There was once a dark, small, narrow girl whose life was also dark, small and narrow. This was hardly surprising, as she had lived most of it in the same dark, small, narrow house. The head of the household was her father, a widower with five strapping sons. He was very rich, but also very miserly. Naturally, he thought it completely unnecessary to hire a servant when he had his daughter to cook, clean the house and sew, mend and wash all their clothes.
In the afternoons when she was in the garden hanging out the laundry, the girl would gaze longingly at the yellow butterflies at play. Because of them and the flowers they loved to visit, the garden was the only cheery place on her father's property. The girl was not given to complaining. Still, sometimes she fairly ached to be able to fly away like her beloved butterflies.