MOTHS OF THE LIMBERLOST 



was searching for moths also, but I smiled inwardly as 

 I noticed her check the horse several times and scan 

 a wayside bush, or stretch of snake fence. We were 

 approaching the limits of town, and had found nothing; 

 a slow rain was falling, and the shimmer on bushes and 

 fences made it diflBcult to see objects plainly. Several 

 times I had asked her to stop the horse, or drive close 

 the fields when I was sure of a moth or caterpillar, 

 though it was very late, being close the end of August; 

 but we found only a dry leaf, or some combination that 

 had deceived me. 



Just on the outskirts of Portland, beside a grassy ditch 

 and at the edge of a cornfield, grew a cluster of wild tiger 

 lilies. The water in the ditch had kept them in flower 

 long past their bloomtime. On one of the stems there 

 seemed to be a movement. 



"Wait a minute!" I cried, and Molly-Cotton checked 

 the horse, but did not stop, while I leaned forward and 

 scanned the lilies carefully. What I thought I saw move, 

 appeared to be a dry lily bloom of an orange-red colour, 

 that had fallen and lodged on the grasses against a stalk. 



"It's only a dead lily," I said; "drive on." 



"Is there a moth that colour?" asked Molly Cotton. 



"Yes," I replied. "There is an orange-brown species, 

 but it is rare. I never have seen a living one. " 



So we passed the lilies. A very peculiar thing is that 

 when one grows intensely interested in a subject, and 



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