A Girl Of The Limberlost, by Gene Stratton Porter (page 5)

did it. If I have anything to forgive you, that is what it is.”

Wesley removed his hat and sat on a bench.

“Katharine,” he said solemnly, “nobody ever knows how to take you.”

“Would it be asking too much to take me for having a few grains of plain common sense?” she inquired. “You’ve known all this time that Comstock got what he deserved, when he undertook to sneak in an unused way across a swamp, with which he was none too familiar. Now I should have thought that you’d figure that knowing the same thing would be the best method to cure me of pining for him, and slighting my child.”

“Heaven only knows we have thought of that, and talked of it often, but we were both too big cowards. We didn’t dare tell you.”

“So you have gone on year after year, watching me show indifference to Elnora, and yet a little horse-sense would have pointed out to you that she was my salvation. Why look at it! Not married quite a year. All his vows of love and fidelity made to me before the Almighty forgotten in a few months, and a dance and a Light Woman so alluring he had to lie and sneak for them. What kind of a prospect is that for a life? I know men and women. An honourable man is an honourable man, and a liar is a liar; both are born and not made. One cannot change to the other any more than that same old leopard can change its spots. After a man tells a woman the first untruth of that sort, the others come piling thick, fast, and mountain high. The desolation they bring in their wake overshadows anything I have suffered completely. If he had lived six months more I should have known him for what he was born to be. It was in the blood of him. His father and grandfather before him were fiddling, dancing people; but I was certain of him. I thought we could leave Ohio and come out here alone, and I could so love him and interest him in his work, that he would be a man. Of all the fool, fruitless jobs, making anything of a creature that begins by deceiving her, is the foolest a sane woman ever undertook. I am more than sorry you and Margaret didn’t see your way clear to tell me long ago. I’d have found it out in a few more months if he had lived, and I wouldn’t have borne it a day. The man who breaks his vows to me once, doesn’t get the second chance. I give truth and honour. I have a right to ask it in return. I am glad I understand at last. Now, if Elnora will forgive me, we will take a new start and see what we can make out of what is left of life. If she won’t, then it will be my time to learn what suffering really means.”

“But she will,” said Wesley. “She must! She can’t help it when things are explained.”

“I notice she isn’t hurrying any about coming home. Do you know where she is or what she is doing?”

“I do not. But likely she will be along soon. I must go help Billy with the night work. Good-bye, Katharine. Thank the Lord you have come to yourself at last!”

They shook hands and Wesley went down the road while Mrs. Comstock entered the cabin. She could not swallow food. She stood in the back door watching the sky for moths, but they did not seem to be very numerous. Her spirits sank and she breathed unevenly. Then she heard the front screen. She reached the middle door as Elnora touched the foot of the stairs.

“Hurry, and get ready, Elnora,” she said. “Your supper is almost spoiled now.”

Elnora closed the stair door behind her, and for the first time in her life, threw the heavy lever which barred out anyone from down stairs. Mrs. Comstock heard the thud, and knew what it meant. She reeled slightly and caught the doorpost for support. For a few minutes she clung there, then sank to the nearest chair. After a long time she arose and stumbling half blindly, she put the food in the cupboard and covered the table. She took the lamp in one hand, the butter in the other, and started to the spring house. Something brushed close by her face, and she looked just in time to see a winged creature rise above the cabin and sail away.

“That was a night bird,” she muttered. As she stopped to set the butter in the water, came another thought. “Perhaps it was a moth!” Mrs. Comstock dropped the butter and hurried out with the lamp; she held it high above her head and waited until her arms ached. Small insects of night gathered, and at last a little dusty miller, but nothing came of any size.

“I must go where they are, if I get them,” muttered Mrs. Comstock.

She went to the barn after the stout pair of high boots she used in feeding stock in deep snow. Throwing these beside the back door she climbed to the loft over the spring house, and hunted an old lard oil lantern and one of first manufacture for oil. Both these she cleaned and filled. She listened until everything up stairs had been still for over half an hour. By that time it was past eleven o’clock. Then she took the lantern from the kitchen, the two old ones, a handful of matches, a ball of twine, and went from the cabin, softly closing the door.

Sitting on the back steps, she put on the boots, and then stood gazing into the perfumed June night, first in the direction of the woods on her land, then toward the Limberlost. Its outline was so dark and forbidding she shuddered and went down the garden, following the path toward the woods, but as she neared the pool her knees wavered and her courage fled. The knowledge that in her soul she was now glad Robert Comstock was at the bottom of it made a coward of her, who fearlessly had mourned him there, nights untold. She could not go on. She skirted the back of the garden, crossed a field, and came out on the road. Soon she reached the Limberlost. She hunted until she found the old trail, then followed it stumbling over logs and through clinging vines and grasses. The heavy boots clumped on her feet, overhanging branches whipped her face and pulled her hair. But her eyes were on the sky as she went straining into the night, hoping to find signs of a living creature on wing.

By and by she began to see the wavering flight of something she thought near the right size. She had no idea where she was, but she stopped, lighted a lantern and hung it as high as she could reach. A little distance away she placed the second and then the third. The objects came nearer and sick with disappointment she saw that they were bats. Crouching in the damp swamp grasses, without a thought of snakes or venomous insects, she waited, her eyes roving from lantern to lantern. Once she thought a creature of high flight dropped near the lard oil light, so she arose breathlessly waiting, but either it passed or it was an illusion. She glanced at the old lantern, then at the new, and was on her feet in an instant creeping close. Something large as a small bird was fluttering around. Mrs. Comstock began to perspire, while her hand shook wildly. Closer she crept and just as she reached for it, something similar swept past and both flew away together.

Mrs. Comstock set her teeth and stood shivering. For a long time the locusts rasped, the whip-poor-wills cried and a steady hum of night life throbbed in her ears. Away in the sky she saw something coming when it was no larger than a falling leaf. Straight toward the light it flew. Mrs. Comstock began to pray aloud.

“This way, O Lord! Make it come this way! Please! O Lord, send it lower!”

The moth hesitated at the first light, then slowly, easily it came toward the second, as if following a path of air. It touched a leaf near the lantern and settled. As Mrs. Comstock reached for it a thin yellow spray wet her hand and the surrounding leaves. When its wings raised above its back, her fingers came together. She held the moth to the light. It was nearer brown than yellow, and she remembered having seen some like it in the boxes that afternoon. It was not the one needed to complete the collection, but Elnora might want it, so Mrs. Comstock held on. Then the Almighty was kind, or nature was sufficient, as you look at it, for following the law of its being when disturbed, the moth again threw the spray by which some suppose it attracts its kind, and liberally sprinkled Mrs. Comstock’s dress front and arms. From that instant, she became the best moth bait ever invented. Every Polyphemus in range hastened to her, and other fluttering creatures of night followed. The influx came her way. She snatched wildly here and there until she had one in each hand and no place to put them. She could see more coming, and her aching heart, swollen with the strain of long excitement, hurt pitifully. She prayed in broken exclamations that did not always sound reverent, but never was human soul in more intense earnest.

Moths were coming. She had one in each hand. They were not yellow, and she did not know what to do. She glanced around to try to discover some way to keep what she had, and her throbbing heart stopped and every muscle stiffened. There was the dim outline of a crouching figure not two yards away, and a pair of eyes their owner thought hidden, caught the light in a cold stream. Her first impulse was to scream and fly for life. Before her lips could open a big moth alighted on her breast while she felt another walking over her hair. All sense of caution deserted her. She did not care to live if she could not replace the yellow moth she had killed. She turned her eyes to those among the leaves.

“Here, you!” she cried hoarsely. “I need you! Get yourself out here, and help me. These critters are going to get away from me. Hustle!”

Pete Corson parted the bushes and stepped into the light.

“Oh, it’s you!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I might have known! But you gave me a start. Here, hold these until I make some sort of bag for them. Go easy! If you break them I don’t guarantee what will happen to you!”

“Pretty fierce, ain’t you!” laughed Pete, but he advanced and held out his hands. “For Elnora, I s’pose?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Comstock. “In a mad fit, I trampled one this morning, and by the luck of the old boy himself it was the last moth she needed to complete a collection. I got to get another one or die.”

“Then I guess it’s your funeral,” said Pete. “There ain’t a chance in a dozen the right one will come. What colour was it?”

“Yellow, and big as a bird.”

“The Emperor, likely,” said Pete. “You dig for that kind, and they are not numerous, so’s ‘at you can smash ’em for fun.”

“Well, I can try to get one, anyway,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I forgot all about bringing anything to put them in. You take a pinch on their wings until I make a poke.”

Mrs. Comstock removed her apron, tearing off the strings. She unfastened and stepped from the skirt of her calico dress. With one apron string she tied shut the band and placket. She pulled a wire pin from her hair, stuck it through the other string, and using it as a bodkin ran it around the hem of her skirt, so shortly she had a large bag. She put several branches inside to which the moths could cling, closed the mouth partially and held it toward Pete.

