The blackbird wasn’t going to give up so soon. He dashed at the caterpillar again, and the sparkling little lady dashed at the blackbird; and she knocked him sideways, and he flew off and turned round and came back again. He was the stubbornest blackbird in the world. He came back a dozen times. And each time the sparkling lady, with her wings buzzing like a bumblebee’s, knocked him sideways and sent him off. But the thirteenth time she missed him. Just as he was pouncing on the caterpillar she flashed by him, too late. She wheeled around and cried out, “Go away, caterpillar! Come up, butterfly!” And the caterpillar turned instantly into a beautiful butterfly, and the butterfly floated away off the branch just in time. The blackbird snatched up the Apple-Seed Elf in its beak by the back of his coat, and dashed off with him. The elf screamed and kicked, but it wasn’t any use; the blackbird flew off with him out of sight among the trees, and did not come back any more. Merrimeg was a butterfly, a beautiful butterfly, with pointed wings all white and blue and brown. It fluttered here and there in the sunshine for a moment, then it sailed out from the orchard as if it knew where it was going, and floated off across the cabbage garden to the kitchen window, and in through the kitchen window straight into the kitchen, where Merrimeg’s mother was washing the dishes. “Oh!” said Merrimeg’s mother. “What a beautiful butterfly! I must try to catch it for Merrimeg.” The butterfly sailed round the kitchen, and Merrimeg’s mother held up her apron and tiptoed after it, and almost caught it, but not quite. It flew off into the front room, and when Merrimeg’s mother came in it was resting quietly on Merrimeg’s bed, fluttering its wings. Oh, if that butterfly could only have said one word! Merrimeg’s mother held her apron over it, but it rose in the air, and as she ran after it it flew out of the front window into the street and was gone. Merrimeg’s mother went back to her washing in the kitchen. “I wonder where that Merrimeg is,” said she, and she went to the kitchen door and called, “Merrimeg!” But there was no answer, and she turned back into the kitchen again, and threw her hands up and said, “Why, bless me, there’s that butterfly again!” Sure enough, the butterfly was hovering around, here and there, quite as if it could not make up its mind to go away. Merrimeg’s mother held up her apron again and tried to catch it; but she only drove it into the front room, and when she followed it there, waving her apron, it flew out of the window into the street. “Oh, pshaw,” she said, “I can’t bother with you all day.” And she closed the window. The butterfly rose higher and sailed off down the street in the direction of the woods. Merrimeg’s mother went back to her washing.