It fluttered along after the boy, who had paused to throw stones at a cat. But pussy escaped by running up a tree, where thick branches protected her from the stones. Then the boy discovered a newly-planted garden, and trampled upon the beds until the seeds were scattered far and wide, and the garden was ruined. Next he caught up a switch and struck with it a young calf that stood quietly grazing in a field. The poor creature ran away with piteous bleats, and the boy laughed and followed after it, striking the frightened animal again and again. “Really,” thought the butterfly, “I do not wonder the mandarin hates children, if they are all so cruel and wicked as this one.” The calf having escaped him the boy came back to the road, where he met two little girls on their way to school. One of them had a red apple in her hand, and the boy snatched it away and began eating it. The little girl commenced to cry, but her companion, more brave and sturdy, cried out: “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you nasty boy!” At this the boy reached out and slapped her pretty face, whereupon she also began to sob. Although possessed of neither soul nor conscience, the butterfly had a very tender heart, and now decided it could endure this boy no longer. “If I permitted him to exist,” it reflected, “I should never forgive myself, for the monster would do nothing but evil from morning ’til night.” So it flew directly into his face and touched his forehead with its sticky front feet. The next instant the boy had disappeared, but a grunting pig ran swiftly up the road in the direction of its sty. The butterfly gave a sigh of relief. “This time I have indeed used the mandarin’s magic upon a child,” it whispered, as it floated lazily upon the light breeze; “but since the child was originally a pig I do not think I have any cause to reproach myself. The little girls were sweet and gentle, and I would not injure them to save my life, but were all boys like this transformed pig, I should not hesitate to carry out the mandarin’s orders.” Then it flew into a rose bush, where it remained comfortably until evening. At sundown it returned to its master. “Have you changed two of them into pigs?” he asked, at once. “I have,” replied the butterfly. “One was a pretty, black-eyed baby, and the other a freckle-faced, red-haired, barefooted newboy.” “Good! Good! Good!” screamed the mandarin, in an ecstasy of delight. “Those are the ones who torment me the most! Change every newboy you meet into a pig!” “Very well,” answered the butterfly, quietly, and ate its supper of molasses.