and cart.

"This is not really my pony," the boy told her as he assisted her into
the cart. "The cart is mine, but my mother just hired the pony until she
could find one to suit. Though this one is pretty nice."

"Indeed it is," remarked Beatrice approvingly, as the little pony
started off at a brisk pace. "Why don't you get this one?"

"They won't sell," said the boy. "I can have it until the fellow to whom
it belongs comes home. He's away now."

"I see," said she. And thus chatting she soon reached home. "I thank
you very, very much," she said as she jumped out. "I do hope that we
shall be friends."

"And you didn't ask my name," reproached the urchin. "No; I shan't tell
you now. If you want to know, just come over. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye," she called after him. "I certainly shall come over to find
out. I want to know."

"So your chase led you to the office after all," laughed her father as
she ran into the study, taking the net and the letter from her at the
same time. "I had no idea that you would catch it. You have done well,
though I am sorry that you had such a long, hot, dusty walk."

"I did not walk back, father. We have a new neighbor in the white house,
and the boy brought me home in his pony cart." Bee sank into a chair and
began to fan herself, watching him as he carefully removed the butterfly
from the bag, and placed it in the poison jar. "Isn't it a beauty?"

"Yes;" replied Doctor Raymond, beginning the perusal of his letter. He
looked up suddenly. "Beatrice, I shall be obliged to leave you for a few
days. They wish to see me at the university. Would you rather go to
your Aunt Annie's than to stay here?"

"I would rather stay here, father," she answered promptly. "There is so
much to do."

"Just as you wish, my child. I'll ask Mrs. Jenkins to come over to be
with you nights. Then with the servants here I shall not be uneasy.
Don't do any cataloguing while I am away. A few days rest will do you
good. Now I must throw a few things into my grip if I expect to catch
the afternoon train. It is fortunate that you went for the mail."

"Let me pack your things for you, father," pleaded Bee. "I know exactly
what you will need. Aunt Annie says that I do nicely. I always did it
for her, and for Uncle Henry, too, sometimes."

"Very well, Beatrice. I have done those things so long for myself that
it will seem strange to have it done for me; but it will be none the
less pleasant for all that." And there