The Tale of Betsy Butterfly | Page 6

to keep
away from my home. I've told him that he would set it to blazing with
that light of his. But he's forever sneaking around my house as soon as
my back is turned."
"There, there! Don't be frightened!" Betsy Butterfly said to her
soothingly. "It's only a rumor, you know."

"That's so," Mrs. Ladybug admitted, drying her eyes. "I hear it almost
every day, too. But I never can get used to it.... I suppose this is only a
false alarm, after all."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Butterfly Bill said wickedly, with a
shake of his head. "And if I were you I'd look after my own family a
little more carefully, instead of troubling myself with other people's
affairs."
Several of Bill's friends applauded his speech. But Betsy Butterfly
whispered to him to hush.
"Don't you see that Mrs. Ladybug is not quite herself?" she asked him.
But Butterfly Bill was not a person to be easily silenced like that.
"She's a meddling busybody!" he declared. "And it's my opinion that
she ought to be put where she'll have to mind her own business."
"Who--me?" called a wheezing voice right in his ear.
Turning, Butterfly Bill saw that it was Jennie Junebug who had spoken
to him. She had noticed the crowd from a distance. And she had just
arrived, quite out of breath.
Before Betsy Butterfly's cousin Bill could answer, Jennie Junebug
actually threatened him.
"If you were talking about me I shall have to knock you down," she
declared.
He had heard that Jennie delighted in flying bang into anybody. But he
did not know that she indulged in that unladylike trick only after dark.
"Of course I didn't mean you!" he said hastily.
"And I hope you didn't mean my friend Mrs. Ladybug, either," Jennie
Junebug added. "For if you did----"

But Butterfly Bill waited to hear no more. Thoroughly frightened, he
sought safety in flight. And as he flew away Mrs. Ladybug couldn't
help noticing the dust on his wings.
"They're certainly a peculiar lot--that Butterfly family!" she muttered.

VIII
DO YOU LIKE BUTTER?
AFTER Mrs. Ladybug failed in her attempt to brush the dust off Betsy
Butterfly she grew more jealous of Betsy than ever.
It was really a shame that Mrs. Ladybug should feel like that. Usually
she was quite harmless, even if she was a busybody and a gossip. But
she simply couldn't forgive Betsy Butterfly for being so beautiful. And
now Mrs. Ladybug began to neglect her children more than ever, in
order to spy upon Betsy in the hope of discovering some new fault in
her.
Betsy Butterfly soon noticed that wherever she went she was sure to
see Mrs. Ladybug, who had a way of bobbing up in a most startling
fashion. But Betsy was always quite polite to the jealous little creature.
And she never failed to inquire for her health and that of her children as
well, even if she met Mrs. Ladybug a dozen times a day.
For some reason Mrs. Ladybug seemed quite touchy, where her family
was concerned.
"You don't need to ask about my children," she told Betsy at last in a
somewhat sharp tone. "They are in the best of health. And I'll let you
know in case they fall ill.... It's strange," she continued, "how
everybody in this neighborhood is always prying into my household
affairs."
Betsy Butterfly smiled to herself. She did not care to quarrel with Mrs.
Ladybug--nor with anyone else, for that matter. So she abruptly

changed the subject.
"Do you like butter?" she asked.
"Why, no!" said Mrs. Ladybug. "I don't care anything about it. At least,
I never ate any."
"Then I don't see how you know whether you like it or not," Betsy
observed, "unless you've looked into a buttercup to find out."
Mrs. Ladybug was interested, in spite of herself.
"Can a person tell by doing that?" she wanted to know.
"It's a sure way," said Betsy Butterfly. "I was just looking into this
buttercup that I'm sitting on when you flew up and spoke to me."
"Do you like butter?" Mrs. Ladybug inquired.
"I'm afraid not," Betsy told her.
"I'd like to try, myself," Mrs. Ladybug exclaimed eagerly. "But I don't
know how."
"It's simple enough," Betsy Butterfly replied. "You just look into a
buttercup blossom.
"And if it makes your face yellow, then you're fond of butter--whether
you ever had any or not."
So Mrs. Ladybug perched herself on a big blossom and peered
earnestly into its cup.
"Is my face yellow?" she asked Betsy.
"I do believe it is!" Betsy Butterfly cried.
And Mrs. Ladybug looked much pleased.

"I've always known I had refined tastes," she remarked with a lofty air.
"And now I'd like to sample a bit