"Of course, you can have them," said Elnora. "We will quit long enough before supper to gather a great bunch. They can be packed so they will carry all right. They should be perfectly fresh, especially if we gather them this evening and let them drink all night."
Then they went back to hunt Catocalæ. It was a long and a happy search. It led them into new, unexplored nooks of the woods, by a red-poll nest, and where goldfinches prospected for thistledown for the cradles they would line a little later. It led them into real forest, where deep, dark pools lay, where the hermit thrush and the wood robin extracted the essence from all other bird melody, and poured it out in their pure bell-tone notes. It seemed as if every old gray tree-trunk, slab of loose bark, and prostrate log yielded the flashing gray treasures; while of all others they seemed to take alarm most easily, and be most difficult to capture.
Ammon came to Elnora at dusk, daintily holding one by the body, its dark wings showing and its long slender legs trying to clasp his fingers and creep from his hold.
"Oh, for mercy's sake!" cried Elnora, and stared at him.
"I half believe it!" exulted Ammon.
"Did you ever see one?"
"Only in collections, and mighty seldom there."
Elnora studied the black wings intently. "I surely believe that's Sappho," she marvelled. "The Bird Woman will be overjoyed."
"We must get the cyanide jar quickly," said Ammon.
