Slippy McGee, Sometimes Known as the Butterfly Man

UTTER

lacid little clock on his mante

face the inevitable without noise, "you

he went on methodically assorting and packing. Even at this moment of obsession his ingrained orderlin

lable shirts, socks, and underwear. She rather hoped he would buy a new overcoat in New York, his old one being hardly able to stand the strain of another winter.

't been out of this county for over three years, and just think of the unfettered life he must have led before he came here! Yes, I'm sure New York will stimulate him. A dose of New York is a very good tonic. It r

ed with and received into the bosom of some preeminently proper parent, and to be acclaimed and applauded by admiring and welcoming friends. For although she had once heard the Butterfly Ma

Against that siren smile, those beckoning hands, I could do nothing. The very fact that I was what I am, was no longer a help, but rather a hindrance; he recognized in the priest a deterring and detaining influence against which he rebelled, and which he wished to repudiate. He was, as he had said so terribly, "home-sick for hell." He would go, and he would most inevitably be caught in the whirlpools; the naturalist, the scientist, the Bu

So I stood at a window and watched him as with suitcase in hand he walked down our shady street. At the corner he turned and lifted his hat in a

cratch at the door, the snuffling whine through the keyhole. The outer door had slammed. Kerry raced to the window. And the master was going, and going without him! He had neither net, knapsack, nor bottle-belt, but he carried a su

epaws on the window-sill, his nose against the glass, his ears lifted, his eyes anxious and distr

ld only kneel there dumbly. I heard the screech of the three o'clock express coming in, and, a few minutes later, its longer screech as it departed. He had gone, then! I was not dreaming it: it was true. Down and

feet. Oh, it was a cruel world, a world in which nothing but inevitable loss awaited one, in

solate Kerry barked at my passing step, and pawed frantically at the window, but I made no effo

ugh-the sort of hour that leaves a scar upon the soul. The garden was very still, steeped and drowsing in the bright clear sunlight; only the bees were busy there, calling from flower-door to flower-door, and sometimes a vireo's sweet whistle fluted through the leaves. Pitache lay on John Flint's porch,

every flying minute took him farther and farther away from me and from hope and happiness and honor, and brought him nearer and nearer to the whirlpool and the pit. I beat my hands together and the crucifix cut into my palms. I walked more rapidly, as if I could g

ed a listening ear and an alert eye, perked up his black nose, thumped an expressive tail, and barked. It was a welcoming

coherently with any human being at that moment, I turned, with the instinct of flight strong upon me. I knew I must be alone, to fac

d the bank and withdrawn his account; there had been plenty of time for him then to have caught the three-o'clock express. I had heard the train come and go this full hour since. Surely my wish was father to the thought that I saw him b

his tie awry, his collar wilted, and bits of grass and twigs and a leaf or so clung to his dusty clothes. The afternoon sun shone full on his thick, close-

he path, directly in front of him. Then, stopping perforce, he looked at me with dancing

derful-specimen of-an aberrant swallow-tail-any man ever laid-his eyes on! I thought at first-I wasn't seeing things right. But I was. Parson, parson

going to be such another, that if I lost her I'd mourn for the rest of my days. I knew I had to have her. So I measured my distance, risked my neck, and jumped for her. Game leg and all I jumped, landed in the pit of a nigger's stomach,

s by the roadside and get my wind back. Then I slid my handkerchief easy-easy under my hat, tilted it up, and here she is! She hasn't hurt herself, for she's been quiet. She's perfect. She hasn't rubbed off a scale. She's the size of a bat. Her upper wings, and one lower wing, are black, curiously splotched with yellow, and one lower wing is all yellow. She's got the usu

the blood roared in my ears like the wind in the pinetrees. My senses were in a most painful co

mmered. "Oh, John Flint, J

inch off-color swallow-tail flirts herself under my nose a

m away, forever and forever, beyond recall or return. Slippy McGee had gone into the past; he was dead and done with. But John Flin

I tottered, and sank helplessly into the seat built around our great magnolia. And shaken out of all self-control I wept as I had not been permitted to

inked at me, as if a light had shone too strongly upon them. A sort of inarticulate whimper came from him. Then with extreme care he laid

! ... F

lost ... gone ... into a far country

m, as one reassures one's child. So for a healing time we two remained thus, both silent. The garden was exquisitely still and calm and peaceful. We were shut in and canopi

eart of little faith! I had been afraid; I had doubted and despaired and been unutterably wretched; I had thought him lost whom the Powers of Darknes

d not lost a scale; and she was by far the most astonishing aberrant I have ever seen, before or since. The Turnus is perhaps the most beautiful of our butterflies, and this o

r. She is the only one of all our butterflies I claim persona

let me do it again for a quarter." His eyes roved over the pleasant workroom with its books and cabinets, its air of homely comfort; through the open do

don't need to be afraid for me any more as you had to be to-day. T

er dog? Well, I reckon she was right. I reckon I'm here

gether. "Yes; you and I belong." And I left him with Kerry's head on his knees, and Kerry's eyes adoring him, and went over to the Paris

ther looked profou

d, "that this doesn't me

I am

olerant understanding, but she asked no questions, made no comment. If Solomon had been lucky enough to marry my mother, I am s

ignore it as if it had never happened. It had, of course, its results, for with a desperate intensity of purpose he plunged back into

fore my eyes; I was so enmeshed in the web of endless duties spun for me by my big poor parish that I did not

so happened that the ensuing summers failed to bring her back. The little girl spent her vacations with girl friends of whose standing her moth

lidays were spent, not with younger companions, but oddly enough with John Flint. That old friendship, rene

earned societies; and that he's gotten out a book of sorts, telling all there is to tell about some crawling plague or other. And it seems this isn't all the wonderful Mr.

research," said I, as modestly as I could. "Flint is one of its great pioneers, and he's blazing the way. Some da

aid he. "As a matter of fact, this fellow is a rema

uld not keep the pride out of my voice and eyes. Let me again adm

may well be pardoned a little natural vanity when one has

. He was a mos

itted the judge, rubbing his nose. "Well, father, I'm perfe

y mother

rtesy good to see in this age when a youth walks beside a maid

n," said he, gallantly, "it confers

ntinued gaily. "We'll put on his shield three butterflies, or, rampant on a field, azure; in the lower corner a net, argent. Motto,

rust St. Stanislaus kept; sh