"You are wiser than you ever have been before," answered Ammon. "I feel it, too."
"I also," breathed Elnora.
The moth spread its wings, shivered them tremulously, opening and closing them rapidly. Ammon handed the box to Elnora.
She shook her head.
"I can't take that one," she said. "Let her go."
"But, Elnora," protested Mrs. Comstock, "I don't want to let her go. She's mine. She's the first one I ever found this way. Can't you put her in a big box, and let her live without hurting her? I can't bear to let her go. I want to learn all about her."
"Then watch while we get these on the trees," said Elnora. "We will take her home until night and then decide what to do. She won't fly for a long time yet."
Mrs. Comstock settled on the ground, an elbow on her knee, her chin in her palm, gazing at the moth. Elnora and Ammon went to the baited trees, placing several large moths and a number of smaller ones in the cyanide jar, and searching the bushes beyond, where they found several paired specimens of differing families. When they returned Elnora showed her mother how to hold her hand before the moth so that it would climb upon her fingers. Then they started back to the cabin, Elnora and Ammon leading the way. Mrs. Comstock followed slowly, stepping with great care lest she stumble and jar the moth. Her face wore a look of comprehension; in her
