"I guess I best get over by that lard oil light and go to work,"
breathed Mrs. Comstock. "The Lord knows this is all in prayer, but it's
no time for words just now. Ready, Pete! You are going to get a chance
first!"

Pete made another long, steady sweep, but the moth darted beneath the
hat. In its flight it came straight toward Mrs. Comstock. She snatched
off the remnant of apron she had tucked into her petticoat band and held
the calico before her. The moth struck full against it and clung to the
goods. Pete crept up stealthily. The second moth followed the first, and
the spray showered the apron.

"Wait!" gasped Mrs. Comstock. "I think they have settled. The books say
they won't leave now."

The big pale yellow creature clung firmly, lowering and raising its
wings. The other came nearer. Mrs. Comstock held the cloth with rigid
hands, while Pete could hear her breathing in short gusts.

"Shall I try now?" he implored.

"Wait!" whispered the woman. "Something seems to say wait!"

The night breeze stiffened and gently waved the apron. Locusts rasped,
mosquitoes hummed and frogs sang uninterruptedly. A musky odour slowly
filled the air.

"Now shall I?" questioned Pete.