"Dew, and the honey out of flowers, I am afraid," sighed the
Caterpillar.

"No such thing, old lady! Something simpler than that. Something
that _you_ can get at quite easily."

"I can get at nothing quite easily but cabbage-leaves," murmured
the Caterpillar, in distress.

"Excellent! my good friend," cried the Lark, exultingly; "you have
found it out. You are to feed them with cabbage-leaves."

_"Never!"_ said the Caterpillar, indignantly. "It was their
dying mother's last request that I should do no such thing."

"Their dying mother knew nothing about the matter," persisted the
lark; "but why do you ask me, and then disbelieve what I say? You
have neither faith nor trust."

"Oh, I believe everything I am told," said the Caterpillar.

"Nay, but you do not," replied the Lark; "you won't believe me even
about the food, and yet that is but a beginning of what I have to
tell you. Why, Caterpillar, what do you think those little eggs
will turn out to be?"

"Butterflies, to be sure," said the Caterpillar.

"_Caterpillars!_" sang the Lark; "and you'll find it out in