Instead, Mrs. Comstock dropped suddenly.  She spread the apron across her knees.  The moths remained undisturbed.  Then her tired white head dropped, the tears she had thought forever dried gushed forth, and she sobbed for pure joy.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that now, you know!” comforted Pete.  “Think of getting two!  That’s more than you ever could have expected.  A body would think you would cry, if you hadn’t got any.  Come on, now.  It’s almost morning.  Let me help you home.”

Pete took the bag and the two old lanterns.  Mrs. Comstock carried her moths and the best lantern and went ahead to light the way.

Elnora had sat beside her window far into the night.  At last she undressed and went to bed, but sleep would not come.  She had gone to the city to talk with members of the School Board about a room in the grades.  There was a possibility that she might secure the moth, and so be able to start to college that fall, but if she did not, then she wanted the school.  She had been given some encouragement, but she was so unhappy that nothing mattered.  She could not see the way open to anything in life, save a long series of disappointments, while she remained with her mother.  Yet Margaret Sinton had advised her to go home and try once more.  Margaret had seemed so sure there would be a change for the better, that Elnora had consented, although she had no hope herself.  So strong is the bond of blood, she could not make up her mind to seek a home elsewhere, even after the day that had passed.  Unable to sleep she arose at last, and the room being warm, she sat on the floor close the window.  The lights in the swamp caught her eye.  She was very uneasy, for quite a hundred of her best moths were in the case.  However, there was no money, and no one ever had touched a book or any of her apparatus.  Watching the lights set her thinking, and before she realized it, she was in a panic of fear.

She hurried down the stairway softly calling her mother.  There was no answer.  She lightly stepped across the sitting-room and looked in at the open door.  There was no one, and the bed had not been used.  Her first thought was that her mother had gone to the pool; and the Limberlost was alive with signals.  Pity and fear mingled in the heart of the girl.  She opened the kitchen door, crossed the garden and ran back to the swamp.  As she neared it she listened, but she could hear only the usual voices of night.

“Mother!” she called softly.  Then louder, “Mother!”

There was not a sound.  Chilled with fright she hurried back to the cabin.  She did not know what to do.  She understood what the lights in the Limberlost meant.  Where was her mother?  She was afraid to enter, while she was growing very cold and still more fearful about remaining outside.  At last she went to her mother’s room, picked up the gun, carried it into the kitchen, and crowding in a little corner behind the stove, she waited in trembling anxiety.  The time was dreadfully long before she heard her mother’s voice.  Then she decided some one had been ill and sent for her, so she took courage, and stepping swiftly across the kitchen she unbarred the door and drew back from sight beside the table.