“Put your hand well down and let the things go!” she ordered. “But be careful, man! Don’t run into the twigs! Easy! That’s one. Now the other. Is the one on my head gone? There was one on my dress, but I guess it flew. Here comes a kind of a gray-looking one.”

Pete slipped several more moths into the bag.

“Now, that’s five, Mrs. Comstock,” he said. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make that do. You must get out of here lively. Your lights will be taken for hurry calls, and inside the next hour a couple of men will ride here like fury. They won’t be nice Sunday-school men, and they won’t hold bags and catch moths for you. You must go quick!”

Mrs. Comstock laid down the bag and pulled one of the lanterns lower.

“I won’t budge a step,” she said. “This land doesn’t belong to you. You have no right to order me off it. Here I stay until I get a Yellow Emperor, and no little petering thieves of this neighbourhood can scare me away.”

“You don’t understand,” said Pete. “I’m willing to help Elnora, and I’d take care of you, if I could, but there will be too many for me, and they will be mad at being called out for nothing.”

“Well, who’s calling them out?” demanded Mrs. Comstock. “I’m catching moths. If a lot of good-for-nothings get fooled into losing some sleep, why let them, they can’t hurt me, or stop my work.”

“They can, and they’ll do both.”

“Well, I’ll see them do it!” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’ve got Robert’s revolver in my dress, and I can shoot as straight as any man, if I’m mad enough. Any one who interferes with me to-night will find me mad a-plenty. There goes another!”

She stepped into the light and waited until a big brown moth settled on her and was easily taken. Then in light, airy flight came a delicate pale green thing, and Mrs. Comstock started in pursuit. But the scent was not right. The moth fluttered high, then dropped lower, still lower, and sailed away. With outstretched hands Mrs. Comstock pursued it. She hurried one way and another, then ran over an object which tripped her and she fell. She regained her feet in an instant, but she had lost sight of the moth. With livid face she turned to the crouching man.

“You nasty, sneaking son of Satan!” she cried. “Why are you hiding there? You made me lose the one I wanted most of any I’ve had a chance at yet. Get out of here! Go this minute, or I’ll fill your worthless carcass so full of holes you’ll do to sift cornmeal. Go, I say! I’m using the Limberlost to-night, and I won’t be stopped by the devil himself! Cut like fury, and tell the rest of them they can just go home. Pete is going to help me, and he is all of you I need. Now go!”

The man turned and went. Pete leaned against a tree, held his mouth shut and shook inwardly. Mrs. Comstock came back panting.

“The old scoundrel made me lose that!” she said. “If any one else comes snooping around here I’ll just blow them up to start with. I haven’t time to talk. Suppose that had been yellow! I’d have killed that man, sure!

The Limberlost isn’t safe to-night, and the sooner those whelps find it out, the better it will be for them.”

Pete stopped laughing to look at her. He saw that she was speaking the truth. She was quite past reason, sense, or fear. The soft night air stirred the wet hair around her temples, the flickering lanterns made her face a ghastly green. She would stop at nothing, that was evident. Pete suddenly began catching moths with exemplary industry. In putting one into the bag, another escaped.

“We must not try that again,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Now, what will we do?”

“We are close to the old case,” said Pete. “I think I can get into it. Maybe we could slip the rest in there.”

“That’s a fine idea!” said Mrs. Comstock. “They’ll have so much room there they won’t be likely to hurt themselves, and the books say they don’t fly in daytime unless they are disturbed, so they will settle when it’s light, and I can come with Elnora to get them.”

They captured two more, and then Pete carried them to the case.

“Here comes a big one!” he cried as he returned.

Mrs. Comstock looked up and stepped out with a prayer on her lips. She could not tell the colour at that distance, but the moth appeared different from the others. On it came, dropping lower and darting from light to light. As it swept near her, “O Heavenly Father!” exulted Mrs. Comstock, “it’s yellow! Careful Pete! Your hat, maybe!”

Pete made a long sweep. The moth wavered above the hat and sailed away. Mrs. Comstock leaned against a tree and covered her face with her shaking hands.

“That is my punishment!” she cried. “Oh, Lord, if you will give a moth like that into my possession, I’ll always be a better woman!”

The Emperor again came in sight. Pete stood tense and ready. Mrs. Comstock stepped into the light and watched the moth’s course. Then a second appeared in pursuit of the first. The larger one wavered into the radius of light once more. The perspiration rolled down the man’s face. He half lifted the hat.

“Pray, woman! Pray now!” he panted.

“I guess I best get over by that lard oil light and go to work,” breathed Mrs. Comstock. “The Lord knows this is all in prayer, but it’s no time for words just now. Ready, Pete! You are going to get a chance first!”

Pete made another long, steady sweep, but the moth darted beneath the hat. In its flight it came straight toward Mrs. Comstock. She snatched off the remnant of apron she had tucked into her petticoat band and held the calico before her. The moth struck full against it and clung to the goods. Pete crept up stealthily. The second moth followed the first, and the spray showered the apron.

“Wait!” gasped Mrs. Comstock. “I think they have settled. The books say they won’t leave now.”

The big pale yellow creature clung firmly, lowering and raising its wings. The other came nearer. Mrs. Comstock held the cloth with rigid hands, while Pete could hear her breathing in short gusts.

“Shall I try now?” he implored.

“Wait!” whispered the woman. “Something seems to say wait!”

The night breeze stiffened and gently waved the apron. Locusts rasped, mosquitoes hummed and frogs sang uninterruptedly. A musky odour slowly filled the air.

“Now shall I?” questioned Pete.

“No. Leave them alone. They are safe now. They are mine. They are my salvation. God and the Limberlost gave them to me! They won’t move for hours. The books all say so. O Heavenly Father, I am thankful to You, and you, too, Pete Corson! You are a good man to help me. Now, I can go home and face my girl.”

Instead, Mrs. Comstock dropped suddenly. She spread the apron across her knees. The moths remained undisturbed. Then her tired white head dropped, the tears she had thought forever dried gushed forth, and she sobbed for pure joy.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that now, you know!” comforted Pete. “Think of getting two! That’s more than you ever could have expected. A body would think you would cry, if you hadn’t got any. Come on, now. It’s almost morning. Let me help you home.”

Pete took the bag and the two old lanterns. Mrs. Comstock carried her moths and the best lantern and went ahead to light the way.

Elnora had sat beside her window far into the night. At last she undressed and went to bed, but sleep would not come. She had gone to the city to talk with members of the School Board about a room in the grades. There was a possibility that she might secure the moth, and so be able to start to college that fall, but if she did not, then she wanted the school. She had been given some encouragement, but she was so unhappy that nothing mattered. She could not see the way open to anything in life, save a long series of disappointments, while she remained with her mother. Yet Margaret Sinton had advised her to go home and try once more. Margaret had seemed so sure there would be a change for the better, that Elnora had consented, although she had no hope herself. So strong is the bond of blood, she could not make up her mind to seek a home elsewhere, even after the day that had passed. Unable to sleep she arose at last, and the room being warm, she sat on the floor close the window. The lights in the swamp caught her eye. She was very uneasy, for quite a hundred of her best moths were in the case. However, there was no money, and no one ever had touched a book or any of her apparatus. Watching the lights set her thinking, and before she realized it, she was in a panic of fear.

She hurried down the stairway softly calling her mother. There was no answer. She lightly stepped across the sitting-room and looked in at the open door. There was no one, and the bed had not been used. Her first thought was that her mother had gone to the pool; and the Limberlost was alive with signals. Pity and fear mingled in the heart of the girl. She opened the kitchen door, crossed the garden and ran back to the swamp. As she neared it she listened, but she could hear only the usual voices of night.

“Mother!” she called softly. Then louder, “Mother!”

There was not a sound. Chilled with fright she hurried back to the cabin. She did not know what to do. She understood what the lights in the Limberlost meant. Where was her mother? She was afraid to enter, while she was growing very cold and still more fearful about remaining outside. At last she went to her mother’s room, picked up the gun, carried it into the kitchen, and crowding in a little corner behind the stove, she waited in trembling anxiety. The time was dreadfully long before she heard her mother’s voice. Then she decided some one had been ill and sent for her, so she took courage, and stepping swiftly across the kitchen she unbarred the door and drew back from sight beside the table.

Mrs. Comstock entered dragging her heavy feet. Her dress skirt was gone, her petticoat wet and drabbled, and the waist of her dress was almost torn from her body. Her hair hung in damp strings; her eyes were red with crying. In one hand she held the lantern, and in the other stiffly extended before her, on a wad of calico reposed a magnificent pair of Yellow Emperors. Elnora stared, her lips parted.

“Shall I put these others in the kitchen?” inquired a man’s voice.

