WHEREIN MARGARET SINTON REVEALS A SECRET, AND MRS. COMSTOCK POSSESSES THE LIMBERLOST
“Elnora, bring me the towel, quick!” cried Mrs Comstock.
“In a minute, mother,” mumbled Elnora.
She was standing before the kitchen mirror, tying the back part of her hair, while the front turned over her face.
“Hurry! There’s a varmint of some kind!”
Elnora ran into the sitting-room and thrust the heavy kitchen towel into her mother’s hand. Mrs. Comstock swung open the screen door and struck at some object, Elnora tossed the hair from her face so that she could see past her mother. The girl screamed wildly.
“Don’t! Mother, don’t!”
Mrs. Comstock struck again. Elnora caught her arm. “It’s the one I want! It’s worth a lot of money! Don’t! Oh, you shall not!”
“Shan’t, missy?” blazed Mrs. Comstock. “When did you get to bossing me?”
The hand that held the screen swept a half-circle and stopped at Elnora’s cheek. She staggered with the blow, and across her face, paled with excitement, a red mark arose rapidly. The screen slammed shut, throwing the creature on the floor before them. Instantly Mrs. Comstock crushed it with her foot. Elnora stepped back. Excepting the red mark, her face was very white.
“That was the last moth I needed,” she said, “to complete a collection worth three hundred dollars. You’ve ruined it before my eyes!”
“Moth!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “You say that because you are mad. Moths have big wings. I know a moth!”
“I’ve kept things from you,” said Elnora, “because I didn’t dare confide in you. You had no sympathy with me. But you know I never told you untruths in all my life.”
“It’s no moth!” reiterated Mrs. Comstock.
“It is!” cried Elnora. “It’s from a case in the ground. Its wings take two or three hours to expand and harden.”
“If I had known it was a moth——” Mrs. Comstock wavered.
“You did know! I told you! I begged you to stop! It meant just three hundred dollars to me.”
“Bah! Three hundred fiddlesticks!”
“They are what have paid for books, tuition, and clothes for the past four years. They are what I could have started on to college. You’ve ruined the very one I needed. You never made any pretence of loving me. At last I’ll be equally frank with you. I hate you! You are a selfish, wicked woman! I hate you!”
Elnora turned, went through the kitchen and from the back door. She followed the garden path to the gate and walked toward the swamp a short distance when reaction overtook her. She dropped on the ground and leaned against a big log. When a little child, desperate as now, she had tried to die by holding her breath. She had thought in that way to make her mother sorry, but she had learned that life was a thing thrust upon her and she could not leave it at her wish.
She was so stunned over the loss of that moth, which she had childishly named the Yellow Emperor, that she scarcely remembered the blow. She had thought no luck in all the world would be so rare as to complete her collection; now she had been forced to see a splendid Imperialis destroyed before her. There was a possibility that she could find another, but she was facing the certainty that the one she might have had and with which she undoubtedly could have attracted others, was spoiled by her mother. How long she sat there Elnora did not know or care. She simply suffered in dumb, abject misery, an occasional dry sob shaking her. Aunt Margaret was right. Elnora felt that morning that her mother never would be any different. The girl had reached the place where she realized that she could endure it no longer.
As Elnora left the room, Mrs. Comstock took one step after her.
“You little huzzy!” she gasped.
But Elnora was gone. Her mother stood staring.
“She never did lie to me,” she muttered. “I guess it was a moth. And the only one she needed to get three hundred dollars, she said. I wish I hadn’t been so fast! I never saw anything like it. I thought it was some deadly, stinging, biting thing. A body does have to be mighty careful here. But likely I’ve spilt the milk now. Pshaw! She can find another! There’s no use to be foolish. Maybe moths are like snakes, where there’s one, there are two.”
Mrs. Comstock took the broom and swept the moth out of the door. Then she got down on her knees and carefully examined the steps, logs and the earth of the flower beds at each side. She found the place where the creature had emerged from the ground, and the hard, dark-brown case which had enclosed it, still wet inside. Then she knew Elnora had been right. It was a moth. Its wings had been damp and not expanded. Mrs. Comstock never before had seen one in that state, and she did not know how they originated. She had thought all of them came from cases spun on trees or against walls or boards. She had seen only enough to know that there were such things; as a flash of white told her that an ermine was on her premises, or a sharp “buzzzzz” warned her of a rattler.
