The place was almost `virgin,’ much of it impassable and fully half of it was under water that lay in deep, murky pools throughout summer.  In the heat of late June everything was steaming; insect life of all kinds was swarming; not far away I could hear sounds of trouble between the crow and hawk tribes; and overhead a pair of black vultures, whose young lay in a big stump in the interior, were searching for signs of food.  If ever there was a likely place for specimens it was here; Raymond was an expert at locating them, and fearless to foolhardiness.  He had been gone only a short time when I heard a cry, and I knew it must mean something, in his opinion, of more importance than blackbirds.

I answered “Coming,” and hastily winding the long hose, I started in the direction Raymond had taken, calling occasionally to make sure I was going the right way.  When I found him, the boy was standing beside a stout weed, hat in hand, intently watching something.  As I leaned forward I saw that it was a Hyperchiria Io that just had emerged from the cocoon, and as yet was resting with wings untried.  It differed so widely from my moth of a few days before, I knew it must be a male.

This was only three-fourths as large as mine, but infinitely surpassed it in beauty.  Its front wings were orange-yellow, flushed with red-purple at the base, and had a small irregular brown spot near the costa.  Contrary to all precedent, the under side of these wings were the most beautiful, and bore the decorations that, in all previous experience with moths, had been on the upper surface, faintly showing on the under.  For instance, this irregular brown marking on the upper side proved to be a good-sized black spot with with white dot in the middle on the under; and there was a curved line of red-purple from the apex of the wing sloping to the lower edge, nearly half an inch from the margin.  The space from this line to the base of the wing was covered with red-purple down.  The back wings were similar to the female’s, only of stronger colour, and more distinct markings; the eye-spot and lining appeared as if they had been tinted with strong fresh paint, while the edges of the wings lying beside the abdomen had the long, silken hairs of a pure, beautiful red their entire length: 

A few rods away men were ploughing in the adjoining corn field, and I remembered that the caterpillar of this moth liked to feed on corn blades, and last summer undoubtedly lived in that very field.  When I studied Io history in my moth books, I learned these caterpillars ate willow, wild cherry, hickory, plum, oak, sassafras, ash, and poplar.  The caterpillar was green, more like the spiny butterfly caterpillars than any moth one I know.  It had brown and white bands, brown patches, and was covered with tufts of stiff upstanding spines that pierced like sharp needles.  This was not because the caterpillar tried to hurt you, but because the spines were on it, and so arranged that if pressed against, an acid secretion sprang from their base.  This spread over the flesh the spines touched, stinging for an hour like smartweed, or nettles.