It began a systematic exercise of raising and lowering its exquisite wings to dry them and to establish circulation.

The boy realized that soon it would be able to spread them and sail away.

His long-coming soul sent up its first shivering cry.
"I don't know what it is! Oh, I wish I knew! How I wish I knew! It must be something grand! It can't be a butterfly! It's away too big.

Oh, I wish there was someone to tell me what it is!" He climbed on the locust post, and balancing himself with the wire, held a finger in the line of the moth's advance up the twig.

It unhesitatingly climbed on, so he stepped to the path, holding it to the light and examining it closely.