Great was the terror of the hard-working nurses.  “Can we get the children to a safe place?” was their first thought.

“What shall I do?” cried Alerta.  She was thoroughly frightened.

“Your first duty is to the children,” said an older ant.  “You see that not one of us is looking out for herself.  But I think we shall be able to stay here after all.  See! the water is going down.”

At this moment a stern voice was heard outside.  It was the first time that Alerta had heard human speech, but she understood every word.

“What a mean, cruel thing to do!” it said.  “Were the ants doing any harm to you?  In future, remember that you are never to hurt or frighten any creature, even the smallest of them, for your own poor pleasure or amusement.  I am ashamed of you, my son.”

“Now we are safe,” said the ants joyfully.  “Let us go on with our work.  This is a great day for us.  That boy will not harm us again.”

Adapted from an English story.

A BUTTERFLY’S WING.

When a great green worm crawls across our path, we shrink with disgust because we are too ignorant to see its real beauty.  But when, after a few weeks, a gorgeous creature is seen waving its exquisite wings in the summer twilight, we all are ready to admire the caterpillar in its new dress.

Moths and butterflies are among the loveliest things living.  Moths fly at night, spread their wings when resting, and have no knobs at the ends of their antennae.  Butterflies love the sunshine and fold their wings over their backs when at rest.  Their antennae are thickened at the ends.

To some people, catching butterflies seems a harmless sport, especially if the pretty creature is soon released and allowed to flutter away in the sunshine.  Those who have studied them, however, say that much suffering is caused in this way.

On the surface of the wing are soft, tiny feathers, set row upon row like shingles on a house.  There are over two million feathers on each wing.  When the butterfly is held in hot, hasty hands, these feathers are rubbed off and do not grow again.  It is very much as if we should have our teeth pulled out, or our hair torn out by the roots.  When we think of the shock and pain, and of the helplessness that will surely follow, catching butterflies no longer seems an innocent pleasure.

TO A BUTTERFLY.

Poor harmless insect, thither fly,
   And life’s short hour enjoy;
’Tis all thou hast, and why should I
   That little all destroy?

Why should my tyrant will suspend
   A life by wisdom giv’n,
Or sooner bid thy being end
   Than was designed by Heav’n?

To bask upon the sunny bed,
   The damask flowers to kiss,
To range along the bending shade
   Is all thy life of bliss.

Then flutter still thy silken wings,
   In rich embroidery drest,
And sport upon the gale that flings
   Sweet odors from his vest. 
                     Jane Taylor.