Having said this in so low a tone of voice that you would not have heard him had you been standing close by, he flew far away, so far that neither you nor I could have followed him with our eyes. As for the happy-faced, little, black-eyed woman, she did not even know that he had been near her, for her eyes were fastened on her book, as usual. But the small, green, caterpillars must have heard, for they went on crawling and nibbling cabbage-leaves quite contentedly, and not one of them was ever heard to complain of having to be a caterpillar, though occasionally one and then another of them would lift his head, and I doubt not he was thinking of the time when he, too, should become a beautiful white butterfly. _THE DISCONTENTED MILL WINDOW._ A tall flour mill once stood in the midst of a busy noisy town. Its steep, slanting roof was far above any other roof in the place, and its many windows looked out over the chimney tops, and into the back yards and saw all that was going on in them. Under the very eaves of this slanting roof was a little round window. Because it was so high above the other windows, from it you could have seen not only all that was being done in the busy city, but the broad, green fields outside of the town, and, on a clear day, you could even have caught a glimpse of the vast ocean which lay shining so mysteriously beyond the end of land. It was because this glimpse of the great ocean could be seen through the little round window that the mill-owner brought many visitors up to the top story to see the beautiful vision. Oftentimes the guests reached the window, panting, and out of breath from having to climb so many steps, but they always exclaimed, "How glad I am that I came! How beautiful it is! How _beautiful_ it is!" Every noon some of the tired, dusty workmen would come and look out of the little round window, sometimes almost forgetting to eat the bread and meat they held in their hands. Oftentimes the window would hear them say, "It rests one's tired bones to know that the great ocean is not so far away after all." There was one pale, sad-faced man who used to come every day and lean his elbows on the window sill and gaze, and gaze as if he were never tired of looking out on the view which the little round window presented. When the mill whistle sounded its shrill, sharp note, telling the men that the noonday rest was over and that they must be back at their work, the pale, sad-faced man would sigh, and as he turned away, would say softly to himself, "I don't believe I could stand the grind of this mill life if I didn't get a breath of ocean air from this window each day!"