# A Girl of the Limberlost/Chapter 3

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CHAPTER III
Wherein Elnora Visits the Bird Woman, and Opens a Bank Account
At four o'clock next morning Elnora was shelling beans. At six she fed the chickens and pigs, swept two of the rooms of the cabin, built a fire, and put on the kettle for breakfast. Then she climbed the narrow stairs to the attic she had occupied since a very small child, and dressed in the hated shoes and brown calico, plastered down her crisp curls, ate what breakfast she could, and pinning on her hat started for town.
"There is no sense in your going for an hour yet," said her mother.
"I must try to discover some way to earn those books," replied Elnora. "I am perfectly positive I shall not find them lying along the road wrapped in tissue paper, and tagged with my name."
She went toward the city as on yesterday. Her perplexity as to where tuition and books were to come from was worse, but she did not feel quite so badly. She never again would have to face all of it for the first time. She had been through it once, and was yet living. There had been times yesterday when she had prayed to be hidden, ​or to drop dead, and neither had happened. "I guess the best way to get an answer to prayer is to work for it," muttered Elnora grimly.
Again she took the trail to the swamp, rearranged her hair and left the tin pail. This time she folded a couple of sandwiches in the napkin, and tied them in a neat light paper parcel which she carried in her hand. Then she hurried along the road to Onabasha and found a book-store. There she asked the prices of the list of books that she needed, and learned that six dollars would not quite supply them. She anxiously inquired for second-hand books, but was told that the only way to secure them was from the last year's Freshmen. Just then Elnora fet that she positively could not approach any of those she supposed to be Sophomores and ask to buy their old books. The only balm the girl could see for the humiliation of yesterday was to appear that day with a set of new books. "Do you wish these?" asked the clerk hurriedly, for the store was rapidly filling with school children wanting anything from a dictionary to a pen.
"Yes," gasped Elnora. "Oh, yes! But I cannot pay for them just now. Please let me take them, and I will pay for them on Friday, or return them as perfect as they are. Please trust me for them a few days."
The clerk looked at her doubtfully and took her name.
"I'll ask the proprietor," he said. When he came back Elnora knew the answer before he spoke.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but Mr. Hann doesn't recognize your name. You are not a customer of ours, and he feels ​that he can't take the risk. You'll have to bring the money."
Elnora clumped out of the store, the thump of her heavy shoes beating as a hammer on her brain. She tried two other houses with the same result, and then in sick despair came into the street. What could she do? She was too frightened to think. Should she stay from school that day and canvass the homes appearing to belong to the wealthy, and try to sell beds of wild ferns, as she had suggested to Wesley Sinton? What would she dare ask for bringing in and planting a clump of ferns? How could she carry them? Would people buy them? She slowly moved past the hotel and then glanced around to see if there was a clock anywhere, for she felt sure the young people passing her constantly were on their way to school.
There it stood in a bank window in big black letters staring straight at her:
Elnora caught the wicket at the cashier's desk with both hands to brace herself against disappointment.
"Who is it wants to buy cocoons, butterflies, and moths?" she panted.
"The Bird Woman," answered the cashier. "Have you some for sale?"
"I have some; I do not know if they are what she would want."
​"Well, you had better see her," said the cashier. "Do you know where she lives?"
"Yes," said Elnora. "Would you tell me the time?"
"Twenty-one after eight," was the answer.
She had nine minutes to reach the auditorium or be late. Should she go to school, or to the Bird Woman? Several girls passed her walking swiftly and she remembered their faces. They were hurrying to school. Elnora caught the infection. She would see the Bird Woman at noon. Algebra came first, and that professor was kind. Perhaps she could slip to the superintendent and ask him for a book for the next lesson, and at noon "—Oh, dear Lord, make it come true," prayed Elnora—at noon maybe she could sell some of those wonderful shining-winged things she had been collecting all her life around the outskirts of the Limberlost.
As she went down the long hall she noticed the professor of mathematics standing in the door of his recitation room. When she came up to him he smiled and spoke to her.
