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Tale of Betsy Butterfly, The

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<h2>VIII</h2> <h3>DO YOU LIKE BUTTER?</h3> After Mrs. Ladybug failed in her attempt to brush the dust off Betsy Butterfly she grew more jealous of Betsy than ever. It was really a shame that Mrs. Ladybug should feel like that. Usually she was quite harmless, even if she was a busybody and a gossip. But she simply couldn't forgive Betsy Butterfly for being so beautiful. And now Mrs. Ladybug began to neglect her children more than ever, in order to spy upon Betsy in the hope of discovering some new fault in her. Betsy Butterfly soon noticed that wherever she went she was sure to see Mrs. Ladybug, who had a way of bobbing up in a most startling fashion. But Betsy was always quite polite to the jealous little creature. And she never failed to inquire for her health and that of her children as well, even if she met Mrs. Ladybug a dozen times a day. For some reason Mrs. Ladybug seemed quite touchy, where her family was concerned. "You don't need to ask about my children," she told Betsy at last in a somewhat sharp tone. "They are in the best of health. And I'll let you know in case they fall ill.... It's strange," she continued, "how everybody in this neighborhood is always prying into my household affairs." Betsy Butterfly smiled to herself. She did not care to quarrel with Mrs. Ladybug —nor with anyone else, for that matter. So she abruptly changed the subject. "Do you like butter?" she asked. "Why, no!" said Mrs. Ladybug. "I don't care anything about it. At least, I never ate any." "Then I don't see how you know whether you like it or not," Betsy observed, "unless you've looked into a buttercup to find out." Mrs. Ladybug was interested, in spite of herself. "Can a person tell by doing that?" she wanted to know. "It's a sure way," said Betsy Butterfly. "I was just looking into this buttercup that I'm sitting on when you flew up and spoke to me." "Do you like butter?" Mrs. Ladybug inquired. "I'm afraid not," Betsy told her. "I'd like to try, myself," Mrs. Ladybug exclaimed eagerly. "But I don't know how." "It's simple enough," Betsy Butterfly replied. "You just look into a buttercup blossom. "And if it makes your face yellow, then you're fond of butter—whether you ever had any or not." So Mrs. Ladybug perched herself on a big blossom and peered earnestly into its cup. "Is my face yellow?" she asked Betsy. "I do believe it is!" Betsy Butterfly cried. And Mrs. Ladybug looked much pleased. "I've always known I had refined tastes," she remarked with a lofty air. "And now I'd like to sample a bit of butter; but I don't know where to find any." "Butter? They make it at the farmhouse," Betsy informed her. "Then perhaps Farmer Green's wife will let me have a little," Mrs. Ladybug said hopefully. "I'll go over to the farmhouse at once.... It's too bad you don't like butter, too," she added. But secretly she was delighted that Betsy Butterfly had looked into a buttercup in vain. <hr class="chapter" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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