So it was from creatures like that Elnora had secured her school money. In one sickening sweep there rushed into the heart of the woman a full realization of the width of the gulf that separated her from her child. Lately many things had pointed toward it, none more plainly than when Elnora, like a reincarnation of her father, had stood fearlessly before a large city audience and played with even greater skill than he, on what Mrs. Comstock felt very certain was his violin. But that little crawling creature of earth, crushed by her before its splendid yellow and lavender wings could spread and carry it into the mystery of night, had performed a miracle.
“We are nearer strangers to each other than we are with any of the neighbours,” she muttered.
So one of the Almighty’s most delicate and beautiful creations was sacrificed without fulfilling the law, yet none of its species ever served so glorious a cause, for at last Mrs. Comstock’s inner vision had cleared. She went through the cabin mechanically. Every few minutes she glanced toward the back walk to see if Elnora were coming. She knew arrangements had been made with Margaret to go to the city some time that day, so she grew more nervous and uneasy every moment. She was haunted by the fear that the blow might discolour Elnora’s cheek; that she would tell Margaret. She went down the back walk, looking intently in all directions, left the garden and followed the swamp path. Her step was noiseless on the soft, black earth, and soon she came close enough to see Elnora. Mrs. Comstock stood looking at the girl in troubled uncertainty. Not knowing what to say, at last she turned and went back to the cabin.
Noon came and she prepared dinner, calling, as she always did, when Elnora was in the garden, but she got no response, and the girl did not come. A little after one o’clock Margaret stopped at the gate.
“Elnora has changed her mind. She is not going,” called Mrs. Comstock.
She felt that she hated Margaret as she hitched her horse and came up the walk instead of driving on.
“You must be mistaken,” said Margaret. “I was going on purpose for her. She asked me to take her. I had no errand. Where is she?”
“I will call her,” said Mrs. Comstock.
She followed the path again, and this time found Elnora sitting on the log. Her face was swollen and discoloured, and her eyes red with crying. She paid no attention to her mother.
“Mag Sinton is here,” said Mrs. Comstock harshly. “I told her you had changed your mind, but she said you asked her to go with you, and she had nothing to go for herself.”
Elnora arose, recklessly waded through the deep swamp grasses and so reached the path ahead of her mother. Mrs. Comstock followed as far as the garden, but she could not enter the cabin. She busied herself among the vegetables, barely looking up when the back-door screen slammed noisily. Margaret Sinton approached colourless, her eyes so angry that Mrs. Comstock shrank back.
“What’s the matter with Elnora’s face?” demanded Margaret.
Mrs. Comstock made no reply.
“You struck her, did you?”
“I thought you wasn’t blind!”
“I have been, for twenty long years now, Kate Comstock,” said Margaret Sinton, “but my eyes are open at last. What I see is that I’ve done you no good and Elnora a big wrong. I had an idea that it would kill you to know, but I guess you are tough enough to stand anything. Kill or cure, you get it now!”
“What are you frothing about?” coolly asked Mrs. Comstock.
“You!” cried Margaret. “You! The woman who doesn’t pretend to love her only child. Who lets her grow to a woman, as you have let Elnora, and can’t be satisfied with every sort of neglect, but must add abuse yet; and all for a fool idea about a man who wasn’t worth his salt!”
Mrs. Comstock picked up a hoe.
“Go right on!” she said. “Empty yourself. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do!”
“Then I’ll make a tidy job of it,” said Margaret. “You’ll not touch me. You’ll stand there and hear the truth at last, and because I dare face you and tell it, you will know in your soul it is truth. When Robert Comstock shaved that quagmire out there so close he went in, he wanted to keep you from knowing where he was coming from. He’d been to see Elvira Carney. They had plans to go to a dance that night——”
“Close your lips!” said Mrs. Comstock in a voice of deadly quiet.
“You know I wouldn’t dare open them if I wasn’t telling you the truth. I can prove what I say. I was coming from Reeds. It was hot in the woods and I stopped at Carney’s as I passed for a drink. Elvira’s bedridden old mother heard me, and she was so crazy for some one to talk with, I stepped in a minute. I saw Robert come down the path. Elvira saw him, too, so she ran out of the house to head him off. It looked funny, and I just deliberately moved where I could see and hear. He brought her his violin, and told her to get ready and meet him in the woods with it that night, and they would go to a dance. She took it and hid it in the loft to the well-house and promised she’d go.”
