Tell your dad a beautiful fairy tale about a small animal?

A butterfly wanted to find a lover. Naturally, he wanted to find a cute little lover in a group of flowers. So he looked at them all.

Each flower sat quietly and demurely on a stalk, just as a girl sits when she is not engaged. But there were so many of them that the choice was not easy. The butterfly does not wish to invite trouble, and therefore flies to the daisy. The French call this little flower "Margareth" (N.B.: the original word is "Margreth," which means "daisy"; many women in Europe and America use this word as a name). name.) They knew that she could prophesy. They knew that she could prophesy. She did this: lovers picked her petals one by one, and with each one they asked one thing about their lovers: "Passion? --Is it painful? --Love me very much? Only a little? --Love at all?" And so on and so forth. Each one may ask in his own language. The butterfly also comes and asks; but instead of plucking the petals, he kisses each one. For he believes that only kindness will get the best answer.

"Dear 'Margarete' daisy!" He said, "You are the wisest woman of all flowers. You make prophecies! I beg you to tell me, should I marry this one or that one? Which one will I get? If I knew, I could fly straight to her and ask for her hand in marriage."

But Margarete would not answer him. She was angry, for she was but a maiden, and he had called her "woman"; and there was a difference. He asked a second time, and a third. When he could not get a word of answer from her, he would ask no more. He flew away and immediately began his courtship.

It was early spring, and the crocuses and snowdrops were in full bloom.

"They are very pretty," said the butterfly, "simply a lovely bunch of love-struck lasses, but too ignorant of the world." He, like all young lads, was looking for older women.

So he flew to the autumn peony. The girls were a little too bitter for his liking. The violets were a little too passionate; the tulips were too gaudy; the yellow daffodils were too commonplace; the linden flowers were too small, and they had too many relatives besides; and the apple-tree blossoms looked like roses, but they bloomed one day, and were gone the next -- falling at the slightest breeze. He did not think it would last long to marry them. The pea-flower was the most amusing: she was red and white, and both skillful and tender. She was a woman of strong domesticity, and was both beautiful in appearance and capable in the kitchen. As he was about to ask her to marry him, he saw a pod near this flower - a wilted flower hanging from the tip of the pod.

"Who is this?" He asked.

"This is my sister," said the pea flower

"Good boy! Then you'll be just like her someday