MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



concerned about me. She asked if I had butter, and I 

 said; ''Yes, the kind that flies." 



I sHpped the bonnet enough to let them peep. She 

 did not seem to think much of it, but the farmer laughed 

 until his tanned face was red as an Indian's. His wife 

 insisted on me putting down the jar, and offered to set 

 her foot on it so that it would not "jounce" much, but 

 I did not propose to risk it "jouncing" at all, and clung 

 to it persistently. Then she offered to tie her apron over 

 the top of the jar if I would put my bonnet on my head, 

 but I was afraid to attempt the exchange for fear my 

 butterfly would try to escape, and I might crush it, 

 a thing I almost never had allowed to happen. 



The farmer's wife stuck her elbow into his ribs, and 

 said, "How's that for the queerest spec'men ye ever 

 see?" The farmer answered, "I never saw nothin' like 

 it before." Then she said, "Aw pshaw! I didn't mean 

 in the jar!" Then they both laughed. I thought they 

 were amused at me, but I had no intention of risking an 

 injury to my Half-luna, for there had been one black 

 day on which I had such a terrible experience that it 

 entailed a lifetime of caution. 



I had captured what I afterward learned was an 

 Asterias, that seemed slightly different from any previous 

 specimen, and a yellow swallow-tail, my first Papilio 

 Turnus. The yellow one was the largest, most beautiful 

 butterfly I ever had seen. I was carrying them, one 



