girl with a shiver. "Oo-ooh! I wouldn't
handle the worms, and creepy, crawly things that Bee Raymond does for
anything."

"It isn't bugs at all," answered the tall girl with a trace of
indignation in her voice. "It's caterpillars and butterflies. Bee's
making a special study of them so as to surprise her father when he
comes from abroad. He's a Lepidopterist, you know, and she is working to
fit herself to be his secretary."

"Is he coming home soon, Edna?" queried one of the others.

"Not for two more years," responded Edna, who seemed to be well informed
on the matter. "And just think, girls! Bee hasn't seen him for ten
years."

"Fancy not seeing one's own father in all that time," remarked the girl
who had first spoken. "Of course, it's just splendid to get letters from
abroad, and to have all those lovely things he sends her; but I don't
know, I think I'd rather have my father."

"Why, so would Bee," laughed Edna. "She's just crazy for him to come
home. She--"

"There she is now," cried one, and with new interest each member of the
group turned to look at the girl who at this moment came through the
door of the school house.

Beatrice Raymond was a slender girl, tall for her fifteen years, with
movements full of unconscious grace; for she had always been much in the
open air and was accustomed to perfect freedom in her limbs. She could
run as fast and jump as far as many boys who "fancied" themselves as
athletes. Her hair was very dark, very straight, and very abundant. Her
eyes were large, dark, and expressive; her complexion was dark also and
without color. She created the thought in the minds of those observers
who looked below the surface that there was intellect--thoughtful,
loving, and perhaps unusual intellect. A strap of books was flung over
her left shoulder, boy fashion, and her hat was set carelessly on one
side of her head. She was laughing as she came to them, and the girls
crowded around her eagerly.

"What's the joke, Bee?" cried Edna.

"It's a conundrum," answered Beatrice merrily. "Professor Lawrence just
told it to me. See if any of you can answer it: 'Why are caterpillars
like buckwheat cakes?'"

"Pooh! that's easy. Because they make the butter fly," answered one of
the group. The others shouted with laughter as Bee turned an astonished
look upon her.

"How did you know?" she asked. "Professor Lawrence just told it to me."

"Why, Beatrice Raymond, that joke was old before Professor