“Are you done?” demanded Mrs. Comstock.
“No. I am going to tell you the whole story. You don’t spare Elnora anything. I shan’t spare you. I hadn’t been here that day, but I can tell you just how he was dressed, which way he went and every word they said, though they thought I was busy with her mother and wouldn’t notice them. Put down your hoe, Kate. I went to Elvira, told her what I knew and made her give me Comstock’s violin for Elnora over three years ago. She’s been playing it ever since. I won’t see her slighted and abused another day on account of a man who would have broken your heart if he had lived. Six months more would have showed you what everybody else knew. He was one of those men who couldn’t trust himself, and so no woman was safe with him. Now, will you drop grieving over him, and do Elnora justice?”
Mrs. Comstock grasped the hoe tighter and turning she went down the walk, and started across the woods to the home of Elvira Carney. With averted head she passed the pool, steadily pursuing her way. Elvira Carney, hanging towels across the back fence, saw her coming and went toward the gate to meet her. Twenty years she had dreaded that visit. Since Margaret Sinton had compelled her to produce the violin she had hidden so long, because she was afraid to destroy it, she had come closer expectation than dread. The wages of sin are the hardest debts on earth to pay, and they are always collected at inconvenient times and unexpected places. Mrs. Comstock’s face and hair were so white, that her dark eyes seemed burned into their setting. Silently she stared at the woman before her a long time.
“I might have saved myself the trouble of coming,” she said at last, “I see you are guilty as sin!”
“What has Mag Sinton been telling you?” panted the miserable woman, gripping the fence.
“The truth!” answered Mrs. Comstock succinctly. “Guilt is in every line of your face, in your eyes, all over your wretched body. If I’d taken a good look at you any time in all these past years, no doubt I could have seen it just as plain as I can now. No woman or man can do what you’ve done, and not get a mark set on them for every one to read.”
“Mercy!” gasped weak little Elvira Carney. “Have mercy!”
“Mercy?” scoffed Mrs. Comstock. “Mercy! That’s a nice word from you! How much mercy did you have on me? Where’s the mercy that sent Comstock to the slime of the bottomless quagmire, and left me to see it, and then struggle on in agony all these years? How about the mercy of letting me neglect my baby all the days of her life? Mercy! Do you really dare use the word to me?”
“If you knew what I’ve suffered!”
“Suffered?” jeered Mrs. Comstock. “That’s interesting. And pray, what have you suffered?”
“All the neighbours have suspected and been down on me. I ain’t had a friend. I’ve always felt guilty of his death! I’ve seen him go down a thousand times, plain as ever you did. Many’s the night I’ve stood on the other bank of that pool and listened to you, and I tried to throw myself in to keep from hearing you, but I didn’t dare. I knew God would send me to burn forever, but I’d better done it; for now, He has set the burning on my body, and every hour it is slowly eating the life out of me. The doctor says it’s a cancer——”
Mrs. Comstock exhaled a long breath. Her grip on the hoe relaxed and her stature lifted to towering height.
“I didn’t know, or care, when I came here, just what I did,” she said. “But my way is beginning to clear. If the guilt of your soul has come to a head, in a cancer on your body, it looks as if the Almighty didn’t need any of my help in meting out His punishments. I really couldn’t fix up anything to come anywhere near that. If you are going to burn until your life goes out with that sort of fire, you don’t owe me anything!”
“Oh, Katharine Comstock!” groaned Elvira Carney, clinging to the fence for support.
“Looks as if the Bible is right when it says, ‘The wages of sin is death,’ doesn’t it?” asked Mrs. Comstock. “Instead of doing a woman’s work in life, you chose the smile of invitation, and the dress of unearned cloth. Now you tell me you are marked to burn to death with the unquenchable fire. And him! It was shorter with him, but let me tell you he got his share! He left me with an untruth on his lips, for he told me he was going to take his violin to Onabasha for a new key, when he carried it to you. Every vow of love and constancy he ever made me was a lie, after he touched your lips, so when he tried the wrong side of the quagmire, to hide from me the direction in which he was coming, it reached out for him, and it got him. It didn’t hurry, either! It sucked him down, slow and deliberate.”
