103 
the dark, too, and shut herself up as tight as she 
could when they came. Mary could not think any 
thing would hurt such a pretty creature. It seemed 
as if darkness itself would smile to see her, stand¬ 
ing so beautiful upon her solitary stalk, drooping 
her graceful head over her dark brown, lance-shaped, 
spotted leaves. The Pearl-bordered Frittillary, a 
brilliant butterfly, with glossy black and bright 
orange-colored wings, hovered over her, enamored. 
But Mary had no more time to look at it, for a 
pert vellow Butter-cup called to her that she was 
Shakspeare’s “ cuckoo-bud of yellow hue,” and that 
her real name was Ranunculus. She did not add 
that she was named from a frog, which would have 
been the whole truth, but said it was not true that 
she made butter yellow, and she wished no one 
would call her Butter-cup any more. 
“ If you should ask the cows whether they love 