The girl shrank back to the shadows.

“Yes, anywhere inside the door,” replied Mrs. Comstock as she moved a few steps to make way for him. Pete’s head appeared. He set down the moths and was gone.

“Thank you, Pete, more than ever woman thanked you before!” said Mrs. Comstock.

She placed the lantern on the table and barred the door. As she turned Elnora came into view. Mrs. Comstock leaned toward her, and held out the moths. In a voice vibrant with tones never before heard she said: “Elnora, my girl, mother’s found you another moth!”

CHAPTER XIII

WHEREIN MOTHER LOVE IS BESTOWED ON ELNORA, AND SHE FINDS AN ASSISTANT IN MOTH HUNTING

Elnora awoke at dawn and lay gazing around the unfamiliar room. She noticed that every vestige of masculine attire and belongings was gone, and knew, without any explanation, what that meant. For some reason every tangible evidence of her father was banished, and she was at last to be allowed to take his place. She turned to look at her mother. Mrs. Comstock’s face was white and haggard, but on it rested an expression of profound peace Elnora never before had seen. As she studied the features on the pillow beside her, the heart of the girl throbbed in tenderness. She realized as fully as any one else could what her mother had suffered. Thoughts of the night brought shuddering fear. She softly slipped from the bed, went to her room, dressed and entered the kitchen to attend the Emperors and prepare breakfast. The pair had been left clinging to the piece of calico. The calico was there and a few pieces of beautiful wing. A mouse had eaten the moths!

“Well, of all the horrible luck!” gasped Elnora.

With the first thought of her mother, she caught up the remnants of the moths, burying them in the ashes of the stove. She took the bag to her room, hurriedly releasing its contents, but there was not another yellow one. Her mother had said some had been confined in the case in the Limberlost. There was still a hope that an Emperor might be among them. She peeped at her mother, who still slept soundly.

Elnora took a large piece of mosquito netting, and ran to the swamp. Throwing it over the top of the case, she unlocked the door. She reeled, faint with distress. The living moths that had been confined there in their fluttering to escape to night and the mates they sought not only had wrecked the other specimens of the case, but torn themselves to fringes on the pins. A third of the rarest moths of the collection for the man of India were antennaless, legless, wingless, and often headless. Elnora sobbed aloud.

“This is overwhelming,” she said at last. “It is making a fatalist of me. I am beginning to think things happen as they are ordained from the beginning, this plainly indicating that there is to be no college, at least, this year, for me. My life is all mountain-top or canon. I wish some one would lead me into a few days of `green pastures.’ Last night I went to sleep on mother’s arm, the moths all secured, love and college, certainties. This morning I wake to find all my hopes wrecked. I simply don’t dare let mother know that instead of helping me, she has ruined my collection. Everything is gone–unless the love lasts. That actually seemed true. I believe I will go see.”

The love remained. Indeed, in the overflow of the long- hardened, pent-up heart, the girl was almost suffocated with tempestuous caresses and generous offerings. Before the day was over, Elnora realized that she never had known her mother. The woman who now busily went through the cabin, her eyes bright, eager, alert, constantly planning, was a stranger. Her very face was different, while it did not seem possible that during one night the acid of twenty years could disappear from a voice and leave it sweet and pleasant.

For the next few days Elnora worked at mounting the moths her mother had taken. She had to go to the Bird Woman and tell about the disaster, but Mrs. Comstock was allowed to think that Elnora delivered the moths when she made the trip. If she had told her what actually happened, the chances were that Mrs. Comstock again would have taken possession of the Limberlost, hunting there until she replaced all the moths that had been destroyed. But Elnora knew from experience what it meant to collect such a list in pairs. It would require steady work for at least two summers to replace the lost moths. When she left the Bird Woman she went to the president of the Onabasha schools and asked him to do all in his power to secure her a room in one of the ward buildings.

The next morning the last moth was mounted, and the housework finished. Elnora said to her mother, “If you don’t mind, I believe I will go into the woods pasture beside Sleepy Snake Creek and see if I can catch some dragonflies or moths.”

“Wait until I get a knife and a pail and I will go along,” answered Mrs. Comstock. “The dandelions are plenty tender for greens among the deep grasses, and I might just happen to see something myself. My eyes are pretty sharp.”

“I wish you could realize how young you are,” said Elnora. “I know women in Onabasha who are ten years older than you, yet they look twenty years younger. So could you, if you would dress your hair becomingly, and wear appropriate clothes.”

“I think my hair puts me in the old woman class permanently,” said Mrs. Comstock.

“Well, it doesn’t!” cried Elnora. “There is a woman of twenty-eight who has hair as white as yours from sick headaches, but her face is young and beautiful. If your face would grow a little fuller and those lines would go away, you’d be lovely!”

“You little pig!” laughed Mrs. Comstock. “Any one would think you would be satisfied with having a splinter new mother, without setting up a kick on her looks, first thing. Greedy!”

“That is a good word,” said Elnora. “I admit the charge. I am greedy over every wasted year. I want you young, lovely, suitably dressed and enjoying life like the other girls’ mothers.”

Mrs. Comstock laughed softly as she pushed back her sunbonnet so that shrubs and bushes beside the way could be scanned closely. Elnora walked ahead with a case over her shoulder, a net in her hand. Her head was bare, the rolling collar of her lavender gingham dress was cut in a V at the throat, the sleeves only reached the elbows. Every few steps she paused and examined the shrubbery carefully, while Mrs. Comstock was watching until her eyes ached, but there were no dandelions in the pail she carried.

Early June was rioting in fresh grasses, bright flowers, bird songs, and gay-winged creatures of air. Down the footpath the two went through the perfect morning, the love of God and all nature in their hearts. At last they reached the creek, following it toward the bridge. Here Mrs. Comstock found a large bed of tender dandelions and stopped to fill her pail. Then she sat on the bank, picking over the greens, while she listened to the creek softly singing its June song.

Elnora remained within calling distance, and was having good success. At last she crossed the creek, following it up to a bridge. There she began a careful examination of the under sides of the sleepers and flooring for cocoons. Mrs. Comstock could see her and the creek for several rods above. The mother sat beating the long green leaves across her hand, carefully picking out the white buds, because Elnora liked them, when a splash up the creek attracted her attention.

Around the bend came a man. He was bareheaded, dressed in a white sweater, and waders which reached his waist. He walked on the bank, only entering the water when forced. He had a queer basket strapped on his hip, and with a small rod he sent a long line spinning before him down the creek, deftly manipulating with it a little floating object. He was closer Elnora than her mother, but Mrs. Comstock thought possibly by hurrying she could remain unseen and yet warn the girl that a stranger was coming. As she approached the bridge, she caught a sapling and leaned over the water to call Elnora. With her lips parted to speak she hesitated a second to watch a sort of insect that flashed past on the water, when a splash from the man attracted the girl.

She was under the bridge, one knee planted in the embankment and a foot braced to support her. Her hair was tousled by wind and bushes, her face flushed, and she lifted her arms above her head, working to loosen a cocoon she had found. The call Mrs. Comstock had intended to utter never found voice, for as Elnora looked down at the sound, “Possibly I could get that for you,” suggested the man.

Mrs. Comstock drew back. He was a young man with a wonderfully attractive face, although it was too white for robust health, broad shoulders, and slender, upright frame.

“Oh, I do hope you can!” answered Elnora. “It’s quite a find! It’s one of those lovely pale red cocoons described in the books. I suspect it comes from having been in a dark place and screened from the weather.”

“Is that so?” cried the man. “Wait a minute. I’ve never seen one. I suppose it’s a Cecropia, from the location.”

“Of course,” said Elnora. “It’s so cool here the moth hasn’t emerged. The cocoon is a big, baggy one, and it is as red as fox tail.”

“What luck!” he cried. “Are you making a collection?”

He reeled in his line, laid his rod across a bush and climbed the embankment to Elnora’s side, produced a knife and began the work of whittling a deep groove around the cocoon.

“Yes. I paid my way through the high school in Onabasha with them. Now I am starting a collection which means college.”

“Onabasha!” said the man. “That is where I am visiting. Possibly you know my people–Dr. Ammon’s? The doctor is my uncle. My home is in Chicago. I’ve been having typhoid fever, something fierce. In the hospital six weeks. Didn’t gain strength right, so Uncle Doc sent for me. I am to live out of doors all summer, and exercise until I get in condition again. Do you know my uncle?”

“Yes. He is Aunt Margaret’s doctor, and he would be ours, only we are never ill.”

“Well, you look it!” said the man, appraising Elnora at a glance.

“Strangers always mention it,” sighed Elnora. “I wonder how it would seem to be a pale, languid lady and ride in a carriage.”