“Mercy!” groaned Elvira Carney. “Mercy!”
“I don’t know the word,” said Mrs. Comstock. “You took all that out of me long ago. The past twenty years haven’t been of the sort that taught mercy. I’ve never had any on myself and none on my child. Why in the name of justice, should I have mercy on you, or on him? You were both older than I, both strong, sane people, you deliberately chose your course when you lured him, and he, when he was unfaithful to me. When a Loose Man and a Light Woman face the end the Almighty ordained for them, why should they shout at me for mercy? What did I have to do with it?”
Elvira Carney sobbed in panting gasps.
“You’ve got tears, have you?” marvelled Mrs. Comstock. “Mine all dried long ago. I’ve none left to shed over my wasted life, my disfigured face and hair, my years of struggle with a man’s work, my wreck of land among the tilled fields of my neighbours, or the final knowledge that the man I so gladly would have died to save, wasn’t worth the sacrifice of a rattlesnake. If anything yet could wring a tear from me, it would be the thought of the awful injustice I always have done my girl. If I’d lay hand on you for anything, it would be for that.”
“Kill me if you want to,” sobbed Elvira Carney. “I know that I deserve it, and I don’t care.”
“You are getting your killing fast enough to suit me,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I wouldn’t touch you, any more than I would him, if I could. Once is all any man or woman deceives me about the holiest things of life. I wouldn’t touch you any more than I would the black plague. I am going back to my girl.”
Mrs. Comstock turned and started swiftly through the woods, but she had gone only a few rods when she stopped, and leaning on the hoe, she stood thinking deeply. Then she turned back. Elvira still clung to the fence, sobbing bitterly.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Comstock, “but I left a wrong impression with you. I don’t want you to think that I believe the Almighty set a cancer to burning you as a punishment for your sins. I don’t! I think a lot more of the Almighty. With a whole sky-full of worlds on His hands to manage, I’m not believing that He has time to look down on ours, and pick you out of all the millions of us sinners, and set a special kind of torture to eating you. It wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing to do, and first of all, the Almighty is bound to be a gentleman. I think likely a bruise and bad blood is what caused your trouble. Anyway, I’ve got to tell you that the cleanest housekeeper I ever knew, and one of the noblest Christian women, was slowly eaten up by a cancer. She got hers from the careless work of a poor doctor. The Almighty is to forgive sin and heal disease, not to invent and spread it.”
She had gone only a few steps when she again turned back.
“If you will gather a lot of red clover bloom, make a tea strong as lye of it, and drink quarts, I think likely it will help you, if you are not too far gone. Anyway, it will cool your blood and make the burning easier to bear.”
Then she swiftly went home. Enter the lonely cabin she could not, neither could she sit outside and think. She attacked a bed of beets and hoed until the perspiration ran from her face and body, then she began on the potatoes. When she was too tired to take another stroke she bathed and put on dry clothing. In securing her dress she noticed her husband’s carefully preserved clothing lining one wall. She gathered it in an armload and carried it to the swamp. Piece by piece she pitched into the green maw of the quagmire all those articles she had dusted carefully and fought moths from for years, and stood watching as it slowly sucked them down. She went back to her room and gathered every scrap that had in any way belonged to Robert Comstock, excepting his gun and revolver, and threw it into the swamp. Then for the first time she set her door wide open.
She was too weary now to do more, but an urging unrest drove her. She wanted Elnora. It seemed to her she never could wait until the girl came and delivered her judgment. At last in an effort to get nearer to her, Mrs. Comstock climbed the stairs and stood looking around Elnora’s room. It was very unfamiliar. The pictures were strange to her. Commencement had filled it with packages and bundles. The walls were covered with cocoons; moths and dragonflies were pinned everywhere. Under the bed she could see half a dozen large white boxes. She pulled out one and lifted the lid. The bottom was covered with a sheet of thin cork, and on long pins sticking in it were large, velvet-winged moths. Each one was labelled, always there were two of a kind, in many cases four, showing under and upper wings of both male and female. They were of every colour and shape.
Mrs. Comstock caught her breath sharply. When and where had Elnora found them? They were the most exquisite sight the woman ever had seen, so she opened all the boxes to feast on their beautiful contents. As she did so there came more fully a sense of the distance between her and her child. She could not understand how Elnora had gone to school, and performed so much work secretly. When it was finished, to the last moth, she, the mother who should have been the first confidant and helper, had been the one to bring disappointment. Small wonder Elnora had come to hate her.