"I have been watching for you," he said, and Elnora stopped bewildered.
"For me?" she questioned.
"Yes," said Professor Henley. "Step inside."
Elnora followed him into the room and he swung the door behind them.
"At teachers' meeting last evening one of the professors mentioned that a pupil had betrayed in class that she had expected her books to be furnished by the city. I thought possibly it was you. Was it?"
​"Yes," breathed Elnora.
"That being the case," said Professor Henley, "it just occurred to me as you had expected that, you might require a little time to secure them, and you are too fine a mathematician to fall behind for want of supplies. So I telephoned one of our Sophomores to bring her last year's books this morning. I am sorry to say they are somewhat abused, but the text is all here. You can have them for two dollars, and pay when you get ready. Would you care to take them?"
Elnora sat suddenly, because she could not stand another instant. She reached both hands for the books, and said never a word. The professor was silent also.
At last Elnora arose, hugging those books to her heart as a mother grasps a lost baby.
"One thing more," said the professor. "You can pay your tuition quarterly. You need not bother about the first instalment this month. Any time in October will do."
It seemed as if Elnora's gasp of relief must have reached the soles of her brogans.
"Did any one ever tell you how beautiful you are!" she cried.
As the professor was lank, tow-haired and so near-sighted that he peered at his pupils through spectacles, no one ever had.
"No," said Professor Henley; "I've waited some time for that; for which reason I shall appreciate it all the more. Come, now, or we shall be late for opening exercises."
​So Elnora entered the auditorium a second time. Her face was like the brightest dawn that ever broke over the Limberlost. No matter about the lumbering shoes and skimpy dress just now. No matter about anything, she had the books. She could take them home. In her garret she could commit them to memory, if need be. She could show that clothes were not all. If the Bird Woman did not want any of the many different kinds of specimens she had collected, she was quite sure now she could sell ferns, nuts, and a great many things. Then, too, some one moved over this morning, and several girls smiled and bowed. Elnora forgot everything save her books, and that she was where she could use them intelligently—everything except one little thing away back in her head. Her mother had known about the books and the tuition, and had not told her when she agreed to her coming.
At noon Elnora took her little parcel of lunch and started to the home of the Bird Woman. She must know about the specimens first and then she would go out to the suburbs somewhere and eat a few bites. She dropped the heavy iron knocker on the door of the big red log cabin, and her heart thumped at the resounding stroke.
"Is the Bird Woman at home?" she asked of the maid.
"She is at lunch," was the answer.
"Please ask her if she will see a girl from the Limberlost about some moths?" inquired Elnora.
"I never need ask, if it's moths," laughed the girl. ​"Orders are to bring any one with specimens right in. Come this way."
Elnora followed down the hall and entered a long room with high panelled wainscoting, old English fireplace with an overmantel and closets of peculiar china filling the corners. At a bare table of oak, yellow as gold, sat a woman Elnora often had watched and followed covertly around the Limberlost. The Bird Woman was holding out a hand of welcome.
"I heard!" she laughed. "A little pasteboard box, or just the bare word 'specimen,' passes you at my door. If it is moths I hope you have hundreds. I've been very busy all summer and unable to collect, and I need so many. Sit down and lunch with me, while we talk it over. From the Limberlost, did you say?"
"I live near the swamp," replied Elnora. "Since it's so cleared I dare go around the edge in daytime, though we are still afraid at night."
"What have you collected?" asked the Bird Woman, as she helped Elnora to sandwiches unlike any she ever before had tasted, salad that seemed to be made of many familiar things, but you were only sure of celery and apples and a cup of hot chocolate that would have delighted any hungry schoolgirl.
Elnora said, "Thank you," and set the things before her, but her eyes were on the Bird Woman's face.
"I am afraid I am bothering you for nothing, and imposing on you," she said. "That 'collected' frightens me. I've only gathered. I always loved everything ​outdoors, and so I made friends and playmates of them. When I learned that the moths die so soon, I saved them especially, because there seemed no wickedness in it."
