LITMIR.BIZ

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heard!” she laughed. “A little pasteboard box, or just the mere word 'specimen,' passes you at my door. If it is moths I hope you have hundreds. I've been very busy all summer and unable to collect, and I need so many. Sit down and lunch with me, while we talk it over. From the Limberlost, did you say?”

      “I live near the swamp,” replied Elnora. “Since it's so cleared I dare go around the edge in daytime, though we are all afraid at night.”

      “What have you collected?” asked the Bird Woman, as she helped Elnora to sandwiches unlike any she ever before had tasted, salad that seemed to be made of many familiar things, and a cup of hot chocolate that would have delighted any hungry schoolgirl.

      “I am afraid I am bothering you for nothing, and imposing on you,” she said. “That 'collected' frightens me. I've only gathered. I always loved everything outdoors, so I made friends and playmates of them. When I learned that the moths die so soon, I saved them especially, because there seemed no wickedness in it.”

      “I have thought the same thing,” said the Bird Woman encouragingly. Then because the girl could not eat until she learned about the moths, the Bird Woman asked Elnora if she knew what kinds she had.

      “Not all of them,” answered Elnora. “Before Mr. Duncan moved away he often saw me near the edge of the swamp and he showed me the box he had fixed for Freckles, and gave me the key. There were some books and things, so from that time on I studied and tried to take moths right, but I am afraid they are not what you want.”

      “Are they the big ones that fly mostly in June nights?” asked the Bird Woman.

      “Yes,” said Elnora. “Big gray ones with reddish markings, pale blue-green, yellow with lavender, and red and yellow.”

      “What do you mean by 'red and yellow?'” asked the Bird Woman so quickly that the girl almost jumped.

      “Not exactly red,” explained Elnora, with tremulous voice. “A reddish, yellowish brown, with canary-coloured spots and gray lines on their wings.”

      “How many of them?” It was the same quick question.

      “I had over two hundred eggs,” said Elnora, “but some of them didn't hatch, and some of the caterpillars died, but there must be at least a hundred perfect ones.”

      “Perfect! How perfect?” cried the Bird Woman.

      “I mean whole wings, no down gone, and all their legs and antennae,” faltered Elnora.

      “Young woman, that's the rarest moth in America,” said the Bird Woman solemnly. “If you have a hundred of them, they are worth a hundred dollars according to my list. I can use all that are not damaged.”

      “What if they are not pinned right,” quavered Elnora.

      “If they are perfect, that does not make the slightest difference. I know how to soften them so that I can put them into any shape I choose. Where are they? When may I see them?”

      “They are in Freckles's old case in the Limberlost,” said Elnora. “I couldn't carry many for fear of breaking them, but I could bring a few after school.”

      “You come here at four,” said the Bird Woman, “and we will drive out with some specimen boxes, and a price list, and see what you have to sell. Are they your very own? Are you free to part with them?”

      “They are mine,” said Elnora. “No one but God knows I have them. Mr. Duncan gave me the books and the box. He told Freckles about me, and Freckles told him to give me all he left. He said for me to stick to the swamp and be brave, and my hour would come, and it has! I know most of them are all right, and oh, I do need the money!”

      “Could you tell me?” asked the Bird Woman softly.

      “You see the swamp and all the fields around it are so full,” explained Elnora. “Every day I felt smaller and smaller, and I wanted to know more and more, and pretty soon I grew desperate, just as Freckles did. But I am better off than he was, for I have his books, and I have a mother; even if she doesn't care for me as other girls' mothers do for them, it's better than no one.”

      The Bird Woman's glance fell, for the girl was not conscious of how much she was revealing. Her eyes were fixed on a black pitcher filled with goldenrod in the centre of the table and she was saying what she thought.

      “As long as I could go to the Brushwood school I was happy, but I couldn't go further just when things were the most interesting, so I was determined I'd come to high school and mother wouldn't consent. You see there's plenty of land, but father was drowned when I was a baby, and mother and I can't make money as men do. The taxes are higher every year, and she said it was too expensive. I wouldn't give her any rest, until at last she bought me this dress, and these shoes and I came. It was awful!”

      “Do you live in that beautiful cabin at the northwest end of the swamp?” asked the Bird Woman.

      “Yes,” said Elnora.

      “I remember the place and a story about it, now. You entered the high school yesterday?”

      “Yes.”

      “It was rather bad?”

      “Rather bad!” echoed Elnora.

      The Bird Woman laughed.

      “You can't tell me anything about that,” she said. “I once entered a city school straight from the country. My dress was brown calico, and my shoes were heavy.”

      The tears began to roll down Elnora's cheeks.

      “Did they——?” she faltered.

      “They did!” said the Bird Woman. “All of it. I am sure they did not miss one least little thing.”

      Then she wiped away some tears that began coursing her cheeks, and laughed at the same time.

      “Where are they now?” asked Elnora suddenly.

      “They are widely scattered, but none of them have attained heights out of range. Some of the rich are poor, and some of the poor are rich. Some of the brightest died insane, and some of the dullest worked out high positions; some of the very worst to bear have gone out, and I frequently hear from others. Now I am here, able to remember it, and mingle laughter with what used to be all tears; for every day I have my beautiful work, and almost every day God sends some one like you to help me. What is your name, my girl?”

      “Elnora Comstock,” answered Elnora. “Yesterday on the board it changed to Cornstock, and for a minute I thought I'd die, but I can laugh over that already.”

      The Bird Woman arose and kissed her. “Finish your lunch,” she said, “and I will bring my price lists, and make a memorandum of what you think you have, so I will know how many boxes to prepare. And remember this: What you are lies with you. If you are lazy, and accept your lot, you may live in it. If you are willing to work, you can write your name anywhere you choose, among the only ones who live beyond the grave in this world, the people who write books that help, make exquisite music, carve statues, paint pictures, and work for others. Never mind the calico dress, and the coarse shoes. Work at your books, and before long you will hear yesterday's tormentors boasting that they were once classmates of yours. 'I could a tale unfold'——!”

      She laughingly left the room and Elnora sat thinking, until she remembered how hungry she was, so she ate the food, drank the hot chocolate and began to feel better.

      Then the Bird Woman came back and showed Elnora a long printed slip giving a list of graduated prices for moths, butterflies, and dragonflies.

      “Oh, do you want them!” exulted Elnora. “I have a few and I can get more by the thousand, with every colour in the world on their wings.”

      “Yes,” said the Bird Woman, “I will buy them, also the big moth caterpillars that are creeping everywhere now, and the cocoons that they will spin just about this time. I have a sneaking impression that the mystery, wonder, and the urge of their pure beauty,

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