“A pretty nurse she has chosen, indeed, poor lady!” exclaimed she, “and a pretty business I have in hand. Why did she ever ask a poor crawling creature like me to bring up her dainty little ones! Much they'll mind me, truly, when they feel the gay wings on their backs, and can fly away.” However, the poor butterfly was dead, and there lay the eggs on the cabbage-leaf, and the green caterpillar had a kind heart, so she resolved to do her best. “But two heads are better than one,” said she; “I will consult some wise animal on the matter.” Then she thought and thought till at last she thought of the lark, and she fancied that because he went up so high, and nobody knew where he went to, he must be very clever and know a great deal. Now in the neighboring cornfield there lived a lark, and the caterpillar sent a message to him, begging him to come and talk to her. When he came she told him all her difficulties, and asked him how she was to feed and rear the little butterfly creatures. “Perhaps you will be able to inquire and learn something about it the next time you go up high,” said the caterpillar timidly. “Perhaps I can,” answered the lark; and then he went singing upwards into the bright, blue sky, till the green caterpillar could not hear a sound, nor could she see him any more. So she began to walk round the butterfly's eggs, nibbling a bit of the cabbage-leaf now and then as she moved along. “What a time the lark has been gone!” she cried at last. “I wonder where he is just now. He must have flown higher than usual this time. How I should like to know where he goes, and what he hears in that curious blue sky! He always sings going up and coming down, but he never lets any secret out.” And the green caterpillar took another turn round the butterfly's eggs. At last the lark's voice began to be heard again. The caterpillar almost jumped for joy, and it was not long before she saw her friend descend with hushed note to the cabbage bed. “News, news, glorious news, friend caterpillar!” sang the lark, “but the worst of it is, you won't believe me!” “I believe anything I am told,” said the caterpillar hastily. “Well, then, first of all, I will tell you what those little creatures are to eat”--and the lark nodded his head toward the eggs. “What do you think it is to be? Guess!” “Dew and honey out of the flowers, I am afraid!” sighed the caterpillar. “No such thing, my good friend,” cried the lark exultantly; “you are to feed them with cabbage-leaves!” “Never!” said the caterpillar indignantly. “It was their mother's last request that I should feed them on dew and honey.” “Their mother knew nothing about the matter,” answered the lark; “but why do you ask me, and then disbelieve what I say? You have neither faith nor trust.” “Oh, I believe everything I am told,” said the caterpillar. “Nay, but you do not,” replied the lark. “Why, caterpillar, what do you think those little eggs will turn out to be?”