Mrs. Comstock carefully closed and replaced the boxes; and again stood looking around the room. This time her eyes rested on some books she did not remember having seen before, so she picked up one and found that it was a moth book. She glanced over the first pages and was soon eagerly reading. When the text reached the classification of species, she laid it down, took up another and read the introductory chapters. By that time her brain was in a confused jumble of ideas about capturing moths with differing baits and bright lights.
She went down stairs thinking deeply. Being unable to sit still and having nothing else to do she glanced at the clock and began preparing supper. The work dragged. A chicken was snatched up and dressed hurriedly. A spice cake sprang into being. Strawberries that had been intended for preserves went into shortcake. Delicious odours crept from the cabin. She put many extra touches on the table and then commenced watching the road. Everything was ready, but Elnora did not come. Then began the anxious process of trying to keep cooked food warm and not spoil it. The birds went to bed and dusk came. Mrs. Comstock gave up the fire and set the supper on the table. Then she went out and sat on the front-door step watching night creep around her. She started eagerly as the gate creaked, but it was only Wesley Sinton coming.
“Katharine, Margaret and Elnora passed where I was working this afternoon, and Margaret got out of the carriage and called me to the fence. She told me what she had done. I’ve come to say to you that I am sorry. She has heard me threaten to do it a good many times, but I never would have got it done. I’d give a good deal if I could undo it, but I can’t, so I’ve come to tell you how sorry I am.”
“You’ve got something to be sorry for,” said Mrs. Comstock, “but likely we ain’t thinking of the same thing. It hurts me less to know the truth, than to live in ignorance. If Mag had the sense of a pewee, she’d told me long ago. That’s what hurts me, to think that both of you knew Robert was not worth an hour of honest grief, yet you’d let me mourn him all these years and neglect Elnora while I did it. If I have anything to forgive you, that is what it is.”
Wesley removed his hat and sat on a bench.
“Katharine,” he said solemnly, “nobody ever knows how to take you.”
“Would it be asking too much to take me for having a few grains of plain common sense?” she inquired. “You’ve known all this time that Comstock got what he deserved, when he undertook to sneak in an unused way across a swamp, with which he was none too familiar. Now I should have thought that you’d figure that knowing the same thing would be the best method to cure me of pining for him, and slighting my child.”
“Heaven only knows we have thought of that, and talked of it often, but we were both too big cowards. We didn’t dare tell you.”
“So you have gone on year after year, watching me show indifference to Elnora, and yet a little horse-sense would have pointed out to you that she was my salvation. Why look at it! Not married quite a year. All his vows of love and fidelity made to me before the Almighty forgotten in a few months, and a dance and a Light Woman so alluring he had to lie and sneak for them. What kind of a prospect is that for a life? I know men and women. An honourable man is an honourable man, and a liar is a liar; both are born and not made. One cannot change to the other any more than that same old leopard can change its spots. After a man tells a woman the first untruth of that sort, the others come piling thick, fast, and mountain high. The desolation they bring in their wake overshadows anything I have suffered completely. If he had lived six months more I should have known him for what he was born to be. It was in the blood of him. His father and grandfather before him were fiddling, dancing people; but I was certain of him. I thought we could leave Ohio and come out here alone, and I could so love him and interest him in his work, that he would be a man. Of all the fool, fruitless jobs, making anything of a creature that begins by deceiving her, is the foolest a sane woman ever undertook. I am more than sorry you and Margaret didn’t see your way clear to tell me long ago. I’d have found it out in a few more months if he had lived, and I wouldn’t have borne it a day. The man who breaks his vows to me once, doesn’t get the second chance. I give truth and honour. I have a right to ask it in return. I am glad I understand at last. Now, if Elnora will forgive me, we will take a new start and see what we can make out of what is left of life. If she won’t, then it will be my time to learn what suffering really means.”
“But she will,” said Wesley. “She must! She can’t help it when things are explained.”
“I notice she isn’t hurrying any about coming home. Do you know where she is or what she is doing?”
“I do not. But likely she will be along soon. I must go help Billy with the night work. Good-bye, Katharine. Thank the Lord you have come to yourself at last!”
