42 Buz. 



" I do exactly what I like all day long, and never 

 think of a moment beyond the present. If I feel 

 hungry, I eat, and directly I'm satisfied I think of 

 food no longer; if I am hot, I fly in the shade; if 

 cold, I bask in the sun. When I feel lively, I dance 

 gayly up and down in the air, and the moment I'm 

 tired, I stop. I have a thousand companions as 

 gay and beautiful as myself, always ready to play 

 with me, and nothing can put me out, for I don't 

 care what happens to me." 



" But when the cold winter begins ? " 



"Then I shall die," said the butterfly, very cheer- 

 fully — " at least, so I suppose ; but what of that ? 

 Perhaps I shall like it." 



"At any rate," said Buz, "you have described a 

 very selfish, useless sort of life." 



" And in what sense is yours useful ? " retorted 

 the butterfly, " except to yourself perhaps. If you 

 do not gather all the honey you talk about for your 

 own use, you at least expect a share of what the 

 other bees in your hive collect ; so that in point of 

 fact you only work hard in order to keep yourself 

 alive. I ask again, what's the use of your keeping 

 alive?" 



" To begin with," said Buz, " I help to make the 

 cells in which we rear the young grubs, and to col- 



