time;" and the Lark flew away, for he did not want to stay and
contest the point with his friend.

"I thought the Lark had been wise and kind," observed the mild
green Caterpillar, once more beginning to walk around the eggs,
"but I find that he is foolish and saucy instead. Perhaps he went
up _too_ high this time. I still wonder whom he sees, and what
he does up yonder."

"I would tell you if you would believe me," sang the Lark,
descending once more.

"I believe everything I am told," reiterated the Caterpillar, with
as grave a face as if it were a fact.

"Then I'll tell you something else," cried the Lark; "for the best
of my news remains behind. _You will one day be a Butterfly
yourself_."

"Wretched bird!" exclaimed the Caterpillar, "you jest with my
inferiority--now you are cruel as well as foolish. Go away! I will
ask your advice no more."

"I told you you would not believe me!" cried the Lark, nettled in
his turn.

"I believe everything that I am told" persisted the Caterpillar;
"that is"--and she hesitated--"everything that it is _reasonable_
to believe. But to tell me that Butterflies' eggs are Caterpillars,
and that Caterpillars leave off crawling and get wings, and become