Now he is gone up the wall.  He has stopped near the roof.  How he throws his head from side to side!  He is growing broader!  He looks just as if he was turning into one of these green boxes!  How that box shakes!  There, I see it begin to open!  There is a slit coming in the back!  Something peeps out!  A butterfly’s head, I declare!  Here it comes,—­two long feelers, two short ones!  Four wings, two round spots on each of the upper pair, and none on the other two.  Dressed just like me.  I wonder why it hid away in that box?

First Butterfly.—­“What made you hide in that green box?”

Second Butterfly.—­“What box?  I haven’t hid anywhere.  I don’t know what box you mean?”

First Butterfly.—­“That one.  You just crawled out of it.  I saw you.”

Second Butterfly.—­“That’s the first I knew of it.  There are two boxes just alike. Both empty.  May be you were hid in the other!”

First Butterfly.—­“Ho!  There goes up our prison wall!  That’s the big hand that held the bright light.  How good the air feels!  Now for a chance to try our wings!  Away we go!”

HOW LILY-TOES WAS CAUGHT IN A SHOWER.

BY EMILY H. LELAND.

Lily-toes, though quite a pet, was the fourth baby, and, consequently, was not so great a wonder in the eyes of her family as she might have been.  She and her mamma were on a visit to her grandma’s, in the country.  As she had been there a week, the excitement attendant on her arrival had so far subsided that grandma was beginning to turn her attention to cheese-making, her two aunties to sew vigorously on their new cambric dresses, and grandpa and the big hired man to become so engaged in the “haying” that they scarcely saw Lily-toes except at supper-time.

Lily-toes, as if to make amends for being the fourth, was a lovely chubby baby of eight months, so full of sunshine and content and blessed good health, that although her two first teeth were just grumbling through, she would sit in her high chair by the window or roll and wriggle about on the floor, singing tuneless songs and telling herself wordless stories, an hour at a time, without making any demands on anybody, so that grandma and the aunties declared that half the time they would not know there was a baby in the house.  Perhaps it is sometimes a fault to be too good-natured; for there came a certain afternoon when Lily-toes would have been pleased if somebody had remembered there was a baby in the house.

It happened in this way.  There was company at grandma’s.  Not the kind of city company that comes to dine after babies are in bed for the night, but country company,—­that comes early in the afternoon and stays and talks over whole life-times before tea.  Grandma, mamma, and the aunties were enjoying it all very much; and Lily-toes, who was, if possible, more angelic than ever, had wakened from a blessed nap, lunched on bread and milk