"I have thought the same thing," said the Bird Woman encouragingly. Then because the girl could not eat until she learned about the moths, the Bird Woman asked Elnora if she knew what kinds she had.
"Not all of them," answered Elnora. "Before Mr. Duncan moved away he often saw me near the edge of the swamp, and he showed me the box he had fixed for Freckles, and gave me the key. There were some books and things, so from that time on I studied and tried to take moths right, but I am afraid they are not what you want."
"Are they the big ones that fly mostly June nights?" asked the Bird Woman.
"Yes," said Elnora. "Great gray ones with reddish markings, pale blue-green, yellow with lavender, and red and yellow."
"What do you mean by 'red and yellow?'" asked the Bird Woman so quickly that the girl almost jumped.
"Not exactly red," explained Elnora, with tremulous voice. "A reddish, yellowish brown, with canary-coloured spots and gray lines on their wings."
"How many of them?" It was the same quick question.
"Well, I had over two hundred eggs," said Elnora, "but some of them didn't hatch, and some of the caterpillars died, but there must be at least a hundred perfect ones."
"Perfect! How, perfect?" cried the Bird Woman.
​"I mean whole wings, no down gone, and all their legs and antennæ," faltered Elnora.
"Young woman, that's the rarest moth in America," said the Bird Woman solemnly. "If you have a hundred of them, they are worth a hundred dollars according to my list. I can use all that are whole."
"What if they are not pinned right," quavered Elnora.
"If they are perfect, that does not make the slightest difference. I know how to soften them so that I can put them into any shape I choose. Where are they? When may I see them?"
"They are in Freckles's old case in the Limberlost," said Elnora. "I couldn't carry many for fear of breaking them, but I could bring a few after school."
"You come here at four," said the Bird Woman, "and we will drive out with some specimen boxes, and a price list, and see what you have to sell. Are they your very own? Are you free to part with them?"
"They are mine," said Elnora. "No one but God knows I have them. Mr. Duncan gave me the books and the box. He told Freckles about me, and Freckles told him to give me all he left. He said for me to stick to the swamp and be brave, and my hour would come; it has! I know most of them are all right, and oh, I do need the money!"
"Could you tell me?" asked the Bird Woman softly.
"You see, the swamp and all the fields around it are so full," explained Elnora. "Every day I felt smaller and smaller, and I wanted to know more and more, and pretty ​soon I got desperate, just as Freckles did. But I am better off than he was, for I have his books, and I have a mother; even if she don't care for me as other girls' mothers do for them, it's better than no one."
The Bird Woman's glance fell, for the girl was not conscious of how much she was revealing. Her eyes were fixed on a black pitcher filled with goldenrod in the centre of the table and she was saying what she thought.
"As long as I could go to the Brushwood school I was happy, but I couldn't go further just when things got the most interesting, so I was bound I'd come to high school and mother wouldn't consent. You see there's plenty of land, but father was drowned when I was a baby, and mother and I can't make money as men do. The taxes get bigger every year, and she said it was too expensive. I wouldn't give her any rest, until at last she got me this dress, and these shoes and I came. It was awful!"
Elnora stopped short and stared into the Bird Woman's face.
"Do you live in that beautiful cabin at the northwest end of the swamp?" asked the Bird Woman.
"Yes," said Elnora.
"I remember the place and a story about it now. You entered the high school yesterday?"
"Yes."
"It was pretty bad?"
"Pretty bad!" echoed Elnora.
The Bird Woman laughed.
"You can't tell me anything about that," she said. ​"I once entered a city school straight from the country. My dress was brown calico, and my shoes were quite heavy."
The tears began to roll down Elnora's cheeks.
"Did they——?" she faltered.
"They did!" said the Bird Woman. "All of it. I am quite sure they did not miss one least little thing."
Then she wiped away some tears that began rolling down her cheeks, and laughed at the same time.
"Where are they now?" asked Elnora suddenly.
