I suppose it is better to save anything that's pretty, somehow, even if the thing don't like it himself." "Perhaps you are right," replied Anderson, regarding the boy with some wonder.
"Maybe he didn't mind dying 'cause I caught him any more than just dying himself," said Eddy.
"Maybe not." "Anyhow, he's dead," said the boy.
He watched Anderson carefully as he manipulated the insect.
"I'm sorry his wing got broken," he said.

"I wonder why God makes butterflies' wings so awful brittle that they can't be caught without spoiling 'em.

The other wing ain't hurt much, anyhow." A sudden thought struck Anderson.

"Why, when did you get this butterfly ?" he asked.
The boy flushed vividly.

He gave a sorrowful, obstinate glance at the man, as much as to say, "I am sad that you should force me into such a course, but I must be firm." Then he looked away, staring out of the window at the tree-tops tossing against the brilliant blue of the sky, and made no reply.
Anderson made a swift calculation.