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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 her again. I am going to take the nature position in the Onabasha schools, and I shall be most happy doing the work. Only, these are a temptation.”
“I wish you might go to college this fall with the other girls,” said Philip. “I feel that if you don't you never will. Isn't there some way?”
“I can't see it if there is, and I really don't want to leave mother.”
“Well, mother is mighty glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Comstock, entering the arbour.
Philip noticed that her face was pale, her lips quivering, her voice cold.
“I was telling your daughter that she should go to college this winter,” he explained, “but she says she doesn't want to leave you.”
“If she wants to go, I wish she could,” said Mrs. Comstock, a look of relief spreading over her face.
“Oh, all girls want to go to college,” said Philip. “It's the only proper place to learn bridge and embroidery; not to mention midnight lunches of mixed pickles and fruit cake, and all the delights of the sororities.”
“I have thought for years of going to college,” said Elnora, “but I never thought of any of those things.”
“That is because your education in fudge and bridge has been sadly neglected,” said Philip. “You should hear my sister Polly! This was her final year! Lunches and sororities were all I heard her mention, until Tom Levering came on deck; now he is the leading subject. I can't see from her daily conversation that she knows half as much really worth knowing as you do, but she's ahead of you miles on fun.”
“Oh, we had some good times in the high school,” said Elnora. “Life hasn't been all work and study. Is Edith Carr a college girl?”
“No. She is the very selectest kind of a private boarding-school girl.”
“Who is she?” asked Mrs. Comstock.
Philip opened his lips.
“She is a girl in Chicago, that Mr. Ammon knows very well,” said Elnora. “She is beautiful and rich, and a friend of his sister's. Or, didn't you say that?”
“I don't remember, but she is,” said Philip. “This moth needs an alcohol bath to remove the dope.”
“Won't the down come, too?” asked Elnora anxiously.
“No. You watch and you will see it come out, as Polly would say, 'a perfectly good' moth.”
“Is your sister younger than you?” inquired Elnora.
“Yes,” said Philip, “but she is three years older than you. She is the dearest sister in all the world. I'd love to see her now.”
“Why don't you send for her,” suggested Elnora. “Perhaps she'd like to help us catch moths.”
“Yes, I think Polly in a Virot hat, Picot embroidered frock and three-inch heels would take more moths than any one who ever tried the Limberlost,” laughed Philip.
“Well, you find many of them, and you are her brother.”