“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.”