“Ask me!” laughed the man. “It feels like the–dickens! I’m so proud of my feet. It’s quite a trick to stand on them now. I have to keep out of the water all I can and stop to baby every half-mile. But with interesting outdoor work I’ll be myself in a week.”

“Do you call that work?” Elnora indicated the creek.

“I do, indeed! Nearly three miles, banks too soft to brag on and never a strike. Wouldn’t you call that hard labour?”

“Yes,” laughed Elnora. “Work at which you might kill yourself and never get a fish. Did any one tell you there were trout in Sleepy Snake Creek?”

“Uncle said I could try.”

“Oh, you can,” said Elnora. “You can try no end, but you’ll never get a trout. This is too far south and too warm for them. If you sit on the bank and use worms you might catch some perch or catfish.”

“But that isn’t exercise.”

“Well, if you only want exercise, go right on fishing. You will have a creel full of invisible results every night.”

“I object,” said the man emphatically. He stopped work again and studied Elnora. Even the watching mother could not blame him. In the shade of the bridge Elnora’s bright head and her lavender dress made a picture worthy of much contemplation.

“I object!” repeated the man. “When I work I want to see results. I’d rather exercise sawing wood, making one pile grow little and the other big than to cast all day and catch nothing because there is not a fish to take. Work for work’s sake doesn’t appeal to me.”

He digged the groove around the cocoon with skilled hand. “Now there is some fun in this!” he said. It’s going to be a fair job to cut it out, but when it comes, it is not only beautiful, but worth a price; it will help you on your way. I think I’ll put up my rod and hunt moths. That would be something like! Don’t you want help?”

Elnora parried the question. “Have you ever hunted moths, Mr. Ammon?

“Enough to know the ropes in taking them and to distinguish the commonest ones. I go wild on Catocalae. There’s too many of them, all too much alike for Philip, but I know all these fellows. One flew into my room when I was about ten years old, and we thought it a miracle. None of us ever had seen one so we took it over to the museum to Dr. Dorsey. He said they were common enough, but we didn’t see them because they flew at night. He showed me the museum collection, and I was so interested I took mine back home and started to hunt them. Every year after that we went to our cottage a month earlier, so I could find them, and all my family helped. I stuck to it until I went to college. Then, keeping the little moths out of the big ones was too much for the mater, so father advised that I donate mine to the museum. He bought a fine case for them with my name on it, which constitutes my sole contribution to science. I know enough to help you all right.”

“Aren’t you going north this year?”

“All depends on how this fever leaves me. Uncle says the nights are too cold and the days too hot there for me. He thinks I had better stay in an even temperature until I am strong again. I am going to stick pretty close to him until I know I am. I wouldn’t admit it to any one at home, but I was almost gone. I don’t believe anything can eat up nerve much faster than the burning of a slow fever. No, thanks, I have enough. I stay with Uncle Doc, so if I feel it coming again he can do something quickly.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Elnora. “I never have been sick, but it must be dreadful. I am afraid you are tiring yourself over that. Let me take the knife awhile.”

“Oh, it isn’t so bad as that! I wouldn’t be wading creeks if it were. I only need a few more days to get steady on my feet again. I’ll soon have this out.”

“It is kind of you to get it,” said Elnora. “I should have had to peel it, which would spoil the cocoon for a’ specimen and ruin the moth.”

“You haven’t said yet whether I may help you while I am here.”

Elnora hesitated.

“You better say `yes,'” he persisted. “It would be a real kindness. It would keep me outdoors all day and give an incentive to work. I’m good at it. I’ll show you if I am not in a week or so. I can `sugar,’ manipulate lights, and mirrors, and all the expert methods. I’ll wager, moths are numerous in the old swamp over there.”

“They are,” said Elnora. “Most I have I took there. A few nights ago my mother caught a number, but we don’t dare go alone.”

“All the more reason why you need me. Where do you live? I can’t get an answer from you, I’ll go tell your mother who I am and ask her if I may help you. I warn you, young lady, I have a very effective way with mothers. They almost never turn me down.”

“Then it’s probable you will have a new experience when you meet mine,” said Elnora. “She never was known to do what any one expected she surely would.”

The cocoon came loose. Philip Ammon stepped down the embankment turning to offer his hand to Elnora. She ran down as she would have done alone, and taking the cocoon turned it end for end to learn if the imago it contained were alive. Then Ammon took back the cocoon to smooth the edges. Mrs. Comstock gave them one long look as they stood there, and returned to her dandelions. While she worked she paused occasionally, listening intently. Presently they came down the creek, the man carrying the cocoon as if it were a jewel, while Elnora made her way along the bank, taking a lesson in casting. Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes shining, the bushes taking liberties with her hair. For a picture of perfect loveliness she scarcely could have been surpassed, and the eyes of Philip Ammon seemed to be in working order.

“Moth-er!” called Elnora.

There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl’s voice, as she sung out the call in perfect confidence that it would bring a loving answer, that struck deep in Mrs. Comstock’s heart. She never had heard that word so pronounced before and a lump arose in her throat.

“Here!” she answered, still cleaning dandelions.

“Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago,” said Elnora. “He has been ill and he is staying with Dr. Ammon in Onabasha. He came down the creek fishing and cut this cocoon from under the bridge for me. He feels that it would be better to hunt moths than to fish, until he is well. What do you think about it?”

Philip Ammon extended his hand. “I am glad to know you,” he said.

“You may take the hand-shaking for granted,” replied Mrs. Comstock. “Dandelions have a way of making fingers sticky, and I like to know a man before I take his hand, anyway. That introduction seems mighty comprehensive on your part, but it still leaves me unclassified. My name is Comstock.”

Philip Ammon bowed.

“I am sorry to hear you have been sick,” said Mrs. Comstock. “But if people will live where they have such vile water as they do in Chicago, I don’t see what else they are to expect.”

Philip studied her intently.

“I am sure I didn’t have a fever on purpose,” he said.

“You do seem a little wobbly on your legs,” she observed. “Maybe you had better sit and rest while I finish these greens. It’s late for the genuine article, but in the shade, among long grass they are still tender.”

“May I have a leaf?” he asked, reaching for one as he sat on the bank, looking from the little creek at his feet, away through the dim cool spaces of the June forest on the opposite side. He drew a deep breath. “Glory, but this is good after almost two months inside hospital walls!”

He stretched on the grass and lay gazing up at the leaves, occasionally asking the interpretation of a bird note or the origin of an unfamiliar forest voice. Elnora began helping with the dandelions.

“Another, please,” said the young man, holding out his hand.

“Do you suppose this is the kind of grass Nebuchadnezzar ate?” Elnora asked, giving the leaf.

“He knew a good thing if it is.”

“Oh, you should taste dandelions boiled with bacon and served with mother’s cornbread.”

“Don’t! My appetite is twice my size now. While it is–how far is it to Onabasha, shortest cut?”

“Three miles.”

The man lay in perfect content, nibbling leaves.

“This surely is a treat,” he said. “No wonder you find good hunting here. There seems to be foliage for almost every kind of caterpillar. But I suppose you have to exchange for northern species and Pacific Coast kinds?”

“Yes. And every one wants Regalis in trade. I never saw the like. They consider a Cecropia or a Polyphemus an insult, and a Luna is barely acceptable.”

“What authorities have you?”

Elnora began to name text-books which started a discussion. Mrs. Comstock listened. She cleaned dandelions with greater deliberation than they ever before were examined. In reality she was taking stock of the young man’s long, well-proportioned frame, his strong hands, his smooth, fine-textured skin, his thick shock of dark hair, and making mental notes of his simple manly speech and the fact that he evidently did know much about moths. It pleased her to think that if he had been a neighbour boy who had lain beside her every day of his life while she worked, he could have been no more at home. She liked the things he said, but she was proud that Elnora had a ready answer which always seemed appropriate.

At last Mrs. Comstock finished the greens.

“You are three miles from the city and less than a mile from where we live,” she said. “If you will tell me what you dare eat, I suspect you had best go home with us and rest until the cool of the day before you start back. Probably some one that you can ride in with will be passing before evening.”

“That is mighty kind of you,” said Philip. “I think I will. It doesn’t matter so much what I eat, the point is that I must be moderate. I am hungry all the time.”

“Then we will go,” said Mrs. Comstock, “and we will not allow you to make yourself sick with us.”

Philip Ammon arose: picking up the pail of greens and his fishing rod, he stood waiting. Elnora led the way. Mrs. Comstock motioned Philip to follow and she walked in the rear. The girl carried the cocoon and the box of moths she had taken, searching every step for more. The young man frequently set down his load to join in the pursuit of a dragonfly or moth, while Mrs. Comstock watched the proceedings with sharp eyes. Every time Philip picked up the pail of greens she struggled to suppress a smile.

