Little Falls weekly transcript. (Little Falls, Morrison Co., Minn.) 1894-19??, 1900-08-10
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wonderfuI rarity and beauty, and gazing
at them with unseeing eyes, he seized his
hat and wandered out through the long
window, the scented garden, to the mead
ows beyond that went slopins down.
down to the sunny valley where the river
ran like silver streak. = @5S5s
Well, the old entomologist knew every.
bank and hedge, every wood and copse,
on the countryside. But he was thinking
nothing Of lifetime given to research. OF
his justly celebrated museum in the low,
creeper covered house behind him. One
thought alone engrossed him, and sudden
" he moved behind a tree and stood look
ing intently down the slope with bent
shoulders and scanty white locks stirring
In the soft summer breeze. .>
+ In the meadow below slender girl in
blue cotton gown was gathering the
long, shaking grass that grew under the
ledge, singing to herself as she moved
hither and thither. He could just catch
the words she sang: -
When Ill the world is young. lad.
And al the trees are green
And every goose swan, lad,
And every lass 4 queen. -
Blue as her gown were this maids
eyes, and John Hubbard loved her better
than the most marvellous entomolite that
he had brought from foreign lands. He
was an old bachelor aud had been man?
grown when his sister Mary was but a
child. When the letter came saying that
she and her husband were dead, and the
little one was coming to him, he had
humpled up his hair and paced the room,
in horror. A child, noisy, screaming
creature, under his roof? Never! But
how soon he had grown to love the feel;
ing Of the little fingers in his! How they
roamed the hills and dales together, and
how the blue eyes would watch him as,
he unfolded to her the wonderful secrets
Of nature! There had never been another
child like this one Of his-his little Mai,
sic, his blue butterfly! 4
But as he watched the frown came
back. There was some one else entering
the meadow--some one who approached
the girl with rapid steps and threw his
fishing rod aud basket impetuously on
the ground. John Hubbard's eyes ran
over his athletic figure and bonny brown
face with great disfavor. What did his
old friend WEIGH mean by keeping his son
At home like this? Roddie should have:
been sent to India or Timbuctoo! The
blue butterfly had futtered to the top Of
the stile and sat there smiling at him as
he leaned against the top bar looking up
at her. Then he was speaking fast, ear.
nestly, and she had turned away her
head, and then-he was holding both her.
hands, and the grass had fallen scattered
1t her feet. The old man turned away
with q smothered groan and smote the
tree with his clinched fist.
Then he made step forward to take
her away-she was his, his own eve lamb
and again paused just as abruptly.
What was the last verse Of Maisie's fl.
vorite song?
When all the world IL old. lad.
And al the trees are brown.
Aye, he was old, very old, and some
day soon he would have to leave her,
leave his cherished beetles and butter
f1ies and 60 to stand before the great Mas
ter and Maker Of all living things. His
museum could be bequeathed to the neigh
boring town, where his name was held
In honor, but not most his valued speci-
men, his blue butterfly. She would be left
20 dutter through the world alone. If it
must be some one, he would rather it
were Roddie. The lad was a dear, good
lad, and they made pretty picture down
there. Once he remembered being almost
in love himself with girl who died long,
long ago.
Suddenly Maisie looked up and evil
IDENTIFY caught sight of him, for she
sprang off the stile, and the pair came up
the fragrant meadow toward him, the
sunlight shining on their happy young
faces. They had forgotten the grass and
the fishing tackle, he noticed with faint
smile, and when the girl came to put her
arm through bis and say that Roddie had
been very lazy and caught no fish he look.
ed from one to tho other in silence; then
his eyes twinkled.
"And so you caught nothing, lad?" he
said.
much too sunny" responded the
young fellow hastily. 'It-it is not bit
Of good, you know, in light like this"
mo, of course not" Maisie supple
mented quickly, with q brief glance into
her uncle's face. HE was a stupid boy
to think Of fishing, was he not, dear?"
''That depends" But the old mans
tone was very gentle a. he surveyed the
culprits, for culprits they looked. "And
you caught nothing, Roddie?"
'Yes, sir, caught q blue butterfly, and
I want to keep It." he answered desper-
atsly. "But It belongs to your collection.
It tells me that Il loves you and could not
bear to leave you."
The old entomoIogist stEaightened him
self and spoke In eager, trembling tones:
'God bless herl Roddie, you are to 60
INTO the bank at stopword, eh? Don't
break mp my collection, lad. Come here
and help me to take care Of it. will
build out Z museum. You shall both bs
my children"
And this was how the museum came
to be built, and John Hubbard kept the
gem Of his collection-his blue butterfly
Woman at Home.
A Question Of Surgery.
Mrs. Wagger-Have you moved into
your new house?
/; Nrs. Changer-Oh, yes, but We are not
settled yet, The carpenter has to make
10 many alterations.
Mrs. Wagger-1 thought everything
would be just right. =.
!, Mrs. Changer-So did we. But we
found that scarcely one of our old car.
pets would fit.-Harper's Bazaar.
a.