With the magnificent independence of the young, Molly-Cotton would
have scouted the idea that she was searching for moths also, but I
smiled inwardly as I noticed her check the horse several times and
scan a wayside bush, or stretch of snake fence. We were approaching
the limits of town, and had found nothing; a slow rain was falling,
and the shimmer on bushes and fences made it difficult to see
objects plainly. Several times I had asked her to stop the horse,
or drive close the fields when I was sure of a moth or caterpillar,
though it was very late, being close the end of August; but we
found only a dry leaf, or some combination that had deceived me.
Just on the outskirts of Portland, beside a grassy ditch and at
the edge of a cornfield, grew a cluster of wild tiger lilies.
The water in the ditch had kept them in flower long past their
bloomtime. On one of the stems there seemed to be a movement.
"Wait a minute!" I cried, and Molly-Cotton checked the horse,
but did not stop, while I leaned forward and scanned the lilies
carefully.
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