At last, after a long, long winter, there began to be signs of spring.  Soon, soft warm little rain drops began to fall on the chrysalis (for that is what we call the sleeping caterpillar), whispering:  “Spring is coming and it’s time to awake!” Soon, soft warm little sunbeams began to dance on the chrysalis, whispering:  “Spring is almost here, it is time to awake!” Soon soft, warm little breezes began to blow the chrysalis about, whispering:  “Spring is here, and it is time to awake!”

Then, at last, the little caterpillar did awake.  He slowly broke away his old dried skin and the silk fastenings which he had spun so many months before, and he crawled out in the sunshine, wet and still drowsy after his long sleep.  After a while he became warm and dry, and wide awake in the bright sunlight, and then, suddenly, he felt that he had wings!  He looked in a rain-drop mirror, and there he saw himself a beautiful butterfly.

Don’t you think he must have been very proud and happy, as he spread his wings and flew away to sip the honey from the flowers, and to play with all the other butterflies, knowing that he would never again have to crawl about on the ground?

“Oh!  Mother dear,” said Johnnie Jones, “let’s take this caterpillar home, so I can watch it turn into a butterfly.”

Mother considered his idea a good one, so they carried the caterpillar home on a twig, with many leaves from the tree towards which it had been crawling.  When they reached the house they placed twigs, leaves and caterpillar in a glass jar, with netting over the top.

“We shall have to give it fresh leaves every day,” Mother said, “until it has eaten enough and goes to sleep.  We can watch it carefully through this glass jar.”

Johnnie Jones knelt down beside the jar and whispered:  “Ugly little caterpillar, if you will tie yourself to that branch, and change your skin, and go to sleep, next spring you will wake a beautiful butterfly.”

[Illustration:  When he spread his wings and flew away—­]

Johnnie Jones was sure the caterpillar heard what he said, because it went to sleep just as it was told.  All winter long the little boy watched it, and one day, in the early spring, really saw it come out a gorgeous butterfly.  When it spread its bright wings and flew away, I wonder which was happier, the butterfly or Johnnie Jones.

* * * * *

Mr. and Mrs. Bird and the Baby Birds

“Listen to that bird!” exclaimed Johnnie Jones.

“That is Mr. Bird,” Mother answered.  “I shall have to tell you a story about him and Mrs. Bird and their children.”

Once upon a time Mr. Bird felt so happy and gay that he could scarcely be quiet a single moment.  It was spring-time again and he sang beautiful songs to Mrs. Bird, about the sunshine and soft, sweet air, and about the little home they would make in the old elm tree.  Mrs. Bird would listen for a while to his song and then they would both fly away to find the twigs and straws with which to build the nest.  Very hard indeed the little birds worked, for each straw had to be carefully woven, in and out and out and in, so that the nest should be quite firm and round.