Then Mrs. Comstock carried the basket back to the cabin,
and Philip and Elnora sat on a log, resting a few minutes. They had
unexpected luck, and both were eager to continue the search.
"Do you remember your promise about these violets?" asked he. "To-morrow
is Edith's birthday, and if I'd put them special delivery on the morning
train, she'd get them in the late afternoon. They ought to keep that
long. She leaves for the North next day."
"Of course, you may have them," said Elnora. "We will quit long enough
before supper to gather a large 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 Catocalae. It was a long and a happy search.
It led them into new, unexplored nooks of the woods, past 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.
Philip 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.
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