WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK FACES THE ALMIGHTY, AND PHILIP AMMON WRITES A
LETTER
Mrs. Comstock and Elnora were finishing breakfast the following morning
when they heard a cheery whistle down the road. Elnora with surprised
eyes looked at her mother.
“Could that be Mr. Ammon?” she questioned.
“I did not expect him so soon,” commented Mrs. Comstock.
It was sunrise, but the musician was Philip Ammon. He appeared stronger
than on yesterday.
“I hope I am not too early,” he said. “I am consumed with anxiety to
learn if we have made a catch. If we have, we should beat the birds to
it. I promised Uncle Doc to put on my waders and keep dry for a few
days yet, when I go to the woods. Let’s hurry! I am afraid of crows.
There might be a rare moth.”
The sun was topping the Limberlost when they started. As they neared
the place Philip stopped.
“Now we must use great caution,” he said. “The lights and the odours
always attract numbers that don’t settle on the baited trees. Every
bush, shrub, and limb may hide a specimen we want.”
So they approached with much care.
“There is something, anyway!” cried Philip.
“There are moths! I can see them!” exulted Elnora.
“Those you see are fast enough. It’s the ones for which you must search
that will escape. The grasses are dripping, and I have boots, so you
look beside the path while I take the outside,” suggested Ammon.
Mrs. Comstock wanted to hunt moths, but she was timid about making a
wrong movement, so she wisely sat on a log and watched Philip and
Elnora to learn how they proceeded. Back in the deep woods a hermit
thrush was singing his chant to the rising sun. Orioles were sowing the
pure, sweet air with notes of gold, poured out while on wing. The
robins were only chirping now, for their morning songs had awakened all
the other birds an hour ago. Scolding red-wings tilted on half the
bushes. Excepting late species of haws, tree bloom was almost gone, but
wild flowers made the path border and all the wood floor a riot of
colour. Elnora, born among such scenes, worked eagerly, but to the city
man, recently from a hospital, they seemed too good to miss. He
frequently stooped to examine a flower face, paused to listen intently
to the thrush or lifted his head to see the gold flash which
accompanied the oriole’s trailing notes. So Elnora uttered the first
cry, as she softly lifted branches and peered among the grasses.
“My find!” she called. “Bring the box, mother!”
Philip came hurrying also. When they reached her she stood on the path
holding a pair of moths. Her eyes were wide with excitement, her cheeks
pink, her red lips parted, and on the hand she held out to them clung a
pair of delicate blue-green moths, with white bodies, and touches of
lavender and straw colour. All around her lay flower-brocaded grasses,
behind the deep green background of the forest, while the sun slowly
sifted gold from heaven to burnish her hair. Mrs. Comstock heard a
sharp breath behind her.
“Oh, what a picture!” exulted Philip at her shoulder. “She is
absolutely and altogether lovely! I’d give a small fortune for that
faithfully set on canvas!”
He picked the box from Mrs. Comstock’s fingers and slowly advanced with
it. Elnora held down her hand and transferred the moths. Philip closed
the box carefully, but the watching mother saw that his eyes were
following the girl’s face. He was not making the slightest attempt to
conceal his admiration.
“I wonder if a woman ever did anything lovelier than to find a pair of
Luna moths on a forest path, early on a perfect June morning,” he said
to Mrs. Comstock, when he returned the box.
She glanced at Elnora who was intently searching the bushes.
“Look here, young man,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You seem to find that girl
of mine about right.”
“I could suggest no improvement,” said Philip. “I never saw a more
attractive girl anywhere. She seems absolutely perfect to me.”
“Then suppose you don’t start any scheme calculated to spoil her!”
proposed Mrs. Comstock dryly. “I don’t think you can, or that any man
could, but I’m not taking any risks. You asked to come here to help in
this work. We are both glad to have you, if you confine yourself to
work; but it’s the least you can do to leave us as you find us.”
“I beg your pardon!” said Philip. “I intended no offence. I admire her
as I admire any perfect creation.”
“And nothing in all this world spoils the average girl so quickly and
so surely,” said Mrs. Comstock. She raised her voice. “Elnora, fasten
up that tag of hair over your left ear. These bushes muss you so you
remind me of a sheep poking its nose through a hedge fence.”
Mrs. Comstock started down the path toward the log again, when she
reached it she called sharply: “Elnora, come here! I believe I have
found something myself.”
The “something” was a Citheronia Regalis which had emerged from its
case on the soft earth under the log. It climbed up the wood, its stout
legs dragging a big pursy body, while it wildly flapped tiny wings the
size of a man’s thumb-nail. Elnora gave one look and a cry which
brought Philip.
“That’s the rarest moth in America!” he announced. “Mrs. Comstock,
you’ve gone up head. You can put that in a box with a screen cover
to-night, and attract half a dozen, possibly.”
“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?”
