MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



friends were years in securing, from the pinks in my 

 garden. A pair of Antiopas spent a night, and waited 

 to be pictured in the morning, among the leaves of my 

 passion vine. Painted Beauties swayed along my 

 flowered walks, and in September a Viceroy reigned in 

 state on every chrysanthemum, and a Monarch was 

 enthroned on every sunbeam. No luck was too good for 

 me, no butterfly or moth too rare, except forever and 

 always the coveted Cecropia, and by this time I had 

 learned to my disgust that it was one of the commonest 

 of all. 



Then one summer, late in June, a small boy, having an 

 earnest, eager little face, came to me tugging a large box. 

 He said he had something for me. He said "they called 

 it a butterfly, but he was sure it never was." He w^as 

 eminently correct. He had a splendid big Cecropia. I 

 was delighted. Of course to have found one myself 

 would have filled my cup to overflowing, but to secure 

 a perfect, living specimen was good enough. For the 

 first time my childish loss seemed in a measure compen- 

 sated. Then, I only could study a moth to my satisfac- 

 tion and set it free; now% I could make reproductions so 

 perfect that every antler of its antennse could be counted 

 with the naked eye, and copy its colours acciu-ately, 

 before giving back its liberty. 



I asked him whether he wanted money or a picture of 

 it, and as I expected, he said "money," so he was paid. 



102 



