the butterfly, and had seen the trick before.

"I never saw anything so cunning in all my life," cried Adele. "Are all
butterflies as cute, Uncle William?"

"Not all; but the most of them have marvelous life histories. Come,
girls! we must not loiter. We have two calls to make, you know."

Chapter XVII

The Two Calls

"A thousand flowers,
By the road-side and the borders of the brook,
Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves
Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew
Were on them yet, and silver waters break
Into small waves and sparkle as he comes."

--_Summer Wind. Bryant._

"Thanky, honies, yer moughty good ter an ole worman. Thanky kindly." Old
Rachel beamed upon the two girls from the depths of a rocker, her black
face shining with delight at sight of all the good things they had
brought.

"Have you been sick long, Aunt Rachel?" asked Bee, putting jelly,
chicken, and other delicacies upon the only table the cabin afforded.

"Bress ye, chile! I ain't what yer call sick. Jest a-ailin' like. Dat's
all. I went ter my son's in Possum Holler fer a spell, an' I ain't been
right peart sence. But I'll be as spry as eber purty soon."

"Well, we will look after you until you are," spoke the girl gently.

"Yes, honey. I'll 'pend on you all ter look aftha me. I was moughty good
ter yer ma. She'd 'prove of yer lookin' aftah ole Rachel. 'Deed she
would." The old woman kept her eyes fixed on Adele as she talked. "Is
yer a fairy, er an angel, honey?" she asked.

"Neither," Adele laughed gaily. "I am just a common, everyday girl, Aunt
Rachel."

"No, honey. 'Scuse me. No common ebbery day ga lain't a-gwinge ter look
like yer. Does dey, Miss Bee?"

"No, indeed," answered Beatrice. "Now Aunt Rachel, I'll bring or send
you something every day, and father said to tell you that he was going
to have the doctor look in on you."

"Now ain't dat jest like yer pa? He don't fergit dat I was wid Mis'
Raymond in her las' sickness. Tell him I'm much obleeged ter him. He was
moughty fond ob yer ma; yer pa was, an' she was ob him too. Put a flower
ebbery day on his table when he'd go in ter study."

"Why, Aunt Rachel, you never told me that before," cried Bee.

"Didn't I? I fergit things, Miss Bee. She did dough. Yas'm. Sometime
hit 'ud be a rose, sometime a pansy; but allers a posy ob some kind 'ud
go on dat man's table ebbery mo'nin'. You kummin' ebbery day, Miss Bee?"