“‘That kind was made to turn into butterflies,’ said Tim Rhodes.

“Tim was working Aunt Susan’s garden on shares that summer, and had heard all we said, for he was weeding the onion-bed close by.

“‘What, that fellow!’ said Charlie; ‘will he turn into a butterfly?’ and we both of us looked at the caterpillar.  He was about as long and as thick as my little finger, of a bright leafy green, with black-velvet rings dotted with orange at even distances along his body.  He lay at full length on a fennel-stalk, and seemed to be asleep; but when Charlie touched him with a little stick, instantly there shot out of his head a pair of orange-colored horns, and the air was full of the pungent odor of fennel.

“‘It smells like prayer-meeting,’ said Charlie, and ran off to play; but I wanted further information.

“‘Mr. Rhodes,’ said I, ’how do you know this kind of worm makes butterflies?’

“’Because I’ve seen ’em do it, child.  If you should put that fellow now in a box with some holes in the top, so as he could breathe, and give him plenty of fresh fennel to eat, in a week (or less time if he’s full grown) he’ll wind himself up, and after a spell he’ll hatch out a butterfly—­a pretty one, too, I tell you,’

“‘I mean to try it,’ I said; and I ran to the house and Aunt Susan gave me an old ribbon-box, and Mr. Rhodes punched a few holes in the cover with his pocket-knife; and after a little hesitation I picked the fennel-stalk with the worm on it, and laid it carefully in the box, making sure that the cover was tight.  The box was then taken to the house and deposited on a bench in the porch, for Aunt Susan objected to entertaining this new boarder indoors.

“I gave my worm his breakfast the next morning before I had my own, and, forgetting my aversion, sat by the open box and watched him eat, as his strong jaws made clean work with leaf and stem.

“‘He isn’t so ugly, after all, Charlie,’ I said; ’he is almost handsome for a worm, with all those bright colors on him,’

“Then Charlie caught a little of my enthusiasm, and said he meant to keep a worm too.  So he searched the fennel-bush and found three, and tumbled them unceremoniously into the box.

“‘Now they’ll have good times together,’ said he; ’that fellow was awful lonesome shut up by himself,’

“At Aunt Susan’s suggestion I improved my worm-house by removing the top of the box and stretching mosquito-netting across, fastening it securely along the edges lest my prisoners should escape.  And it was well I took this precaution; for, though for several days they made no attempt to get away, and seemed to do nothing but eat and sleep, one morning I found my largest and handsomest worm in a very disturbed and restless condition.  He was making frantic efforts to escape.  Up and down, round and round, over and under his companions, who were still quietly feeding, without a moment’s pause, he was pushing his way.  I watched him till I was tired; but when I left him he was still on his travels.