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Updated: May 18, 2025
He stared at this for a while, and added: P.S. In futcher watch for this buterfly witch mite be a fary. Then he went trudging homeward. He was smiling, his own shy, secret smile. He held his head erect and looked ahead of him as if in the far, far distance he had seen something, a beckoning something, toward which he was to strive.
Peter wished to make his mother personally acquainted with the Red Admiral, so he printed on the back of his picture: My buterfly done for mother's burthday by her loveing son Peter Champneys the 11th Year of his Aige.
He looked at the sketch; he watched the Red Admiral finish his meal and go scudding down the wind. And he knew he had found the one thing he could do, the one thing he wanted to do, that he must and would do. It was as if the butterfly had been a fairy, to open for Peter a tiny door of hope. He wrote under the sketch: Jun. 2, 189- This day I notissed the red and blak buterfly on the thissel.
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