“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
a 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 touch 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 Philip. “It is starting circulation
now. When the right moment comes, it will stop and expand 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 markings of canary yellow. Mrs. Comstock watched
breathlessly. Presently she slipped from the log and knelt to secure a
better view.
“Are its wings developing?” called Elnora.
“They are growing larger and the markings coming stronger every
minute.”
“Let’s watch, too,” said Elnora to Philip.
They came and looked over Mrs. Comstock’s shoulder. Lower drooped the
gay wings, wider they spread, brighter grew the markings as if laid off
in geometrical patterns. They could hear Mrs. Comstock’s tense breath
and see her absorbed expression.
“Young people,” she said solemnly, “if your studying science and the
elements has ever led you to feel that things just happen, kind of
evolve by chance, as it were, this sight will be good for you. Maybe
earth and air accumulate, but it takes the wisdom of the Almighty God
to devise the wing of a moth. If there ever was a miracle, this whole
process is one. Now, as I understand it, this creature is going to keep
on spreading those wings, until they grow to size and harden to
strength sufficient to bear its body. Then it flies away, mates with
its kind, lays its eggs on the leaves of a certain tree, and the eggs
hatch tiny caterpillars which eat just that kind of leaves, and the
worms grow and grow, and take on different forms and colours until at
last they are big caterpillars six inches long, with large horns. Then
they burrow into the earth, build a water-proof house around themselves
from material which is inside them, and lie through rain and freezing
cold for months. A year from egg laying they come out like this, and
begin the process all over again. They don’t eat, they don’t see
distinctly, they live but a few days, and fly only at night; then they
drop off easy, but the process goes on.”
A shivering movement went over the moth. The wings drooped and spread
wider. Mrs. Comstock sank into soft awed tones.
“There never was a moment in my life,” she said, “when I felt so in the
Presence, as I do now. I feel as if the Almighty were so real, and so
near, that I could reach out and touch Him, as I could this wonderful
work of His, if I dared. I feel like saying to Him: ‘To the extent of
my brain power I realize Your presence, and all it is in me to
comprehend of Your power. Help me to learn, even this late, the lessons
of Your wonderful creations. Help me to unshackle and expand my soul to
the fullest realization of Your wonders. Almighty God, make me bigger,
make me broader!’”
The moth climbed to the end of the projection, up it a little way, then
suddenly reversed its wings, turned the hidden sides out and dropped
them beside its abdomen, like a large fly. The upper side of the wings,
thus exposed, was far richer colour, more exquisite texture than the
under, and they slowly half lifted and drooped again. Mrs. Comstock
turned her face to Philip.
“Am I an old fool, or do you feel it, too?” she half whispered.
“You are wiser than you ever have been before,” answered he. “I feel
it, also.”
“And I,” breathed Elnora.
The moth spread its wings, shivered them tremulously, opening and
closing them rapidly. Philip handed the box to Elnora.
She shook her head.
“I can’t take that one,” she said. “Give her freedom.”
“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 gather 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, gazing at the moth. Elnora and
Philip 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 Philip leading the way; Mrs. Comstock
followed slowly, stepping with great care lest she stumble and injure
the moth. Her face wore a look of comprehension, in her eyes was an
exalted light. On she came to the blue-bordered pool lying beside her
path.
A turtle scrambled from a log and splashed into the water, while a
red-wing shouted, “O-ka-lee!” to her. Mrs. Comstock paused and looked
intently at the slime-covered quagmire, framed in a flower riot and
homed over by sweet-voiced birds. Then she gazed at the thing of
incomparable beauty clinging to her fingers and said softly: “If you
had known about wonders like these in the days of your youth, Robert
Comstock, could you ever have done what you did?”
Elnora missed her mother, and turning to look for her, saw her standing
beside the pool. Would the old fascination return? A panic of fear
seized the girl. She went back swiftly.
“Are you afraid she is going?” Elnora asked. “If you are, cup your
other hand over her for shelter. Carrying her through this air and in
the hot sunshine will dry her wings and make them ready for flight very
quickly. You can’t trust her in such air and light as you can in the
cool dark woods.”
While she talked she took hold of her mother’s sleeve, anxiously
smiling a pitiful little smile that Mrs. Comstock understood. Philip
set his load at the back door, returning to hold open the garden gate
for Elnora and Mrs. Comstock. He reached it in time to see them
standing together beside the pool. The mother bent swiftly and kissed
the girl on the lips. Philip turned and was busily hunting moths on the
raspberry bushes when they reached the gate. And so excellent are the
rewards of attending your own business, that he found a Promethea on a
lilac in a corner; a moth of such rare wine-coloured, velvety shades
that it almost sent Mrs. Comstock to her knees again. But this one was
fully developed, able to fly, and had to be taken into the cabin
hurriedly. Mrs. Comstock stood in the middle of the room holding up her
Regalis.
