CHAPTER XVII. 
A WINGED FLOWER . 
1 T was a warm day in June, and Malcolm, the 
-L irrepressible, had gone butterfly-hunting, armed 
with a scoop-net and a large straw hat. Such beau- 
ties as he almost caught! and such a chase as they 
led him over fences and through briers, now poising 
just under his very nose, and then off again just as 
he made a pounce ! 
He was very much heated, and rather cross at his 
frequent disappointments ; but suddenly he gave a 
scream of delight. The net enclosed an unexpected 
treasure, and he bore his prize in triumph to Miss 
Harson. 
It was not a butterfly this time, but a humming- 
bird — a beautiful, sparkling little creature, scarcely 
larger than a humble-bee, that looked like a cluster 
of jewels or a winged flower. But, alas ! when Mal- 
colm displayed his prize there it lay at the bottom 
of the net, stiff and evidently dead, killed by the 
fright of being captured. 
“There?” exclaimed the young hunter angrily, 
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