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Updated: May 16, 2025
"Don't go so fast, little Dan'l, or you'll get overhet, and then what will Mis' Dean say?" he continually repeated. Little Dan'l's thin, pretty face peeped up at him from between the sides of her green sunbonnet. She pointed one dainty finger at a cloud of pale yellow butterflies in the field beside which they were walking. "Want to chase flutterbies," she chirped.
He called, and the creatures obeyed the call, Took their legs and their wings and followed him all; Squirrels that carried their tails like a sack, Each on his own little humpy brown back; Householder snails, and slugs all tails, And butterflies, flutterbies, ships all sails; And weasels, and ousels, and mice, and larks, And owls, and rere-mice, and harkydarks,
"Why, Master Rodd, it makes us chaps wish we was boys again and ashore there running after them butterflies with our caps; only one couldn't run among the trees, and they fly too high. I never see flutterbies, as we used to call them, with colours like these, though. We used to catch white 'uns, and yaller ones, and sometimes what we used to call tortoiseshells.
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