Why? Because just when he was going to put his poor prisoner to death, the child’s heart and hand trembled—because he looked at his cousin and saw her turn pale—because Minnie turned away her head that she might not see her cousin do this cruel deed. She felt that death was dreadful, whether it were a man’s death or a butterfly’s. This pin was just the same to the poor insect as a sword would be to a man. ‘Oh, Bertie, Bertie!’ she cried, bursting into tears; ‘no, no! don’t let us kill him! Only think, Bertie, it said in uncle’s book that butterflies live for several days with pins run through them. Oh, how dreadful it must be! I could not bear to see it, and you could not, Bertie. It is not nice play to kill things; I don’t like chasing butterflies.’

Bertie has lifted up his net.

Oh, the happy, beautiful butterfly! He thought himself just dead, and he has come back to life. One moment to shake his wings, and away he soars again in his joyous flight towards the blue sky.

Minnie throws her arms round Bertie’s neck, and says, ‘Oh, thank you, Bertie!’ They are very happy too—good little Bertie and dear little Minnie. They know they have done right.

They will never go chasing butterflies again, never, never.