“Now what must I do?” she asked.
Elnora glanced at Philip Ammon. Their eyes met and both of them smiled;
he with amusement at the tall, spare figure, with dark eyes and white
crown, asking the childish question so confidingly; and Elnora with
pride. She was beginning to appreciate the character of her mother.
“How would you like to sit and see her finish development? I’ll get
dinner,” proposed the girl.
After they had dined, Philip and Elnora carried the dishes to the
kitchen, brought out boxes, sheets of cork, pins, ink, paper slips and
everything necessary for mounting and classifying the moths they had
taken. When the housework was finished Mrs. Comstock with her ruffle
sat near, watching and listening. She remembered all they said that she
understood, and when uncertain she asked questions. Occasionally she
laid down her work to straighten some flower which needed attention or
to search the garden for a bug for the grosbeak. In one of these
absences Elnora said to Philip: “These replace quite a number of the
moths I lost for the man of India. With a week of such luck, I could
almost begin to talk college again.”
“There is no reason why you should not have the week and the luck,”
said he. “I have taken moths until the middle of August, though I
suspect one is more likely to find late ones in the north where it is
colder than here. The next week is hay-time, but we can count on a few
double-brooders and strays, and by working the exchange method for all
it is worth, I think we can complete the collection again.”
“You almost make me hope,” said Elnora, “but I must not allow myself. I
don’t truly think I can replace all I lost, not even with your help. If
I could, I scarcely see my way clear to leave mother this winter. I
have found her so recently, and she is so precious, I can’t risk losing
her again. I am going to take the nature position in the Onabasha
schools, and I shall be most happy doing the work. Only, these are a
temptation.”
“I wish you might go to college this fall with the other girls,” said
Philip. “I feel that if you don’t you never will. Isn’t there some
way?”
“I can’t see it if there is, and I really don’t want to leave mother.”
“Well, mother is mighty glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Comstock, entering
the arbour.
Philip noticed that her face was pale, her lips quivering, her voice
cold.
“I was telling your daughter that she should go to college this
winter,” he explained, “but she says she doesn’t want to leave you.”
“If she wants to go, I wish she could,” said Mrs. Comstock, a look of
relief spreading over her face.
“Oh, all girls want to go to college,” said Philip. “It’s the only
proper place to learn bridge and embroidery; not to mention midnight
lunches of mixed pickles and fruit cake, and all the delights of the
sororities.”
“I have thought for years of going to college,” said Elnora, “but I
never thought of any of those things.”
“That is because your education in fudge and bridge has been sadly
neglected,” said Philip. “You should hear my sister Polly! This was her
final year! Lunches and sororities were all I heard her mention, until
Tom Levering came on deck; now he is the leading subject. I can’t see
from her daily conversation that she knows half as much really worth
knowing as you do, but she’s ahead of you miles on fun.”
“Oh, we had some good times in the high school,” said Elnora. “Life
hasn’t been all work and study. Is Edith Carr a college girl?”
“No. She is the very selectest kind of a private boarding-school girl.”
“Who is she?” asked Mrs. Comstock.
Philip opened his lips.
“She is a girl in Chicago, that Mr. Ammon knows very well,” said
Elnora. “She is beautiful and rich, and a friend of his sister’s. Or,
didn’t you say that?”
“I don’t remember, but she is,” said Philip. “This moth needs an
alcohol bath to remove the dope.”
“Won’t the down come, too?” asked Elnora anxiously.
“No. You watch and you will see it come out, as Polly would say, ‘a
perfectly good’ moth.”
“Is your sister younger than you?” inquired Elnora.
“Yes,” said Philip, “but she is three years older than you. She is the
dearest sister in all the world. I’d love to see her now.”
“Why don’t you send for her,” suggested Elnora. “Perhaps she’d like to
help us catch moths.”
“Yes, I think Polly in a Virot hat, Picot embroidered frock and
three-inch heels would take more moths than any one who ever tried the
Limberlost,” laughed Philip.
“Well, you find many of them, and you are her brother.”
“Yes, but that is different. Father was reared in Onabasha, and he
loved the country. He trained me his way and mother took charge of
Polly. I don’t quite understand it. Mother is a great home body
herself, but she did succeed in making Polly strictly ornamental.”
“Does Tom Levering need a ‘strictly ornamental’ girl?”
“You are too matter of fact! Too ‘strictly’ material. He needs a
darling girl who will love him plenty, and Polly is that.”
“Well, then, does the Limberlost need a ‘strictly ornamental’ girl?”
“No!” cried Philip. “You are ornament enough for the Limberlost. I have
changed my mind. I don’t want Polly here. She would not enjoy catching
moths, or anything we do.”
“She might,” persisted Elnora. “You are her brother, and surely you
care for these things.”
