MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



had not found as yet, for yellow, be it on the face of a 

 flower, on the breast of a bird, or in the gold of sunshine, 

 always warms the depths of my heart. 



One night in June, sitting with a party of friends in the 

 libraiy, a shadow seemed to sweep across a large window 

 in front. I glanced up, and arose with a cry that 

 must have made those present doubt my sanity. A 

 perfect and beautifid lo was walking leism-ely across 

 the glass. 



"A moth!" I cried. "I have none like it! Deacon, 

 get the net!" 



I caught a hat from the couch, and ran to the veranda. 

 The Deacon followed with the net. 



"I was afraid to wait," I explained. "Please bring a 

 piece of pasteboard, the size of this brim." 



I held the hat while the Deacon brought the board. 

 Then with trembling care we slipped it under, and care- 

 fully carried the moth into the conservatory. First we 

 turned on the light, and made sure that every ventilator 

 was closed; then we released the lo for the night. In the 

 morning we found a female clinging to a shelf, dotting 

 it with httle top-shaped eggs. I was deUghted, for I 

 thought this meant the complete history of a beautiful 

 moth. So exquisite was the Hving, breathing creature, she 

 put to shame the form and colouring of the mounted 

 specimens. No wonder I had not cared for them! 



Her fore- wings were a strong purplish brown in general 



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