"Is it rare, Elnora?" inquired Mrs. Comstock, as if no one else knew.
"It surely is," answered Elnora. "If we can find it a mate to-night, it will lay from two hundred and fifty to three hundred eggs to-morrow. With any luck at all I can raise two hundred caterpillars from them. I did once before. And they are worth a dollar apiece."
"Was the one I killed like that?" gasped Mrs. Comstock.
"No. That was a different moth, but its life processes were the same as this. The Bird Woman calls this the King of the Poets."
"Why does she?"
"Because it is named for Citheron who was a poet, and regalis refers to king. You mustn't touch it or you may stunt wing development. You watch and don't let that moth out of sight, or anything come near it. When the wings are expanded and hardened we will put it in a box."
"I am afraid it will race itself to death," objected Mrs. Comstock.
"That's a part of the game," said Ammon. "It is starting circulation now. When the right moment comes, it will stop and develop its wings. If you watch closely you can see them expand."
Presently the moth found a rough projection of bark and clung with its feet, back down, its wings hanging. The body was an unusual orange red, the tiny wings were gray, striped with the red and splotched here and there with