Elnora proceeded slowly, chattering about everything beside the trail. Philip was interested in all the objects she pointed out, noticing several things which escaped her. He carried the greens as casually when they took a short cut down the roadway as on the trail. When Elnora turned toward the gate of her home Philip Ammon stopped, took a long look at the big hewed log cabin, the vines which clambered over it, the flower garden ablaze with beds of bright bloom interspersed with strawberries and tomatoes, the trees of the forest rising north and west like a green wall and exclaimed: “How beautiful!”

Mrs. Comstock was pleased. “If you think that,” she said, “perhaps you will understand how, in all this present- day rush to be modern, I have preferred to remain as I began. My husband and I took up this land, and enough trees to build the cabin, stable, and outbuildings are nearly all we ever cut. Of course, if he had lived, I suppose we should have kept up with our neighbours. I hear considerable about the value of the land, the trees which are on it, and the oil which is supposed to be under it, but as yet I haven’t brought myself to change anything. So we stand for one of the few remaining homes of first settlers in this region. Come in. You are very welcome to what we have.”

Mrs. Comstock stepped forward and took the lead. She had a bowl of soft water and a pair of boots to offer for the heavy waders, for outer comfort, a glass of cold buttermilk and a bench on which to rest, in the circular arbour until dinner was ready. Philip Ammon splashed in the water. He followed to the stable and exchanged boots there. He was ravenous for the buttermilk, and when he stretched on the bench in the arbour the flickering patches of sunlight so tantalized his tired eyes, while the bees made such splendid music, he was soon sound asleep. When Elnora and her mother came out with a table they stood a short time looking at him. It is probable Mrs. Comstock voiced a united thought when she said: “What a refined, decent looking young man! How proud his mother must be of him! We must be careful what we let him eat.”

Then they returned to the kitchen where Mrs. Comstock proceeded to be careful. She broiled ham of her own sugar-curing, creamed potatoes, served asparagus on toast, and made a delicious strawberry shortcake. As she cooked dandelions with bacon, she feared to serve them to him, so she made an excuse that it took too long to prepare them, blanched some and made a salad. When everything was ready she touched Philip’s sleeve.

“Best have something to eat, lad, before you get too hungry,” she said.

“Please hurry!” he begged laughingly as he held a plate toward her to be filled. “I thought I had enough self- restraint to start out alone, but I see I was mistaken. If you would allow me, just now, I am afraid I should start a fever again. I never did smell food so good as this. It’s mighty kind of you to take me in. I hope I will be man enough in a few days to do something worth while in return.”

Spots of sunshine fell on the white cloth and blue china, the bees and an occasional stray butterfly came searching for food. A rose-breasted grosbeak, released from a three hours’ siege of brooding, while his independent mate took her bath and recreation, mounted the top branch of a maple in the west woods from which he serenaded the dinner party with a joyful chorus in celebration of his freedom. Philip’s eyes strayed to the beautiful cabin, to the mixture of flowers and vegetables stretching down to the road, and to the singing bird with his red-splotched breast of white and he said: “I can’t realize now that I ever lay in ice packs in a hospital. How I wish all the sick folks could come here to grow strong!”

The grosbeak sang on, a big Turnus butterfly sailed through the arbour and poised over the table. Elnora held up a lump of sugar and the butterfly, clinging to her fingers, tasted daintily. With eager eyes and parted lips, the girl held steadily. When at last it wavered away, “That made a picture!” said Philip. “Ask me some other time how I lost my illusions concerning butterflies. I always thought of them in connection with sunshine, flower pollen, and fruit nectar, until one sad day.”

“I know!” laughed Elnora. “I’ve seen that, too, but it didn’t destroy any illusion for me. I think quite as much of the butterflies as ever.”

Then they talked of flowers, moths, dragonflies, Indian relics, and all the natural wonders the swamp afforded, straying from those subjects to books and school work. When they cleared the table Philip assisted, carrying several tray loads to the kitchen. He and Elnora mounted specimens while Mrs Comstock washed the dishes. Then she came out with a ruffle she was embroidering.

“I wonder if I did not see a picture of you in Onabasha last night,” Philip said to Elnora. “Aunt Anna took me to call on Miss Brownlee. She was showing me her crowd–of course, it was you! But it didn’t half do you justice, although it was the nearest human of any of them. Miss Brownlee is very fond of you. She said the finest things.”

Then they talked of Commencement, and at last Philip said he must go or his friends would become anxious about him.

Mrs. Comstock brought him a blue bowl of creamy milk and a plate of bread. She stopped a passing team and secured a ride to the city for him, as his exercise of the morning had been too violent, and he was forced to admit he was tired.

“May I come to-morrow afternoon and hunt moths awhile?” he asked Mrs. Comstock as he arose. “We will `sugar’ a tree and put a light beside it, if I can get stuff to make the preparation. Possibly we can take some that way. I always enjoy moth hunting, I’d like to help Miss Elnora, and it would be a charity to me. I’ve got to remain outdoors some place, and I’m quite sure I’d get well faster here than anywhere else. Please say I may come.”

“I have no objections, if Elnora really would like help,” said Mrs. Comstock.

In her heart she wished he would not come. She wanted her newly found treasure all to herself, for a time, at least. But Elnora’s were eager, shining eyes. She thought it would be splendid to have help, and great fun to try book methods for taking moths, so it was arranged. As Philip rode away, Mrs. Comstock’s eyes followed him. “What a nice young man!” she said.

“He seems fine,” agreed Elnora.

“He comes of a good family, too. I’ve often heard of his father. He is a great lawyer.”

“I am glad he likes it here. I need help. Possibly—-“

“Possibly what?”

“We can find many moths.”

“What did he mean about the butterflies?”

“That he always had connected them with sunshine, flowers, and fruits, and thought of them as the most exquisite of creations; then one day he found some clustering thickly over carrion.”

“Come to think of it, I have seen butterflies—-“

“So had he,” laughed Elnora. “And that is what he meant.”

CHAPTER XIV

WHEREIN A NEW POSITION IS TENDERED ELNORA, AND PHILIP AMMON IS SHOWN LIMBERLOST VIOLETS

The next morning Mrs. Comstock called to Elnora, “The mail carrier stopped at our box.”

Elnora ran down the walk and came back carrying an official letter. She tore it open and read:

MY DEAR MISS COMSTOCK:

At the weekly meeting of the Onabasha School Board last night, it was decided to add the position of Lecturer on Natural History to our corps of city teachers. It will be the duty of this person to spend two hours a week in each of the grade schools exhibiting and explaining specimens of the most prominent objects in nature: animals, birds, insects, flowers, vines, shrubs, bushes, and trees. These specimens and lectures should be appropriate to the seasons and the comprehension of the grades. This position was unanimously voted to you. I think you will find the work delightful and much easier than the routine grind of the other teachers. It is my advice that you accept and begin to prepare yourself at once. Your salary will be $750 a year, and you will be allowed $200 for expenses in procuring specimens and books. Let us know at once if you want the position, as it is going to be difficult to fill satisfactorily if you do not.

Very truly yours,

DAVID THOMPSON, President, Onabasha Schools.

“I hardly understand,” marvelled Mrs. Comstock.

“It is a new position. They never have had anything like it before. I suspect it arose from the help I’ve been giving the grade teachers in their nature work. They are trying to teach the children something, and half the instructors don’t know a blue jay from a king-fisher, a beech leaf from an elm, or a wasp from a hornet.”

“Well, do you?” anxiously inquired Mrs. Comstock.

“Indeed, I do!” laughed Elnora, “and several other things beside. When Freckles bequeathed me the swamp, he gave me a bigger inheritance than he knew. While you have thought I was wandering aimlessly, I have been following a definite plan, studying hard, and storing up the stuff that will earn these seven hundred and fifty dollars. Mother dear, I am going to accept this, of course. The work will be a delight. I’d love it most of anything in teaching. You must help me. We must find nests, eggs, leaves, queer formations in plants and rare flowers. I must have flower boxes made for each of the rooms and filled with wild things. I should begin to gather specimens this very day.”

Elnora’s face was flushed and her eyes bright.

“Oh, what great work that will be!” she cried. “You must go with me so you can see the little faces when I tell them how the goldfinch builds its nest, and how the bees make honey.”

So Elnora and her mother went into the woods behind the cabin to study nature.

“I think,” said Elnora, “the idea is to begin with fall things in the fall, keeping to the seasons throughout the year.”

“What are fall things?” inquired Mrs. Comstock.

“Oh, fringed gentians, asters, ironwort, every fall flower, leaves from every tree and vine, what makes them change colour, abandoned bird nests, winter quarters of caterpillars and insects, what becomes of the butterflies and grasshoppers–myriads of stuff. I shall have to be very wise to select the things it will be most beneficial for the children to learn.”

“Can I really help you?” Mrs. Comstock’s strong face was pathetic.

“Indeed, yes!” cried Elnora. “I never can get through it alone. There will be an immense amount of work connected with securing and preparing specimens.”

