Past midnight I was awakened by soft touches on the screen, faint
pullings at the wire. I went to the door and found the porch,
orchard, and night-sky alive with Cecropias holding high carnival.
I had not supposed there were so many in all this world. From
every direction they came floating like birds down the moonbeams.
I carefully removed the female from the door to a window close
beside, and stepped on the porch. No doubt I was permeated with
the odour of the moth. As I advanced to the top step, that lay
even with the middle branches of the apple trees, the exquisite big
creatures came swarming around me. I could feel them on my hair,
my shoulders, and see them settling on my gown and outstretched
hands.
Far as I could penetrate the night-sky more were coming. They
settled on the bloom-laden branches, on the porch pillars, on me
indiscriminately. I stepped inside the door with one on each hand
and five clinging to my gown. This experience, I am sure, suggested
Mrs. Comstock's moth hunting in the Limberlost.
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