Out across the shining expanse of Silverwater, now lying unruffled by any breath of wind, went flickering a little blue butterfly, as blue as if a gentian blossom had taken to itself wings or a speck of sky had fluttered down to meet its bright reflection in the lake. It was a foolish expedition for the little explorer, so far from shore, and over that lonely, treacherous element which has such scant mercy for butterflies. The turquoise wings dipped and rose, sometimes coming so close to the water that the Babe caught his breath, thinking the frail voyager's eyes were unable to distinguish between the crystal purity of the water and that of the air. At last a wing tip, or more likely the tip of the velvet tail, brushed the surface. It was only the lightest touch; and instantly, suddenly, as if startled by the chill contact, the azure flutterer rose again. In the same instant the water swirled heavily beneath her, a little sucking whirlpool appeared shattering the mirror, and circular ripples began to widen quickly and smoothly from the break. "That was a big fellow!" exclaimed Uncle Andy. But the Babe said nothing, being too intent upon the aerial voyager's career. For two or three moments the flake of sky fluttered higher. Then, as the ripples smoothed themselves out, she seemed to forget, and began to descend again as if lured downward by her own dainty reflection. Yet she had not quite forgotten, for now she only came within six or seven inches of the traitorous surface. Now her heavenly wings supported her for a moment almost motionless. In that moment a splendid shape, gleaming like a bolt of silver, shot a clear foot into the air and fell back with a massive splash. The turquoise butterfly was gone. "Oh--h!" cried the Babe, almost with a sob in his voice. He loved the blue butterflies as he loved no others of their brilliant and perishing kindred. "_Gee_!" exclaimed Uncle Andy. "But he's a _whale_!" The Babe, in his surprise at this remarkable statement, forgot to mourn for the fate of the blue butterfly. "Why, Uncle Andy," he protested. "I didn't know whales could live here in this little lake." Uncle Andy made a despairing gesture. "Oh," he murmured wearily, "a fellow has to be _so_ careful what he says to you! The next time I make a metaphorical remark in your presence, I'll draw a diagram to go with it!" The Babe looked puzzled. He was on the point of asking what "a metaphorical" was, and also "a diagram"; but he inferred that there were no whales, after all, in Silverwater. He had misunderstood Uncle Andy's apparently simple statement of fact. And he felt convicted of foolishness. Anxious to reinstate himself in his uncle's approval by an unexpected display of knowledge he waived "metaphorical" aside, let "diagram" remain a mystery, and remarked disinterestedly: "Well, I'm glad there ain't any _swordfish_ in Silverwater."