MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



"I don't remember that we ever found any like these," 

 he said. "Would you be interested in them?" 



Would I? Instantly I knew this book was not finished. 

 As I held the firm, heavy, leaf rolled cocoons in my hand, 

 I could see the last chapter sliding over from fourteen to 

 fifteen to make place for Promethea, the loveliest of the 

 Attacine group, a cousin of Cecropia. Often I had seen 

 the pictured cocoon, in its neat little, tight little leaf 

 covered shelter, and the mounted moths of scientific 

 collections and museums; I knew their beautiful forms 

 and remembered the reddish tinge flushing the almost 

 black coat of the male and the red wine and clay coloured 

 female with her elaborate marks, spots, and lines. Right 

 there the book stopped at leaf-fall early in November 

 to await the outcome of those three cocoons. If they 

 would yield a pair in the spring, and if that pair would 

 emerge close enough together to mate and produce 

 fertile eggs, then by fall of the coming year I would have 

 a complete life history. That was a long wait, thickly 

 punctuated with "ifs." 



The good work began by holding up the publication 

 of the book. It progressed by making photographic 

 studies of the cocoons that very afternoon. Then the 

 twig was carried to my room and stood in a vase of intri- 

 cate workmanship and rare colouring. A vase of silver, 

 having a body of blue enamel, the decorations pale red, 

 yellow, blue, green; manj- shades — each of silver bound 



317 



