Old Primrose 149

but the clerk stared at him as he fluttered in
at the door and settled on the back of a
chair.

“We don’t issue summonses to butterflies,”

said the clerk. “I suppose you ave a butter-
fly, aren’t you?”
‘“No—no—no!” screamed Ae
old P. ‘I’m Jacob Primrose, ; hy a
ue

the owner of a cottage and
garden patch. They’re rob-
bing me!”

   
 

“Pooh!” said the clerk. ‘Go ee
away, or I'll stick you on a cork aS |

with a pin.” Ul)

So poor old Primrose fluttered
out, weeping and taking pinches
of snuff by turns; and now he
was changing more rapidly than
ever, so that by the time he reached his
cottage again he was only about five times
the size of any ordinary butterfly. The
strange part of it was, that he still re-
tained his deep husky voice and his great
nose, and took snuff, and felt pains in his
bunions.