He pushed back his
hat and followed Elnora. She plunged fearlessly among bushes, over
underbrush, and across dead logs. One minute she was crying wildly, that
here was a big one, the next she was reaching for a limb above her head
or on her knees overturning dead leaves under a hickory or oak tree, or
working aside black muck with her bare hands as she searched for buried
pupae cases. For the first hour Pete bent back bushes and followed,
carrying what Elnora discovered. Then he found one.
"Is this the kind of thing you are looking for?" he asked bashfully, as
he presented a wild cherry twig.
"Oh Pete, that's a Promethea! I didn't even hope to find one."
"What's the bird like?" asked Pete.
"Almost black wings," said Elnora, "with clay-coloured edges, and the
most wonderful wine-coloured flush over the under side if it's a male,
and stronger wine above and below if it's a female. Oh, aren't I happy!"
"How would it do to make what you have into a bunch that we could leave
here, and come back for them?"
"That would be all right."
Relieved of his load Pete began work. First, he narrowly examined the
cocoons Elnora had found. He questioned her as to what other kinds would
be like. He began to use the eyes of a trained woodman and hunter in
her behalf. He saw several so easily, and moved through the forest so
softly, that Elnora forgot the moths in watching him. Presently she was
carrying the specimens, and he was making the trips of investigation to
see which was a cocoon and which a curled leaf, or he was on his knees
digging around stumps.
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