“It’s worth while, I think,” declared Andy, who seldom disagreed with any proposition his cousin advanced, simply because Frank was usually so wise that he succeeded in covering the whole ground the very first thing.

So they once more left the porch, though both boys looked down the lane before going in, to make sure that the queer little butterfly collector was not coming in time to interfere with their immediate plans.

Sallie was just tidying up the diningroom when they found her.  The good woman of the house seemed to have gone into the kitchen, where she was preserving some sort of fruit, or making catsup, to judge from the fragrant odors that came floating out from that part of the farmhouse.

Naturally Sallie was only too willing to enter into conversation again with two such attractive looking and bright boys as Frank and Andy Bird.  She must have been aware of the fact that they were favorites among the girls of Bloomsbury; and of course also knew something about their being aviators, although both or ’them had shunned that subject carefully while at the dinner table.

And so Frank managed to gradually steer the conversation around to the subject of bug collection.  He told of a friend he once had who was “daffy” along that line, and would rather capture some queer looking old night-flying hairy moth, with a death’s-head sign on his front, than enjoy the finest supper, or listen to the best play.

That allowed Andy to venture the suggestion that he had taken considerable interest in butterflies himself, and always wanted to see a collection that was worth while.  Of course he did not have to explain that the only interest he ever did have in the matter was when, as a very small boy, he used to chase after the fluttering insects as they went from flower to flower, until shown by his mother how cruel it was to destroy the life of such wonderfully beautiful things, that he could not restore again.

Sallie took the bait, Andy knew from the eager light that flashed upon her face.  And when he saw her step over to a window, and look quickly down the lane, he turned to his cousin, and made a grimace as much as to say, “See how she fell to my little game, will you, old fellow?”

“Well,” said Sallie, flitting back again, “Professor Whitesides hasn’t got a very large collection; and the new specimens he gathers day after day he kept in some place, because he has no time just now to do anything with them, he says; but come up with me, and I’ll show you the little case he brought with him.”

“Sure we will, and I’m glad of the chance to see what valuable butterflies look like,” Andy went on to remark.