“The argument does not hold,” said Philip. “Polly and I do not like the
same things when we are at home, but we are very fond of each other.
The member of my family who would go crazy about this is my father. I
wish he could come, if only for a week. I’d send for him, but he is
tied up in preparing some papers for a great corporation case this
summer. He likes the country. It was his vote that brought me here.”
Philip leaned back against the arbour, watching the grosbeak as it
hunted food between a tomato vine and a day lily. Elnora set him to
making labels, and when he finished them he asked permission to write a
letter. He took no pains to conceal his page, and from where she sat
opposite him, Elnora could not look his way without reading: “My
dearest Edith.” He wrote busily for a time and then sat staring across
the garden.
“Have you run out of material so quickly?” asked Elnora.
“That’s about it,” said Philip. “I have said that I am getting well as
rapidly as possible, that the air is fine, the folks at Uncle Doc’s all
well, and entirely too good to me; that I am spending most of my time
in the country helping catch moths for a collection, which is splendid
exercise; now I can’t think of another thing that will be interesting.”
There was a burst of exquisite notes in the maple.
“Put in the grosbeak,” suggested Elnora. “Tell her you are so friendly
with him you feed him potato bugs.”
Philip lowered the pen to the sheet, bent forward, then hesitated.
“Blest if I do!” he cried. “She’d think a grosbeak was a depraved
person with a large nose. She’d never dream that it was a black-robed
lover, with a breast of snow and a crimson heart. She doesn’t care for
hungry babies and potato bugs. I shall write that to father. He will
find it delightful.”
Elnora deftly picked up a moth, pinned it and placed its wings. She
straightened the antennae, drew each leg into position and set it in
perfectly lifelike manner. As she lifted her work to see if she had it
right, she glanced at Philip. He was still frowning and hesitating over
the paper.
“I dare you to let me dictate a couple of paragraphs.”
“Done!” cried Philip. “Go slowly enough that I can write it.”
Elnora laughed gleefully.
“I am writing this,” she began, “in an old grape arbour in the country,
near a log cabin where I had my dinner. From where I sit I can see
directly into the home of the next-door neighbour on the west. His name
is R. B. Grosbeak. From all I have seen of him, he is a gentleman of
the old school; the oldest school there is, no doubt. He always wears a
black suit and cap and a white vest, decorated with one large red
heart, which I think must be the emblem of some ancient order. I have
been here a number of times, and I never have seen him wear anything
else, or his wife appear in other than a brown dress with touches of
white.
“It has appealed to me at times that she was a shade neglectful of her
home duties, but he does not seem to feel that way. He cheerfully stays
in the sitting-room, while she is away having a good time, and sings
while he cares for the four small children. I must tell you about his
music. I am sure he never saw inside a conservatory. I think he merely
picked up what he knows by ear and without vocal training, but there is
a tenderness in his tones, a depth of pure melody, that I never have
heard surpassed. It may be that I think more of his music than that of
some other good vocalists hereabout, because I see more of him and
appreciate his devotion to his home life.
“I just had an encounter with him at the west fence, and induced him to
carry a small gift to his children. When I see the perfect harmony in
which he lives, and the depth of content he and the brown lady find in
life, I am almost persuaded to— Now this is going to be poetry,” said
Elnora. “Move your pen over here and begin with a quote and a cap.”
Philip’s face had been an interesting study while he wrote her
sentences. Now he gravely set the pen where she indicated, and Elnora
dictated—
“Buy a nice little home in the country,
And settle down there for life.”
“That’s the truth!” cried Philip. “It’s as big a temptation as I ever
had. Go on!”
“That’s all,” said Elnora. “You can finish. The moths are done. I am
going hunting for whatever I can find for the grades.”
“Wait a minute,” begged Philip. “I am going, too.”
“No. You stay with mother and finish your letter.”
“It is done. I couldn’t add anything to that.”
“Very well! Sign your name and come on. But I forgot to tell you all
the bargain. Maybe you won’t send the letter when you hear that. The
remainder is that you show me the reply to my part of it.”
“Oh, that’s easy! I wouldn’t have the slightest objection to showing
you the whole letter.”
He signed his name, folded the sheets and slipped them into his pocket.
“Where are we going and what do we take?”
“Will you go, mother?” asked Elnora.
“I have a little work that should be done,” said Mrs. Comstock. “Could
you spare me? Where do you want to go?”
“We will go down to Aunt Margaret’s and see her a few minutes and get
Billy. We will be back in time for supper.”
Mrs. Comstock smiled as she watched them down the road. What a
splendid-looking pair of young creatures they were! How finely
proportioned, how full of vitality! Then her face grew troubled as she
saw them in earnest conversation. Just as she was wishing she had not
trusted her precious girl with so much of a stranger, she saw Elnora
stoop to lift a branch and peer under. The mother grew content. Elnora
was thinking only of her work. She was to be trusted utterly.