She arranged the sorrel gra.s.s in the cage where the larvae were feeding and turned to leave the room when her attention was caught by a brilliant bit of color on a twig near a window.

"Oh!" she cried, as going close to it she discovered that it was a b.u.t.terfly newly escaped from its chrysalis. "Oh, oh! it's father's rarest specimen! It's the Teinopalpus Imperialis! How delighted he will be. I wonder how soon it will fly!"

As the words left her lips the beautiful creature rose and circled the room majestically in its first flight.

"What a beauty!" cried Bee with enthusiasm. "Won't fath--Oh, the door!"

She ran toward it quickly, but she was too late. Through it sailed the b.u.t.terfly into the study and out through the open window. Catching up her net Bee jumped through the window, and dashed after the insect.

Daintily it settled upon a flower for a second, then away it went just as the girl gave her net a frantic swish to catch it. Hither and thither the creature darted as though intoxicated with its freedom after being earth-bound for so long. Round and round went Beatrice after it; onward and upward it flew, tantalizingly near sometimes, but ever escaping capture. Presently it rose, and disappeared over the tree tops.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "OUT THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW SAILED THE b.u.t.tERFLY."]

"It's gone," cried Bee with a sob. "It's gone. What will father think?

And the door! The door is still open."

She ran back to the house as fast as she could. Panting and breathless, hot and tired, she clambered through the window into the study.

"Beatrice." Doctor Raymond stood by the open door of the laboratory, his face very grave. "Why is this door open? I might lose a very valuable specimen through such carelessness."

"Oh, father!" cried Bee, bursting into tears. "I have lost a valuable specimen already. I have lost your Teinopalpus Imperialis. I left the door open to go in to put the sorrel gra.s.s in the cage for some larvae, and it flew out. Father, father, I--"

Chapter XIX

The Closed Door

"When cometh the close of a cherished thing, How keenly our heart to its charm doth cling, For it seems as sunshine vanishing."

--_Pall Mall Gazette._

Doctor Raymond looked at her sternly. "My Teinopalpus Imperialis?" he questioned.

"Yes;" answered Bee brokenly. "After you had gone I remembered that you had spoken of sorrel gra.s.s for the larvae of the Chrysopha.n.u.s America.n.u.s, and I thought you had forgotten it, so I ran down to put it in the cage.

I did not expect to be in the laboratory but just a minute so I left the study door open. After I fixed the sorrel I saw the new b.u.t.terfly. While I was looking at it, it rose and flew about the room; and then, and then--" She paused to collect herself, then continued bravely: "Then I remembered the door, but before I could reach it the b.u.t.terfly had flown into the study, and out through the window. I ran after it to catch it, but I could not."

"And to the best of my knowledge it is the only known specimen in existence. Beatrice, do you realize just what your carelessness means?"

"Yes;" sobbed Bee. "I know, father."

"And you are the girl who, but a few days since, a.s.sured me that she would fail me in nothing?"

"Yes;" said Bee again, unable to meet his eyes.

"I should have known better than to have trusted you." Doctor Raymond's bitter disappointment was evident in his voice and manner. "It is doubtful if that b.u.t.terfly can ever be replaced. The larva was obtained at the risk of my life, and by a few moments of carelessness all has gone for naught. I thought you different from other girls. I believed that you appreciated the privilege of being among my specimens too greatly to be careless. I see my mistake. After this, I do not wish you to enter either this study, or the laboratory. My specimens are too valuable to risk another such loss. Do you understand, Beatrice? Under no circ.u.mstances are you to enter these rooms again."

"Not even to help you catalogue, father?" Bee had ceased crying now, and she stood staring at him with eyes full of anguish.

"Not even for that purpose, Beatrice. Your own untrustworthiness has deprived you of the privilege."

"And aren't you ever going to forgive me?" she asked miserably.

"It depends upon your future conduct," returned her father coldly. "I desire to say no more upon the subject at present. Go now, while I repair whatever else of mischief may be done."

