“Some of ’em stung like the very devil,” he reminded me, darkly.

“Oh, but those were the hairy fellows.  This is a stingless, hairless, afternoon party!  It won’t hurt you at all!”

“It’s walking up my pants’ leg, just the same.  And I’m scared of it:  I’m horrible scared of it!  My God! Me! At a jane-junket! ... all the thin ones diked out with doodads where the bones come through ... stoking like sailors on shore leave ... all the fat ones grouchy about their shapes and thinking it’s their souls. ...”  And he broke out, in a fluttering falsetto: 

“’Oh, Mr. Flint, do please let us see your lovely butterflies!  Aren’t they just too perfectly sweet for anything!  I wonder why they don’t trim hats with butterflies?  Do you know all their names, you awfully clever man?  Do they know their names, too, Mr. Flint?  Butterflies must be so very interesting!  And so decorative, particularly on china and house linen!  How you have the heart to kill them, I can’t imagine.  Just think of taking the poor mother-butterflies away from the dear little baby-ones!’ ...—­and me having to stand there and behave like a perfect gentleman!” He looked at me, scowling: 

“Now, you look here:  I can stand ’em single-file, but if I’m made to face ’em in squads, why, you blame nobody but yourself if I foam at the mouth and chase myself in a circle and snap at legs, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” said I, coldly.  “You didn’t get your orders from me. I think your proper place is in the woods.  You go tell Madame what you’ve just told me—­or should you like me to warn her that you’re subject to rabies?”

“For the love of Mike, parson!  Have a heart!  Haven’t I got troubles enough?” he asked bitterly.

“You are behaving more like an unspanked brat than a grown man.”

“I wasn’t weaned on teaparties,” said he, sulkily, “and it oughtn’t to be expected I can swallow ’em at sight without making a face and—­”

“Whining,” I finished for him.  And I added, with a reminiscent air:  “Rule 1:  Can the Squeal!”

He glared at me, but as I met the glare unruffled, his lip presently twisted into a grin of desperate humor.  His shoulders squared.

“All right,” said he, resignedly.  And after an interval of dejected silence, he remarked:  “I’ve sort of got a glimmer of how Madame feels about this.  She generally knows what’s what, Madame does, and I haven’t seen her make a mistake yet.  If she thinks it’s my turn to come on in and take a hand in any game she’s playing, why, I guess I’d better play up to her lead the best I know how ... and trust God to slip me over an ace or two when I need them.  You tell her she can depend on me not to fall down on her ... and Miss Eustis.”

“No need to tell Madame what she already knows.”

“Huh!” With his chin in his hand and his head bent, he stared out over the autumn garden with eyes which did not see its flaming flowers.  Of a sudden his shoulders twitched; he laughed aloud.