She plunged fearlessly among bushes, over underbrush, and across dead logs.

One minute she was crying wildly, that here was a big one, the next she was reaching for a limb above her head or on her knees overturning dead leaves under a hickory or oak tree, or working aside black muck with her bare hands as she searched for buried pupae cases.

For the first hour Pete bent back bushes and followed, carrying what Elnora discovered.

Then he found one.
"Is this the kind of thing you are looking for ?" he asked bashfully, as he presented a wild cherry twig.
"Oh Pete, that's a Promethea! I didn't even hope to find one." "What's the bird like ?" asked Pete.
"Almost black wings," said Elnora, "with clay-coloured edges, and the most wonderful wine-coloured flush over the under side if it's a male, and stronger wine above and below if it's a female.

Oh, aren't I happy!" "How would it do to make what you have into a bunch that we could leave here, and come back for them ?" "That would be all right." Relieved of his load Pete began work.