"Why _does_ a butterfly fly so dodgy?" inquired Tim, having vainly
tried to catch a Painted Lady on the lawn.
Daddy made a grimace and shrugged his shoulders, yet left the insect
quite as wonderful as it was before. Mother looked up from her
knitting with a gentle smile and said, "Does it, darling? I hadn't
noticed." Aunt Emily, balancing her parasol to keep the sun away,
observed in an educational tone of voice, "My dear Tim, what foolish
questions you ask! It's because its wings are so large compared to the
rest of its body. It can't help itself, you see." She belittled the
insect and took away its wonder. She explained.
Tim, unsatisfied, moved over to the wicker chair where Uncle Felix sat
drowsily smoking his big meerschaum pipe. He pointed to the vanishing
Painted Lady and repeated his question in a lower voice, so that the
others could not hear:
"Why does it fly like that--all dodgy?" Whatever happened, the boy
knew his Uncle would leave the butterfly twice as wonderful as he
found it.
But no immediate answer came. They watched it for a moment together in
silence. It behaved in the amazing way peculiar to its kind.
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