He said he bought them because they "tasted like New York" which they do not. Just as Major Cartwright explains his purchase of them by the shameless assertion that it just tickles him to death "to see what Godforsaken idjits those Yankees can make of themselves when they half-way try. Why, suh, one glance at their Sunday newspapers ought to prove to any right thinkin' man that it's safer an' saner to die in South Carolina than to live in New York!" _I_ think the Butterfly Man and Major Cartwright buy those papers because they think they are _funny_! After they have read and sniggered, they donate them to Clélie and Daddy January. And presently Clélie distributes them to a waiting colored countryside, which wallpapers its houses with them. I have had to counsel the erring and bolster the faith of the backsliding under the goggle eyes of inhuman creations whose unholy capers have made futile many a prayer. And yet the Butterfly Man likes them! Is it not to wonder? He laid them tenderly upon the table now, and smiled slyly to see me eye them askance. "Did you know," said he, over his coffee, "that Laurence came in this morning on the six-o'clock? January had him out in the garden showing off the judge's new patent hives, and I stopped on my way to church and shook hands over the fence. It was all I could do to keep from shouting that all's right with the world, and all he had to do was to be glad. I didn't know how much I cared for that boy until this morning. Parson, it's a--a terrible thing to love people, when you come to think about it, isn't it? I told him you were honing to see him: and that we'd be looking for him along about eleven. And I intimated that if he didn't show up then I'd go after him with a gun. He said he'd be here on the stroke." After a moment, he added gently: "I figured they'd be here by then--Madame and Mary Virginia." "What! You have induced Laurence to come while she is here--without giving him any intimation that he is likely to meet her?" I said, aghast. "You are a bold man, John Flint!" The study windows were open and the sweet wind and the warm sun poured in unchecked. The stir of bees, the scent of honey-locust just opening, drifted in, and the slow solemn clangor of church bells, and lilts and flutings and calls and whistlings from the tree-tops. We could see passing groups of our neighbors, fathers and mothers shepherding little flocks of children in their Sunday best, trotting along with demure Sabbath faces on their way to church. The Butterfly Man looked out, waved gaily to the passing children, who waved back a joyous response, nodded to their smiling parents, followed the flight of a tanager's sober spouse, and sniffed the air luxuriously.