A Girl of the Limberlost. Stratton-Porter Gene
ask for bringing in and planting a clump of ferns? How could she carry them? Would people buy them? She slowly moved past the hotel and then glanced around to see if there were a clock anywhere, for she felt sure the young people passing her constantly were on their way to school.
There it stood in a bank window in big black letters staring straight at her:
WANTED: CATERPILLARS, COCOONS, CHRYSALIDES, PUPAE CASES, BUTTERFLIES, MOTHS, INDIAN RELICS OF ALL KINDS. HIGHEST SCALE OF PRICES PAID IN CASH
Elnora caught the wicket at the cashier's desk with both hands to brace herself against disappointment.
“Who is it wants to buy cocoons, butterflies, and moths?” she panted.
“The Bird Woman,” answered the cashier. “Have you some for sale?”
“I have some, I do not know if they are what she would want.”
“Well, you had better see her,” said the cashier. “Do you know where she lives?”
“Yes,” said Elnora. “Would you tell me the time?”
“Twenty-one after eight,” was the answer.
She had nine minutes to reach the auditorium or be late. Should she go to school, or to the Bird Woman? Several girls passed her walking swiftly and she remembered their faces. They were hurrying to school. Elnora caught the infection. She would see the Bird Woman at noon. Algebra came first, and that professor was kind. Perhaps she could slip to the superintendent and ask him for a book for the next lesson, and at noon—“Oh, dear Lord make it come true,” prayed Elnora, at noon possibly she could sell some of those wonderful shining-winged things she had been collecting all her life around the outskirts of the Limberlost.
As she went down the long hall she noticed the professor of mathematics standing in the door of his recitation room. When she passed him he smiled and spoke to her.
“I have been watching for you,” he said, and Elnora stopped bewildered.
“For me?” she questioned.
“Yes,” said Professor Henley. “Step inside.”
Elnora followed him into the room and closed the door behind them.
“At teachers' meeting last evening, one of the professors mentioned that a pupil had betrayed in class that she had expected her books to be furnished by the city. I thought possibly it was you. Was it?”
“Yes,” breathed Elnora.
“That being the case,” said Professor Henley, “it just occurred to me as you had expected that, you might require a little time to secure them, and you are too fine a mathematician to fall behind for want of supplies. So I telephoned one of our Sophomores to bring her last year's books this morning. I am sorry to say they are somewhat abused, but the text is all here. You can have them for two dollars, and pay when you are ready. Would you care to take them?”
Elnora sat suddenly, because she could not stand another instant. She reached both hands for the books, and said never a word. The professor was silent also. At last Eleanor arose, hugging those books to her heart as a mother clasps a baby.
“One thing more,” said the professor. “You may pay your tuition quarterly. You need not bother about the first instalment this month. Any time in October will do.”
It seemed as if Elnora's gasp of relief must have reached the soles of her brogans.
“Did any one ever tell you how beautiful you are!” she cried.
As the professor was lank, tow-haired and so near-sighted, that he peered at his pupils through spectacles, no one ever had.
“No,” said Professor Henley, “I've waited some time for that; for which reason I shall appreciate it all the more. Come now, or we shall be late for opening exercises.”
So Elnora entered the auditorium a second time. Her face was like the brightest dawn that ever broke over the Limberlost. No matter about the lumbering shoes and skimpy dress. No matter about anything, she had the books. She could take them home. In her garret she could commit them to memory, if need be. She could prove that clothes were not all. If the Bird Woman did not want any of the many different kinds of specimens she had collected, she was quite sure now she could sell ferns, nuts, and a great many things. Then, too, a girl made a place for her that morning, and several smiled and bowed. Elnora forgot everything save her books, and that she was where she could use them intelligently—everything except one little thing away back in her head. Her mother had known about the books and the tuition, and had not told her when she agreed to her coming.
At noon Elnora took her little parcel of lunch and started to the home of the Bird Woman. She must know about the specimens first and then she would walk to the suburbs somewhere and eat a few bites. She dropped the heavy iron knocker on the door of a big red log cabin, and her heart thumped at the resounding stroke.
“Is the Bird Woman at home?” she asked of the maid.
“She is at lunch,” was the answer.
“Please ask her if she will see a girl from the Limberlost about some moths?” inquired Elnora.
“I never need ask, if it's moths,” laughed the girl. “Orders are to bring any one with specimens right in. Come this way.”
Elnora followed down the hall and entered a long room with high panelled wainscoting, old English fireplace with an overmantel and closets of peculiar china filling the corners. At a bare table of oak, yellow as gold, sat a woman Elnora often had watched and followed covertly around the Limberlost. The Bird Woman was holding out a hand of welcome.
“I heard!” she laughed. “A little pasteboard box, or just the mere word 'specimen,' passes you at my door. If it is moths I hope you have hundreds. I've been very busy all summer and unable to collect, and I need so many. Sit down and lunch with me, while we talk it over. From the Limberlost, did you say?”
“I live near the swamp,” replied Elnora. “Since it's so cleared I dare go around the edge in daytime, though we are all afraid at night.”
“What have you collected?” asked the Bird Woman, as she helped Elnora to sandwiches unlike any she ever before had tasted, salad that seemed to be made of many familiar things, and a cup of hot chocolate that would have delighted any hungry schoolgirl.
“I am afraid I am bothering you for nothing, and imposing on you,” she said. “That 'collected' frightens me. I've only gathered. I always loved everything outdoors, so I made friends and playmates of them. When I learned that the moths die so soon, I saved them especially, because there seemed no wickedness in it.”
“I have thought the same thing,” said the Bird Woman encouragingly. Then because the girl could not eat until she learned about the moths, the Bird Woman asked Elnora if she knew what kinds she had.
“Not all of them,” answered Elnora. “Before Mr. Duncan moved away he often saw me near the edge of the swamp and he showed me the box he had fixed for Freckles, and gave me the key. There were some books and things, so from that time on I studied and tried to take moths right, but I am afraid they are not what you want.”
“Are they the big ones that fly mostly in June nights?” asked the Bird Woman.
“Yes,” said Elnora. “Big gray ones with reddish markings, pale blue-green, yellow with lavender, and red and yellow.”
“What do you mean by 'red and yellow?'” asked the Bird Woman so quickly that the girl almost jumped.
“Not exactly red,” explained Elnora, with tremulous voice. “A reddish, yellowish brown, with canary-coloured spots and gray lines on their wings.”
“How many of them?” It was the same quick question.
“I had over two hundred eggs,” said Elnora, “but some of them didn't hatch, and some of the caterpillars died, but there must