MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



roof of the corn bin; and fed young blackbirds in the 

 hemlock with worms gathered from the cabbages. I 

 knew how to insinuate myself into the private life of 

 each bird that homed on our farm, and they were many, 

 for we valiantly battled for their protection with every 

 kind of intruder. There were wrens in the knot holes, 

 chippies in the fences, thrushes in the brush heaps, 

 bluebirds in the hollow apple trees, cardinals in the 

 bushes, tanagers in the saplings, fly-catchers in the trees, 

 larks in the wheat, bobolinks in the clover, killdeers 

 beside the creeks, swallows in the chimneys, and martins 

 under the barn eaves. My love encompassed all feath- 

 ered and furred creatures. 



Every day visits were paid flowers I cared for most. I 

 had been taught not to break the garden blooms, and if 

 a very few of the wild ones were taken, I gathered them 

 carefully, and explained to the plants that I wanted them 

 for my mother because she was so ill she could not come 

 to them any more, and only a few touching her lips or 

 lying on her pillow helped her to rest, and made vivid 

 the fields and woods when the pain was severe. 



My love for the butterflies took on the form of 

 adoration. There was not a delicate, gaudy, winged 

 creature of day that did not make so strong an appeal to 

 my heart as to be almost painful. It seemed to me that 

 the most exquisite thoughts of God for our pleasure were 

 materialized in their beauty. My soul always craved 



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