134 THE BUTTERFLY HUNTERS. 



" I don't care about that one. It was a Hunter's Butter- 

 fly, and I have some like it at home," said he. 



"You know the names much better than I do, my httle 

 man," rephed the gentleman. •» 



The whole party were now at the head of the gorge. 

 Some of the ladies looked fearfully at the slippery logs 

 and rocks over which they must walk, and decided to go 

 back the way they came. The teacher suggested that 

 Frank would better go back over the mountain too, for 

 the stream was much swollen with late rains, and he was 

 afraid he could not safely take the little fellow through 

 the gorge ; but Frank pleaded so hard that Mr. Benedict 

 finally consented, after a promise from him that he would 

 keep hold of his hand all the way and not skip about as 

 was his wont. And, indeed, there was little chance to skip 

 about here. Their way led over logs so slippery that 

 every step must be made with care, or a plunge in the 

 water would surely follow. To be sure, the water was not 

 deep, but our travellers did not care to get a wetting just 

 then. After they had passed the logs they came to the 

 rocks, which were still worse, as the moss on them was 

 so soft that it was almost impossible to get a foothold. 

 The boys enjoyed it immensely. It was excellent fun 

 climbing where every step was dangerous. When they 

 were tired they sat down to enjoy the grandeur and 

 beauty of the scene. The cliffs covered with richest ferns 



