THE WHITE BUTTERFLY

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 246, 7 January 1928, Page 25

THE WHITE BUTTERFLY

It was the White Butterfly's birthday, and, although he thought himself a very humble person, he felt he just must have a party. He talked it over with his great friend, the Brown Spider, who Quite agreed that on such an important occasion only the very best people could be asked. It was the Brown Spider, too, who wrote the invitations on the very best rose petals, while Mrs. Brown Spider wove a delicate gossamer table-cloth. The Purple Emperor and his wife had an invitation. Mr. and Mrs. Bed Admiral were invited, and also the Dragon-fly family and Lord and Lady Stag-Beetle. All the White Butterfly's friends helped, but they never thought of being asked to the party because it was such a grand affair. The Bee family sent some delicious honey, while the Night Moths brushed every nook and cranny with their wings. Even the Glowworms lent their lanterns. At last the White Butterfly sat down to await his guests, but not one of them came! The White Butterfly couldn’t believe it. It was very, very rude of them, but all the pecple he had asked were so proud that they just laughed at the idea of going to a party given by a mere White Butterfly. The poor White Butterfly was in tears. Now, it happened that the Fairy Queen was flying round the garden, seeing if she could help anyone, and of course she stopped to talk to the unhappy White Butterfly. She frowned when she heard how unkind all the guests had been, but all she said was: “Never mind, dear White Butterfly! Won’t you ask me to your birthday party? And what about all these kind friends who have helped you so? Why not ask them to your party?” And so, after all, the White Butterfly’s birthday party was a great success. But the proud guests who would not come were quite cross when they saw everybody but themselves having tea with the Fairy Queen!

THE SPINNERS What are you weaving l , Mother o’ Mine? Gossamer garments, filmy fine; Feathery wraps of silken sheen, Furbelows for the Fairy Queen, Sewn with traceries, twists and twirls. Haste thee, fetch me a sack of pearls. Where shall I find them, Mother o’ Mine? Search where the bindweed’s fingers twine, Mount by the rose’s prickly stair. Cull the jewels she’s hiding there. O! fairies’ fancies are frail and few— Gowns of gossamer, gems of dew!