In the middle of our porridge plates there was a blue butterfly painted and each morning we tried who should reach the butterfly first. Then the Grandmother said: "Do not eat the poor butterfly." That made us laugh. Always she said it and always it started us laughing. It seemed such a sweet little joke. I was certain that one fine morning the butterfly would fly out of our plates, laughing the teeniest laugh in the world, and perch on the Grandmother's lap.