Mrs. Comstock lifted her head proudly and began doing business at once. Her sharp eyes ranged from earth to heaven. She investigated everything, asking innumerable questions. At noon Mrs. Comstock took the specimens they had collected, and went to prepare dinner, while Elnora followed the woods down to the Sintons’ to show her letter.

She had to explain what became of her moths, and why college would have to be abandoned for that year, but Margaret and Wesley vowed not to tell. Wesley waved the letter excitedly, explaining it to Margaret as if it were a personal possession. Margaret was deeply impressed, while Billy volunteered first aid in gathering material.

“Now anything you want in the ground, Snap can dig it out,” he said. “Uncle Wesley and I found a hole three times as big as Snap, that he dug at the roots of a tree.”

“We will train him to hunt pupae cases,” said Elnora.

“Are you going to the woods this afternoon?” asked Billy.

“Yes,” answered Elnora. “Dr. Ammon’s nephew from Chicago is visiting in Onabasha. He is going to show me how men put some sort of compound on a tree, hang a light beside it, and take moths that way. It will be interesting to watch and learn.”

“May I come?” asked Billy.

“Of course you may come!” answered Elnora.

“Is this nephew of Dr. Ammon a young man?” inquired Margaret.

“About twenty-six, I should think,” said Elnora. “He said he had been out of college and at work in his father’s law office three years.”

“Does he seem nice?” asked Margaret, and Wesley smiled.

“Finest kind of a person,” said Elnora. “He can teach me so much. It is very interesting to hear him talk. He knows considerable about moths that will be a help to me. He had a fever and he has to stay outdoors until he grows strong again.”

“Billy, I guess you better help me this afternoon,” said Margaret. “Maybe Elnora had rather not bother with you.”

“There’s no reason on earth why Billy should not come!” cried Elnora, and Wesley smiled again.

“I must hurry home or I won’t be ready,” she added.

Hastening down the road she entered the cabin, her face glowing.

“I thought you never would come,” said Mrs. Comstock. “If you don’t hurry Mr. Ammon will be here before you are dressed.”

“I forgot about him until just now,” said Elnora. “I am not going to dress. He’s not coming to visit. We are only going to the woods for more specimens. I can’t wear anything that requires care. The limbs take the most dreadful liberties with hair and clothing.”

Mrs. Comstock opened her lips, looked at Elnora and closed them. In her heart she was pleased that the girl was so interested in her work that she had forgotten Philip Ammon’s coming. But it did seem to her that such a pleasant young man should have been greeted by a girl in a fresh dress. “If she isn’t disposed to primp at the coming of a man, heaven forbid that I should be the one to start her,” thought Mrs. Comstock.

Philip came whistling down the walk between the cinnamon pinks, pansies, and strawberries. He carried several packages, while his face flushed with more colour than on the previous day.

“Only see what has happened to me!” cried Elnora, offering her letter.

“I’ll wager I know!” answered Philip. “Isn’t it great! Every one in Onabasha is talking about it. At last there is something new under the sun. All of them are pleased. They think you’ll make a big success. This will give an incentive to work. In a few days more I’ll be myself again, and we’ll overturn the fields and woods around here.”

He went on to congratulate Mrs. Comstock.

“Aren’t you proud of her, though?” he asked. “You should hear what folks are saying! They say she created the necessity for the position, and every one seems to feel that it is a necessity. Now, if she succeeds, and she will, all of the other city schools will have such departments, and first thing you know she will have made the whole world a little better. Let me rest a few seconds; my feet are acting up again. Then we will cook the moth compound and put it to cool.”

He laughed as he sat breathing shortly.

“It doesn’t seem possible that a fellow could lose his strength like this. My knees are actually trembling, but I’ll be all right in a minute. Uncle Doc said I could come. I told him how you took care of me, and he said I would be safe here.”

Then he began unwrapping packages and explaining to Mrs. Comstock how to cook the compound to attract the moths. He followed her into the kitchen, kindled the fire, and stirred the preparation as he talked. While the mixture cooled, he and Elnora walked through the vegetable garden behind the cabin and strayed from there into the woods.

“What about college?” he asked. “Miss Brownlee said you were going.”

“I had hoped to,” replied Elnora, “but I had a streak of dreadful luck, so I’ll have to wait until next year. If you won’t speak of it, I’ll tell you.”

Philip promised, so Elnora recited the history of the Yellow Emperor. She was so interested in doing the Emperor justice she did not notice how many personalities went into the story. A few pertinent questions told him the remainder. He looked at the girl in wonder. In face and form she was as lovely as any one of her age and type he ever had seen. Her school work far surpassed that of most girls of her age he knew. She differed in other ways. This vast store of learning she had gathered from field and forest was a wealth of attraction no other girl possessed. Her frank, matter-of-fact manner was an inheritance from her mother, but there was something more. Once, as they talked he thought “sympathy” was the word to describe it and again “comprehension.” She seemed to possess a large sense of brotherhood for all human and animate creatures. She spoke to him as if she had known him all her life. She talked to the grosbeak in exactly the same manner, as she laid strawberries and potato bugs on the fence for his family. She did not swerve an inch from her way when a snake slid past her, while the squirrels came down from the trees and took corn from her fingers. She might as well have been a boy, so lacking was she in any touch of feminine coquetry toward him. He studied her wonderingly. As they went along the path they reached a large slime-covered pool surrounded by decaying stumps and logs thickly covered with water hyacinths and blue flags. Philip stopped.

“Is that the place?” he asked.

Elnora assented. “The doctor told you?”

“Yes. It was tragic. Is that pool really bottomless?”

“So far as we ever have been able to discover.”

Philip stood looking at the water, while the long, sweet grasses, thickly sprinkled with blue flag bloom, over which wild bees clambered, swayed around his feet. Then he turned to the girl. She had worked hard. The same lavender dress she had worn the previous day clung to her in limp condition. But she was as evenly coloured and of as fine grain as a wild rose petal, her hair was really brown, but never was such hair touched with a redder glory, while her heavy arching brows added a look of strength to her big gray-blue eyes.

“And you were born here?”

He had not intended to voice that thought.

“Yes,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Just in time to prevent my mother from saving the life of my father. She came near never forgiving me.”

“Ah, cruel!” cried Philip.

“I find much in life that is cruel, from our standpoints,” said Elnora. “It takes the large wisdom of the Unfathomable, the philosophy of the Almighty, to endure some of it. But there is always right somewhere, and at last it seems to come.”

“Will it come to you?” asked Philip, who found himself deeply affected.

“It has come,” said the girl serenely. “It came a week ago. It came in fullest measure when my mother ceased to regret that I had been born. Now, work that I love has come–that should constitute happiness. A little farther along is my violet bed. I want you to see it.”

As Philip Ammon followed he definitely settled upon the name of the unusual feature of Elnora’s face. It should be called “experience.” She had known bitter experiences early in life. Suffering had been her familiar more than joy. He watched her earnestly, his heart deeply moved. She led him into a swampy half-open space in the woods, stopped and stepped aside. He uttered a cry of surprised delight.

A few decaying logs were scattered around, the grass grew in tufts long and fine. Blue flags waved, clusters of cowslips nodded gold heads, but the whole earth was purple with a thick blanket of violets nodding from stems a foot in length. Elnora knelt and slipping her fingers between the leaves and grasses to the roots, gathered a few violets and gave them to Philip.

“Can your city greenhouses surpass them?” she asked.

He sat on a log to examine the blooms.

“They are superb!” he said. “I never saw such length of stem or such rank leaves, while the flowers are the deepest blue, the truest violet I ever saw growing wild. They are coloured exactly like the eyes of the girl I am going to marry.”

Elnora handed him several others to add to those he held. “She must have wonderful eyes,” she commented.

“No other blue eyes are quite so beautiful,” he said. “In fact, she is altogether lovely.”

“Is it customary for a man to think the girl he is going to marry lovely? I wonder if I should find her so.”

“You would,” said Philip. “No one ever fails to. She is tall as you, very slender, but perfectly rounded; you know about her eyes; her hair is black and wavy–while her complexion is clear and flushed with red.”

“Why, she must be the most beautiful girl in the whole world!” she cried.

“No, indeed!” he said. “She is not a particle better looking in her way than you are in yours. She is a type of dark beauty, but you are equally as perfect. She is unusual in her combination of black hair and violet eyes, although every one thinks them black at a little distance. You are quite as unusual with your fair face, black brows, and brown hair; indeed, I know many people who would prefer your bright head to her dark one. It’s all a question of taste–and being engaged to the girl,” he added.

“That would be likely to prejudice one,” laughed Elnora.

“Edith has a birthday soon; if these last will you let me have a box of them to send her?”

“I will help gather and pack them for you, so they will carry nicely. Does she hunt moths with you?”

