to write, as she tried to waft them off. Nor was this all. Myriads of
June-bugs and millers hovered round, flung themselves into the lamps,
and made disagreeable funeral-pyres of themselves, tumbling noisily on
her paper in their last unpleasant agonies. Occasionally one darted with
a rush toward Elizabeth Eliza's head.

If there was anything Elizabeth Eliza had a terror of it was a June-bug.
She had heard that they had a tendency to get into the hair. One had
been caught in the hair of a friend of hers, who had long, luxuriant
hair. But the legs of the June-bug were caught in it like fishhooks, 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.