"Hasn't it? Well, we'll see. Now, you watch my pencil." He pointed to the head of the butterfly. "This little fellow has a very tiny brain there. Also running through the body, from end to end, is a little tube through which the food passes. It is in the head above this tube where the tiny brain is, and from which two little threads run down around the tube and join to form another little knot of nerve cells like that of the brain. Then, from this second one there runs a series of little knots united by fine threads the entire length of the body, one in each ring of the body. Do you understand that?" "Yes," piped up Betty, "mother told us an insect is made up of rings, and--and--" she stammered, surprised at her own boldness, "the word means cut up into parts." "Good! Why, that's a real bright girl. Well, from each one of these knots nerves go to the muscles of the body." "It's just like a lot of beads on a string," said Hope Stanton. "So it is, child. So, you see, if we handle an insect roughly, squeezing it too hard, or breaking a leg or a wing, a message is sent to one of these little beads or knots or nerve cells, and the poor, helpless creature suffers pain." "But I didn't mean to hurt that butterfly!" "No, of course you didn't. The only way to do," said the old man, "is to catch them in a net. Make it of bobinet with a rounded bottom, sewing it to a wire ring and fastening it to a handle that is the right weight and length for your arm." "But then, after you caught it, how could you keep it, sir?" asked Betty. "There are two merciful ways," said the old man, "of killing insects, but neither way is safe for children to try. Put a few drops of chloroform on a piece of cotton under a tumbler turned upside down. Put the insect inside. It will soon fall asleep without pain. The other is a cyanide bottle. I have one down at the cabin. It must be kept tightly corked and never smelled. The cyanide in the bottle is hard and dry. Several insects may be put into the bottle at the same time. Once there they die very quickly. After large insects are killed the wings should be folded over the back, and they should be placed in a little case like this. See, I'm folding a piece of paper to form a three-cornered case. Then I bend down one edge to keep the little case closed." At this moment out flew Lizzie with a curtain which she was going to shake. "Here, here!" shouted the old man, "don't shake that; catch that caterpillar on it. I want it." Lizzie made a good-natured grab at the caterpillar, and then there was a cry of pain. "Oh, begorra, begorra, I'm stung by a wasp, I am! Ow!" But she still kept tight hold of the caterpillar as she danced about. "No," said the guide, "you're not stung by any wasp. Bring me that! There, open your hand. You see, the caterpillar stung you." "Oh my, what a beauty!" exclaimed the children. "But caterpillars don't sting."