her knowledge. "Professor
Lawrence told us about it. He read some lines from Ovid, too. Let me
see. I know:

"'With threatening signs the lowering skies were filled
And sanguine drops from murky clouds distilled.'

"He said that Ovid referred to the shower of blood."

"Here you have the explanation of that phenomenon, Beatrice. It used to
be regarded as a prodigy that portended all sorts of evil, and whenever
it occurred people were alarmed, and referred all disasters to its
coming. It remaine