Back went Philip Ammon’s head in a gale of laughter.

“No!” he cried. “She says they are `creepy.’ She would go into a spasm if she were compelled to touch those caterpillars I saw you handling yesterday.”

“Why would she?” marvelled Elnora. “Haven’t you told her that they are perfectly clean, helpless, and harmless as so much animate velvet?”

“No, I have not told her. She wouldn’t care enough about caterpillars to listen.”

“In what is she interested?”

“What interests Edith Carr? Let me think! First, I believe she takes pride in being a little handsomer and better dressed than any girl of her set. She is interested in having a beautiful home, fine appointments, in being petted, praised, and the acknowledged leader of society.

“She likes to find new things which amuse her, and to always and in all circumstances have her own way about everything.”

“Good gracious!” cried Elnora, staring at him. “But what does she do? How does she spend her time?”

“Spend her time!” repeated Philip. “Well, she would call that a joke. Her days are never long enough. There is endless shopping, to find the pretty things; regular visits to the dressmakers, calls, parties, theatres, entertainments. She is always rushed. I never am able to be with her half as much as I would like.”

“But I mean work,” persisted Elnora. “In what is she interested that is useful to the world?”

“Me!” cried Philip promptly.

“I can understand that,” laughed Elnora. “What I can’t understand is how you can be in—-” She stopped in confusion, but she saw that he had finished the sentence as she had intended. “I beg your pardon!” she cried. “I didn’t intend to say that. But I cannot understand these people I hear about who live only for their own amusement. Perhaps it is very great; I’ll never have a chance to know. To me, it seems the only pleasure in this world worth having is the joy we derive from living for those we love, and those we can help. I hope you are not angry with me.”

Philip sat silently looking far away, with deep thought in his eyes.

“You are angry,” faltered Elnora.

His look came back to her as she knelt before him among the flowers and he gazed at her steadily.

“No doubt I should be,” he said, “but the fact is I am not. I cannot understand a life purely for personal pleasure myself. But she is only a girl, and this is her playtime. When she is a woman in her own home, then she will be different, will she not?”

Elnora never resembled her mother so closely as when she answered that question.

“I would have to be well acquainted with her to know, but I should hope so. To make a real home for a tired business man is a very different kind of work from that required to be a leader of society. It demands different talent and education. Of course, she means to change, or she would not have promised to make a home for you. I suspect our dope is cool now, let’s go try for some butterflies.”

As they went along the path together Elnora talked of many things but Philip answered absently. Evidently he was thinking of something else. But the moth bait recalled him and he was ready for work as they made their way back to the woods. He wanted to try the Limberlost, but Elnora was firm about remaining on home ground. She did not tell him that lights hung in the swamp would be a signal to call up a band of men whose presence she dreaded. So they started, Ammon carrying the dope, Elnora the net, Billy and Mrs. Comstock following with cyanide boxes and lanterns.

First they tried for butterflies and captured several fine ones without trouble. They also called swarms of ants, bees, beetles, and flies. When it grew dusk, Mrs. Comstock and Philip went to prepare supper. Elnora and Billy remained until the butterflies disappeared. Then they lighted the lanterns, repainted the trees and followed the home trail.

“Do you ‘spec you’ll get just a lot of moths?” asked Billy, as he walked beside Elnora.

“I am sure I hardly know,” said the girl. “This is a new way for me. Perhaps they will come to the lights, but few moths eat; and I have some doubt about those which the lights attract settling on the right trees. Maybe the smell of that dope will draw them. Between us, Billy, I think I like my old way best. If I can find a hidden moth, slip up and catch it unawares, or take it in full flight, it’s my captive, and I can keep it until it dies naturally. But this way you seem to get it under false pretences, it has no chance, and it will probably ruin its wings struggling for freedom before morning.”

“Well, any moth ought to be proud to be taken anyway, by you,” said Billy. “Just look what you do! You can make everybody love them. People even quit hating caterpillars when they see you handle them and hear you tell all about them. You must have some to show people how they are. It’s not like killing things to see if you can, or because you want to eat them, the way most men kill birds. I think it is right for you to take enough for collections, to show city people, and to illustrate the Bird Woman’s books. You go on and take them! The moths don’t care. They’re glad to have you. They like it!”

“Billy, I see your future,” said Elnora. “We will educate you and send you up to Mr. Ammon to make a great lawyer. You’d beat the world as a special pleader.

You actually make me feel that I am doing the moths a kindness to take them.”

“And so you are!” cried Billy. “Why, just from what you have taught them Uncle Wesley and Aunt Margaret never think of killing a caterpillar until they look whether it’s the beautiful June moth kind, or the horrid tent ones. That’s what you can do. You go straight ahead!”

“Billy, you are a jewel!” cried Elnora, throwing her arm across his shoulders as they came down the path.

“My, I was scared!” said Billy with a deep breath.

“Scared?” questioned Elnora.

“Yes sir-ee! Aunt Margaret scared me. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course, you may!”

“Is that man going to be your beau?”

“Billy! No! What made you think such a thing?”

“Aunt Margaret said likely he would fall in love with you, and you wouldn’t want me around any more. Oh, but I was scared! It isn’t so, is it?”

“Indeed, no!”

“I am your beau, ain’t I?”

“Surely you are!” said Elnora, tightening her arm.

“I do hope Aunt Kate has ginger cookies,” said Billy with a little skip of delight.

CHAPTER XV

WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK FACES THE ALMIGHTY, AND PHILIP AMMON WRITES A LETTER

Mrs. Comstock and Elnora were finishing breakfast the following morning when they heard a cheery whistle down the road. Elnora with surprised eyes looked at her mother.

“Could that be Mr. Ammon?” she questioned.

“I did not expect him so soon,” commented Mrs. Comstock.

It was sunrise, but the musician was Philip Ammon. He appeared stronger than on yesterday.

“I hope I am not too early,” he said. “I am consumed with anxiety to learn if we have made a catch. If we have, we should beat the birds to it. I promised Uncle Doc to put on my waders and keep dry for a few days yet, when I go to the woods. Let’s hurry! I am afraid of crows. There might be a rare moth.”

The sun was topping the Limberlost when they started. As they neared the place Philip stopped.

“Now we must use great caution,” he said. “The lights and the odours always attract numbers that don’t settle on the baited trees. Every bush, shrub, and limb may hide a specimen we want.”

So they approached with much care.

“There is something, anyway!” cried Philip.

“There are moths! I can see them!” exulted Elnora.

“Those you see are fast enough. It’s the ones for which you must search that will escape. The grasses are dripping, and I have boots, so you look beside the path while I take the outside,” suggested Ammon.

Mrs. Comstock wanted to hunt moths, but she was timid about making a wrong movement, so she wisely sat on a log and watched Philip and Elnora to learn how they proceeded. Back in the deep woods a hermit thrush was singing his chant to the rising sun. Orioles were sowing the pure, sweet air with notes of gold, poured out while on wing. The robins were only chirping now, for their morning songs had awakened all the other birds an hour ago. Scolding red-wings tilted on half the bushes. Excepting late species of haws, tree bloom was almost gone, but wild flowers made the path border and all the wood floor a riot of colour. Elnora, born among such scenes, worked eagerly, but to the city man, recently from a hospital, they seemed too good to miss. He frequently stooped to examine a flower face, paused to listen intently to the thrush or lifted his head to see the gold flash which accompanied the oriole’s trailing notes. So Elnora uttered the first cry, as she softly lifted branches and peered among the grasses.

“My find!” she called. “Bring the box, mother!”

Philip came hurrying also. When they reached her she stood on the path holding a pair of moths. Her eyes were wide with excitement, her cheeks pink, her red lips parted, and on the hand she held out to them clung a pair of delicate blue-green moths, with white bodies, and touches of lavender and straw colour. All around her lay flower-brocaded grasses, behind the deep green background of the forest, while the sun slowly sifted gold from heaven to burnish her hair. Mrs. Comstock heard a sharp breath behind her.

“Oh, what a picture!” exulted Philip at her shoulder. “She is absolutely and altogether lovely! I’d give a small fortune for that faithfully set on canvas!”

He picked the box from Mrs. Comstock’s fingers and slowly advanced with it. Elnora held down her hand and transferred the moths. Philip closed the box carefully, but the watching mother saw that his eyes were following the girl’s face. He was not making the slightest attempt to conceal his admiration.

“I wonder if a woman ever did anything lovelier than to find a pair of Luna moths on a forest path, early on a perfect June morning,” he said to Mrs. Comstock, when he returned the box.

She glanced at Elnora who was intently searching the bushes.

“Look here, young man,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You seem to find that girl of mine about right.”

“I could suggest no improvement,” said Philip. “I never saw a more attractive girl anywhere. She seems absolutely perfect to me.”

