MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



swamp, by a girl not unknown to fiction, who brought 

 it to me. In a deserted orchard close the Wabash, 

 Raymond once found a pair of empty cocoons at the 

 foot of a big apple tree, fastened to the same twigs, and 

 within two inches of each other. 



But the most wonderful thing of all occurred when 

 Wallace Hardison, a faithful friend to my work, sawed 

 a board from the roof of his chicken house and carried 

 to me twin Cecropia cocoons, spun so closely together 

 they were touching, and slightly interwoven. By the 

 closest examination I could discover slight difference be- 

 tween them. The one on the right was a trifle fuller 

 in the body, wider at the top, a shade lighter in colour 

 and the inner case seemed heavier. 



All winter those cocoons occupied the place of state 

 in my collection. Every few days I tried them to see 

 if they gave the solid thump indicating healthy pupae, 

 and listened to learn if they were moving. By May 

 they were under constant surveillance. On the four- 

 teenth I was called from home a few hours to attend 

 the funeral of a friend. I think nothing short of a funeral 

 would have taken me, for the moth from a single cocoon 

 had emerged on the eleventh. I hurried home near noon, 

 only to find that I was late, for one was out, and the top 

 of the other cocoon heaving with the movements of the 

 second. 



The moth that had escaped was a male. It clung 



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