fish-hooks, and it had to be cut out, and the June-bug was only
extricated by sacrificing large masses of the flowing locks.

Elizabeth Eliza flung her handkerchief over her head. Could she
sacrifice what hair she had to the claims of literature? She gave a cry
of dismay.

The little boys rushed in a moment to the rescue. They flapped
newspapers, flung sofa-cushions; they offered to stand by her side
with fly-whisks, that she might be free to write. But the struggle
was too exciting for her, and the flying insects seemed to increase.
Moths of every description--large brown moths, small, delicate white
millers--whirled about her, while the irritating hum of the mosquito
kept on more than ever. Mr. Peterkin and the rest of the family came in
to inquire about the trouble. It was discovered that each of the little
boys had been standing in the opening of a wire door for some time,
watching to see when Elizabeth Eliza would have made her preparations
and would begin to write. Countless numbers of dorbugs and winged
creatures of every description had taken occasion to come in. It was
found that they were in every part of the house.

"We might open all the blinds and screens," suggested Agamemnon, "and
make a vigorous onslaught and drive them all out at once."

"I do believe there are more inside than out now," said Solomon John.

"The wire nets, of course," said Agamemnon, "keep them in now."

"We might go outside," proposed Solomon John, "and drive in all that are
left. Then to-morrow morning, when they are all torpid, kill them and