"Yellow, and big as a bird."

"The Emperor, likely," said Pete. "You dig for that kind, and they are
not numerous, so's 'at you can smash 'em for fun."

"Well, I can try to get one, anyway," said Mrs. Comstock. "I forgot all
about bringing anything to put them in. You take a pinch on their wings
until I make a poke."

Mrs. Comstock removed her apron, tearing off the strings. She unfastened
and stepped from the skirt of her calico dress. With one apron string
she tied shut the band and placket. She pulled a wire pin from her
hair, stuck it through the other string, and using it as a bodkin ran
it around the hem of her skirt, so shortly she had a large bag. She put
several branches inside to which the moths could cling, closed the mouth
partially and held it toward Pete.

"Put your hand well down and let the things go!" she ordered. "But be
careful, man! Don't run into the twigs! Easy! That's one. Now the other.
Is the one on my head gone? There was one on my dress, but I guess it
flew. Here comes a kind of a gray-looking one."

Pete slipped several more moths into the bag.

"Now, that's five, Mrs. Comstock," he said. "I'm sorry, but you'll have
to make that do. You must get out of here lively. Your lights will be
taken for hurry calls, and inside the next hour a couple of men will
ride here like fury. They won't be nice Sunday-school men, and they
won't hold bags and catch moths for you. You must go quick!"