MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



and I know He never will forgive me!" I began sobbing 

 worse than ever. The cook on her knees before me 

 sat on her heels suddenly. "Great Heavens! She's 

 screeehin' about breakin' a butterfly, and not her poor 

 fut, at all!" Then I looked down and discovered that I 

 had stubbed my toe in falling, and had left a bloody 

 trail behind me. "Of course I am!" I sobbed indig- 

 nantly. "Couldn't I wash ofiF a little blood in the creek, 

 and tie up my toe with a dock leaf and some grass? I've 

 killed the most beautiful butterfly, and I know I won't 

 be forgiven!" 



I opened my tightly clenched hand and showed it to 

 prove my words. The sight was so terrible to me that 

 I jerked my foot from the cook, and thrust my hand into 

 the water, screaming, "Wash it! Wash it! Wash the 

 velvet from my hand! Oh! make it white again!" Be- 

 fore the cook bathed and bandaged my foot, she washed 

 and dried my hand; and my mother whispered, "God 

 knows you never meant to do it, and He is sorry as 

 mother is. " So my mother and the cook comforted me. 

 The remainder scattered suddenly. It was years before 

 I knew why, and I was a Shakespearean student 

 before I caught the point to their frequently calling 

 me "Little Lady Macbeth!" After such an experience, 

 it was not probable that I would risk crushing a but- 

 terfly to tie a bonnet on my head. It probably would 

 be down my back half the time anyway. It usually was. 



96 