He went into the laboratory as he finished speaking, closing the door behind him. Bee sank into a chair, and sat gazing after him with all her heart in her eyes. It was ended. The delightful mornings of study, the cataloguing, the mounting and framing of the beautiful insects. By her own act she had forfeited the right to be his companion and helper. She did not question the justice of the punishment. She knew that it was right. Her father's collection was in truth too valuable to be exposed to carelessness. That it was regarded as almost priceless by the University, Beatrice knew, and, as the full realization came to her that she had lost its rarest specimen, the girl was almost overwhelmed with grief.

It was several moments before she could obtain control of herself. Then she rose, and went slowly toward the door. Pausing with her hand on the k.n.o.b she turned for a last glance at the loved objects in the room. Long she looked at her father's chair, at the heap of ma.n.u.script on the table, at her own place with the note book and pencil in front of it, at the door of the laboratory behind which were all the wonderful specimens. She would be with them no more. Bee's heart was very full as she opened the door and went out, shutting it softly behind her.

Her hair was still loose and flying, but the girl felt that she could not stay in the house. She must get somewhere where she could be alone.

Beyond the Medulla residence was a deep wood, and out into the road went Beatrice, intending to reach its cool recesses. The warm sunshine had brought out clouds of b.u.t.terflies. Small white ones sported like fragile flower petals in the bright rays. Silvery winged fritillaries sailed hither and thither among the red clover blossoms. A Monarch rose from a stalk of milkweed, and winged its stately flight just ahead of her. On a mud puddle by the roadside a number of azures had collected, but Beatrice, usually keenly alive to the presence of the beloved insects, pa.s.sed them unheedingly. As she reached the group of sycamore trees that stood in front of the Medulla residence she paused abruptly as she caught sight of Percival and a boy under the trees. The boy, whom she recognized as the bully of the town, was dancing about the Infant Prodigy, amusing himself after the fashion of boys by teasing him.

"Is it alive?" he cried, giving Percival a poke in the ribs. "Say, kin ye speak?"

"I'll show you whether I can or not," pluckily retorted Percival who was crying mad. He made a lunge at the boy as he spoke.

"Shoo!" said the boy, brushing off an imaginary fly. "Flies are purty bothersome this year."

"Take that! And that! And that!" cried Percival, letting his small fists fly at his tormentor.

"Stop tickling, I tell you," cried the bully, seizing his hands and holding them tightly. "Say, sissy, give me one of your curls to remember ye by; won't you?"

In a flash Beatrice comprehended the situation. As Percival began to struggle helplessly in his tormentor's grip, she flew at the bully impetuously.

"Why, it's a gurl!" exclaimed the boy as, dropping Percival's hands, he turned to confront this new adversary.

"Yes," gasped Bee, punctuating her words by vigorous boxes on his ears.

"It is a girl. How do you like it?"

With all the strength of her pent-up emotion she sailed into her unhappy victim. Had Bee been given to self a.n.a.lysis she would have known that, aside from her desire to help Percival out of his dilemma, she rejoiced in the opportunity to give vent to her own unhappiness. There followed a few brief moments of spirited action on her part, interspersed with howls of pain from the boy. Presently he broke away from her and fled precipitantly. Flushed by the success of battle Bee turned toward Percival triumphantly.

"There! I don't think he'll trouble you soon again, Percival," she said.

"You are a chum worth having, Beefly," cried the lad enthusiastically.

"It was splendid. My! My! didn't you go for him!" He doubled up in a paroxysm of laughter at the remembrance. "But see here!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed suddenly, becoming grave. "This baby business is dead right now. I have been guyed about it as long as I am going to be, and this ends it. I am a sure enough boy, and I am going to show it."

"What are you going to do?" demanded Bee, surprised by his earnestness.

"I am going to attend to this hair. The thing's got to be done today.

Come down to the house and help me; won't you?"

"Wouldn't it be better for your mother to help you, Percival?"

questioned the girl dubiously.

"Come on, and we'll see," he replied. Welcoming the diversion Beatrice followed him.

"Now just go in and wait for me," he said, opening the door of the sitting room. "I won't be gone a minute."