BUDDY FIGHTS A WEED 
Buddy, seeing a beautiful yellow and black butterfly, 
ran to catch it. The children saw him run a little way 
and stop. He ran back as fast as he could, crying, “Ouch! 
Ouch!” He picked up a big stick, and began to beat 
some weeds. 
“What can he be doing?” asked Bess. 
“Maybe a snake bit him,” said Fred. 
They ran to Buddy. They heard him talking, in such 
an angry tone, to the weeds. “There, take that, and that, 
and that,” he said as he pounded the weeds. “HI teach 
you not to sting my legs like a bunch of wasps when I 
didn’t intend to hurt you. I’m going to break every one 
of you before I stop!” 
“Buddy! Buddy!” called Uncle Jack. “You must not 
let weeds make you so angry. Hold your temper as a 
man should.” 
“Just look at my legs, Uncle Jack,” said Buddy, as he 
stopped pounding the weeds. “See how red they are. 
They look as if they had been burned, and they feel like 
it, too.” 
“Yes, I know they hurt,” said Uncle Jack. “But you 
must not blame the weeds. Come and sit down while I 
tell you about them.” 
165 
