She put several branches inside to which the moths could cling, closed the mouth partially and held it toward Pete.
"Put your hand well down and let the things go!" she ordered.

"But be careful, man! Don't run into the twigs! Easy! That's one.

Now the other.
Is the one on my head gone?
There was one on my dress, but I guess it flew.

Here comes a kind of a gray-looking one." Pete slipped several more moths into the bag.
"Now, that's five, Mrs.Comstock," he said.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to make that do.