“Then suppose you don’t start any scheme calculated to spoil her!” proposed Mrs. Comstock dryly. “I don’t think you can, or that any man could, but I’m not taking any risks. You asked to come here to help in this work. We are both glad to have you, if you confine yourself to work; but it’s the least you can do to leave us as you find us.”

“I beg your pardon!” said Philip. “I intended no offence. I admire her as I admire any perfect creation.”

“And nothing in all this world spoils the average girl so quickly and so surely,” said Mrs. Comstock. She raised her voice. “Elnora, fasten up that tag of hair over your left ear. These bushes muss you so you remind me of a sheep poking its nose through a hedge fence.”

Mrs. Comstock started down the path toward the log again, when she reached it she called sharply: “Elnora, come here! I believe I have found something myself.”

The “something” was a Citheronia Regalis which had emerged from its case on the soft earth under the log. It climbed up the wood, its stout legs dragging a big pursy body, while it wildly flapped tiny wings the size of a man’s thumb-nail. Elnora gave one look and a cry which brought Philip.

“That’s the rarest moth in America!” he announced. “Mrs. Comstock, you’ve gone up head. You can put that in a box with a screen cover to-night, and attract half a dozen, possibly.”

“Is it rare, Elnora?” inquired Mrs. Comstock, as if no one else knew.

“It surely is,” answered Elnora. “If we can find it a mate to-night, it will lay from two hundred and fifty to three hundred eggs to-morrow. With any luck at all I can raise two hundred caterpillars from them. I did once before. And they are worth a dollar apiece.”

“Was the one I killed like that?”

“No. That was a different moth, but its life processes were the same as this. The Bird Woman calls this the King of the Poets.”

“Why does she?”

“Because it is named for Citheron who was a poet, and regalis refers to a king. You mustn’t touch it or you may stunt wing development. You watch and don’t let that moth out of sight, or anything touch it. When the wings are expanded and hardened we will put it in a box.”

“I am afraid it will race itself to death,” objected Mrs. Comstock.

“That’s a part of the game,” said Philip. “It is starting circulation now. When the right moment comes, it will stop and expand its wings. If you watch closely you can see them expand.”

Presently the moth found a rough projection of bark and clung with its feet, back down, its wings hanging. The body was an unusual orange red, the tiny wings were gray, striped with the red and splotched here and there with markings of canary yellow. Mrs. Comstock watched breathlessly. Presently she slipped from the log and knelt to secure a better view.

“Are its wings developing?” called Elnora.

“They are growing larger and the markings coming stronger every minute.”

“Let’s watch, too,” said Elnora to Philip.

They came and looked over Mrs. Comstock’s shoulder. Lower drooped the gay wings, wider they spread, brighter grew the markings as if laid off in geometrical patterns. They could hear Mrs. Comstock’s tense breath and see her absorbed expression.

“Young people,” she said solemnly, “if your studying science and the elements has ever led you to feel that things just happen, kind of evolve by chance, as it were, this sight will be good for you. Maybe earth and air accumulate, but it takes the wisdom of the Almighty God to devise the wing of a moth. If there ever was a miracle, this whole process is one. Now, as I understand it, this creature is going to keep on spreading those wings, until they grow to size and harden to strength sufficient to bear its body. Then it flies away, mates with its kind, lays its eggs on the leaves of a certain tree, and the eggs hatch tiny caterpillars which eat just that kind of leaves, and the worms grow and grow, and take on different forms and colours until at last they are big caterpillars six inches long, with large horns. Then they burrow into the earth, build a water-proof house around themselves from material which is inside them, and lie through rain and freezing cold for months. A year from egg laying they come out like this, and begin the process all over again. They don’t eat, they don’t see distinctly, they live but a few days, and fly only at night; then they drop off easy, but the process goes on.”

A shivering movement went over the moth. The wings drooped and spread wider. Mrs. Comstock sank into soft awed tones.

“There never was a moment in my life,” she said, “when I felt so in the Presence, as I do now. I feel as if the Almighty were so real, and so near, that I could reach out and touch Him, as I could this wonderful work of His, if I dared. I feel like saying to Him: `To the extent of my brain power I realize Your presence, and all it is in me to comprehend of Your power. Help me to learn, even this late, the lessons of Your wonderful creations. Help me to unshackle and expand my soul to the fullest realization of Your wonders. Almighty God, make me bigger, make me broader!'”

The moth climbed to the end of the projection, up it a little way, then suddenly reversed its wings, turned the hidden sides out and dropped them beside its abdomen, like a large fly. The upper side of the wings, thus exposed, was far richer colour, more exquisite texture than the under, and they slowly half lifted and drooped again. Mrs. Comstock turned her face to Philip.

“Am I an old fool, or do you feel it, too?” she half whispered.

“You are wiser than you ever have been before,” answered he. “I feel it, also.”

“And I,” breathed Elnora.

The moth spread its wings, shivered them tremulously, opening and closing them rapidly. Philip handed the box to Elnora.

She shook her head.

“I can’t take that one,” she said. “Give her freedom.”

“But, Elnora,” protested Mrs. Comstock, “I don’t want to let her go. She’s mine. She’s the first one I ever found this way. Can’t you put her in a big box, and let her live, without hurting her? I can’t bear to let her go. I want to learn all about her.”

“Then watch while we gather these on the trees,” said Elnora. “We will take her home until night and then decide what to do. She won’t fly for a long time yet.”

Mrs. Comstock settled on the ground, gazing at the moth. Elnora and Philip went to the baited trees, placing several large moths and a number of smaller ones in the cyanide jar, and searching the bushes beyond where they found several paired specimens of differing families. When they returned Elnora showed her mother how to hold her hand before the moth so that it would climb upon her fingers. Then they started back to the cabin, Elnora and Philip leading the way; Mrs. Comstock followed slowly, stepping with great care lest she stumble and injure the moth. Her face wore a look of comprehension, in her eyes was an exalted light. On she came to the blue- bordered pool lying beside her path.

A turtle scrambled from a log and splashed into the water, while a red-wing shouted, “O-ka-lee!” to her. Mrs. Comstock paused and looked intently at the slime- covered quagmire, framed in a flower riot and homed over by sweet-voiced birds. Then she gazed at the thing of incomparable beauty clinging to her fingers and said softly: “If you had known about wonders like these in the days of your youth, Robert Comstock, could you ever have done what you did?”

Elnora missed her mother, and turning to look for her, saw her standing beside the pool. Would the old fascination return? A panic of fear seized the girl. She went back swiftly.

“Are you afraid she is going?” Elnora asked. “If you are, cup your other hand over her for shelter. Carrying her through this air and in the hot sunshine will dry her wings and make them ready for flight very quickly. You can’t trust her in such air and light as you can in the cool dark woods.”

While she talked she took hold of her mother’s sleeve, anxiously smiling a pitiful little smile that Mrs. Comstock understood. Philip set his load at the back door, returning to hold open the garden gate for Elnora and Mrs. Comstock. He reached it in time to see them standing together beside the pool. The mother bent swiftly and kissed the girl on the lips. Philip turned and was busily hunting moths on the raspberry bushes when they reached the gate. And so excellent are the rewards of attending your own business, that he found a Promethea on a lilac in a corner; a moth of such rare wine-coloured, velvety shades that it almost sent Mrs. Comstock to her knees again. But this one was fully developed, able to fly, and had to be taken into the cabin hurriedly. Mrs. Comstock stood in the middle of the room holding up her Regalis.

“Now what must I do?” she asked.

Elnora glanced at Philip Ammon. Their eyes met and both of them smiled; he with amusement at the tall, spare figure, with dark eyes and white crown, asking the childish question so confidingly; and Elnora with pride. She was beginning to appreciate the character of her mother.

“How would you like to sit and see her finish development? I’ll get dinner,” proposed the girl.

After they had dined, Philip and Elnora carried the dishes to the kitchen, brought out boxes, sheets of cork, pins, ink, paper slips and everything necessary for mounting and classifying the moths they had taken. When the housework was finished Mrs. Comstock with her ruffle sat near, watching and listening. She remembered all they said that she understood, and when uncertain she asked questions. Occasionally she laid down her work to straighten some flower which needed attention or to search the garden for a bug for the grosbeak. In one of these absences Elnora said to Philip: “These replace quite a number of the moths I lost for the man of India. With a week of such luck, I could almost begin to talk college again.”

“There is no reason why you should not have the week and the luck,” said he. “I have taken moths until the middle of August, though I suspect one is more likely to find late ones in the north where it is colder than here. The next week is hay-time, but we can count on a few double-brooders and strays, and by working the exchange method for all it is worth, I think we can complete the collection again.”

“You almost make me hope,” said Elnora, “but I must not allow myself. I don’t truly think I can replace all I lost, not even with your help. If I could, I scarcely see my way clear to leave mother this winter. I have found her so recently, and she is so precious, I can’t risk losing