"Well, they are pretty widely scattered, but none of them have attained heights out of range. Some of the rich are poor, and some of the poor are rich. Some of the brightest died insane, and some of the dullest worked out high positions. Some of the very worst to bear have gone out, and I frequently hear from others. Now I am here, able to remember it, and mingle laughter with what used to be all tears; for every day I have my beautiful work, and almost every day God sends some one like you to help me. What is your name, my girl?"
"Elnora Comstock," answered Elnora. "Yesterday on the board it changed to Cornstock, and for a minute I thought I'd die, but I can laugh over that already."
The Bird Woman arose and kissed her. "Finish your lunch," she said, "and I will get my price lists, and take down a memorandum of what you think you have, so I will know how many boxes to prepare. And remember this: What you are lies with you. If you are lazy, and accept your lot, you may live in it. If you are willing to work, ​you can write your name anywhere you choose, among the only ones who live past the grave in this world—the people who write books that help, make exquisite music, carve statues, paint pictures, and work for others. Never mind the calico dress, and the coarse shoes. Dig into the books, and before long you will hear yesterday's tormentors boasting that they were once classmates of yours. 'I could a tale unfold'——!"
She laughingly left the room and Elnora sat thinking, until she remembered how hungry she was, so she ate the food, drank the hot chocolate and began the process of getting a grip on herself.
Then the Bird Woman came back and showed Elnora a long printed slip giving a list of graduated prices for moths, butterflies and dragon-flies.
"Oh, do you want them!" exulted Elnora. "I have a few and I can get more by the thousand, with every colour in the world on their wings."
"Yes," said the Bird Woman, "I will buy them; also the big moth caterpillars that are creeping everywhere now, and the cocoons that they will spin just about this time. I have a sneaking impression that the mystery, wonder, and the urge of their pure beauty are going to force me to picture and paint our moths and put them into a book for all the world to see and know. We Limberlost people must not be selfish with the wonders God has given to us. We must share with those poor cooped-up city people the best we can. To send them a beautiful book, that is the way, is it not, little new friend of mine?"
​"Yes, oh, yes!" cried Elnora. "And please God they find a way to earn the money to buy the books, as I have those I need so badly."
"I will pay good prices for all the moths you can find," said the Bird Woman, "because you see I exchange them with foreign collectors. I want a complete series of the moths of America to trade with a German scientist, another with a man in India, and another in Brazil. Others I can exchange with home collectors for those of California and Canada, so you see I can use all you can raise, or find. The banker will buy stone axes, arrow points, and Indian pipes. There was a teacher from the city grade schools here to-day for specimens. There is a fund to supply the ward buildings. I'll help you get in touch with that. They want leaves of different trees, flowers, grasses, moths, insects, birds' nests and anything about birds."
Elnora's eyes were blazing. "Had I best go back to school or open a bank account and begin being a millionaire? Uncle Wesley and I have a bushel of arrow points gathered, a stack of axes, pipes, skin-dressing tools, tubes and mortars. I don't know how I ever will wait three hours."
"You must go, or you will be late," said the Bird Woman. "I will be ready at four."
After school closed Elnora, seated by the Bird Woman, drove to Freckles's old room in the Limberlost. One at a time the beautiful big moths were taken from the interior of the old black case. Not a fourth of them could be moved that night, and it was almost dark when the last box ​was closed, the list figured, and into Elnora's trembling fingers were paid fifty-nine dollars and sixteen cents. Elnora clasped the money closely.
"Oh, you beautiful stuff!" she cried. "You are going to buy the books, pay the tuition, and take me to high school."
Then because she was a woman, she sat on a log and looked at her shoes. Long after the Bird Woman drove away Elnora remained. She had her problem, and it was a big one. If she told her mother, would she take the money to pay the taxes? If she did not tell her, how could she account for the books, and things for which she would spend it. At last she counted out what she needed for the next day, placed the rest in the farthest corner of the case, and locked the door. She then filled the front of her skirt from a heap of arrow points beneath the case and started home.