They shook hands and Wesley went down the road while Mrs. Comstock entered the cabin. She could not swallow food. She stood in the back door watching the sky for moths, but they did not seem to be very numerous. Her spirits sank and she breathed unevenly. Then she heard the front screen. She reached the middle door as Elnora touched the foot of the stairs.
“Hurry, and get ready, Elnora,” she said. “Your supper is almost spoiled now.”
Elnora closed the stair door behind her, and for the first time in her life, threw the heavy lever which barred out anyone from down stairs. Mrs. Comstock heard the thud, and knew what it meant. She reeled slightly and caught the doorpost for support. For a few minutes she clung there, then sank to the nearest chair. After a long time she arose and stumbling half blindly, she put the food in the cupboard and covered the table. She took the lamp in one hand, the butter in the other, and started to the spring house. Something brushed close by her face, and she looked just in time to see a winged creature rise above the cabin and sail away.
“That was a night bird,” she muttered. As she stopped to set the butter in the water, came another thought. “Perhaps it was a moth!” Mrs. Comstock dropped the butter and hurried out with the lamp; she held it high above her head and waited until her arms ached. Small insects of night gathered, and at last a little dusty miller, but nothing came of any size.
“I must go where they are, if I get them,” muttered Mrs. Comstock.
She went to the barn after the stout pair of high boots she used in feeding stock in deep snow. Throwing these beside the back door she climbed to the loft over the spring house, and hunted an old lard oil lantern and one of first manufacture for oil. Both these she cleaned and filled. She listened until everything up stairs had been still for over half an hour. By that time it was past eleven o’clock. Then she took the lantern from the kitchen, the two old ones, a handful of matches, a ball of twine, and went from the cabin, softly closing the door.
Sitting on the back steps, she put on the boots, and then stood gazing into the perfumed June night, first in the direction of the woods on her land, then toward the Limberlost. Its outline was so dark and forbidding she shuddered and went down the garden, following the path toward the woods, but as she neared the pool her knees wavered and her courage fled. The knowledge that in her soul she was now glad Robert Comstock was at the bottom of it made a coward of her, who fearlessly had mourned him there, nights untold. She could not go on. She skirted the back of the garden, crossed a field, and came out on the road. Soon she reached the Limberlost. She hunted until she found the old trail, then followed it stumbling over logs and through clinging vines and grasses. The heavy boots clumped on her feet, overhanging branches whipped her face and pulled her hair. But her eyes were on the sky as she went straining into the night, hoping to find signs of a living creature on wing.
By and by she began to see the wavering flight of something she thought near the right size. She had no idea where she was, but she stopped, lighted a lantern and hung it as high as she could reach. A little distance away she placed the second and then the third. The objects came nearer and sick with disappointment she saw that they were bats. Crouching in the damp swamp grasses, without a thought of snakes or venomous insects, she waited, her eyes roving from lantern to lantern. Once she thought a creature of high flight dropped near the lard oil light, so she arose breathlessly waiting, but either it passed or it was an illusion. She glanced at the old lantern, then at the new, and was on her feet in an instant creeping close. Something large as a small bird was fluttering around. Mrs. Comstock began to perspire, while her hand shook wildly. Closer she crept and just as she reached for it, something similar swept past and both flew away together.
Mrs. Comstock set her teeth and stood shivering. For a long time the locusts rasped, the whip-poor-wills cried and a steady hum of night life throbbed in her ears. Away in the sky she saw something coming when it was no larger than a falling leaf. Straight toward the light it flew. Mrs. Comstock began to pray aloud.
“This way, O Lord! Make it come this way! Please! O Lord, send it lower!”
The moth hesitated at the first light, then slowly, easily it came toward the second, as if following a path of air. It touched a leaf near the lantern and settled. As Mrs. Comstock reached for it a thin yellow spray wet her hand and the surrounding leaves. When its wings raised above its back, her fingers came together. She held the moth to the light. It was nearer brown than yellow, and she remembered having seen some like it in the boxes that afternoon. It was not the one needed to complete the collection, but Elnora might want it, so Mrs. Comstock held on. Then the Almighty was kind, or nature was sufficient, as you look at it, for following the law of its being when disturbed, the moth again threw the spray by which some suppose it attracts its kind, and liberally sprinkled Mrs. Comstock’s dress front and arms. From that instant, she became the best moth bait ever invented. Every Polyphem