The robin is the bird of the eaves, the back
door, the yard and orchard. Cecropia is the moth. My doorstep is
not the only one they grace; my friends have found them in like
places. Cecropia cocoons are attached to fences, chicken-coops,
barns, houses, and all through the orchards of old country places,
so that their emergence at bloom time adds to May and June one more
beauty, and frequently I speak of them as the Robin Moth.
In connexion with Cecropia there came to me the most delightful
experience of my life. One perfect night during the middle of
May, all the world white with tree bloom, touched to radiance with
brilliant moonlight; intoxicating with countless blending perfumes,
I placed a female Cecropia on the screen of my sleeping-room door
and retired. The lot on which the Cabin stands is sloping, so that,
although the front foundations are low, my door is at least five feet
above the ground, and opens on a circular porch, from which steps
lead down between two apple trees, at that time sheeted in bloom.
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