“Yes. He is Aunt Margaret's doctor, and he would be ours, only we are never ill.”
“Well, you look it!” said the man, appraising Elnora at a glance.
“Strangers always mention it,” sighed Elnora. “I wonder how it would seem to be a pale, languid lady and ride in a carriage.”
“Ask me!” laughed the man. “It feels like the—dickens! I'm so proud of my feet. It's quite a trick to stand on them now. I have to keep out of the water all I can and stop to baby every half-mile. But with interesting outdoor work I'll be myself in a week.”
“Do you call that work?” Elnora indicated the creek.
“I do, indeed! Nearly three miles, banks too soft to brag on and never a strike. Wouldn't you call that hard labour?”
“Yes,” laughed Elnora. “Work at which you might kill yourself and never get a fish. Did any one tell you there were trout in Sleepy Snake Creek?”
“Uncle said I could try.”
“Oh, you can,” said Elnora. “You can try no end, but you'll never get a trout. This is too far south and too warm for them. If you sit on the bank and use worms you might catch some perch or catfish.”
“But that isn't exercise.”
“Well, if you only want exercise, go right on fishing. You will have a creel full of invisible results every night.”
“I object,” said the man emphatically. He stopped work again and studied Elnora. Even the watching mother could not blame him. In the shade of the bridge Elnora's bright head and her lavender dress made a picture worthy of much contemplation.
“I object!” repeated the man. “When I work I want to see results. I'd rather exercise sawing wood, making one pile grow little and the other big than to cast all day and catch nothing because there is not a fish to take. Work for work's sake doesn't appeal to me.”
He digged the groove around the cocoon with skilled hand. “Now there is some fun in this!” he said. “It's going to be a fair job to cut it out, but when it comes, it is not only beautiful, but worth a price; it will help you on your way. I think I'll put up my rod and hunt moths. That would be something like! Don't you want help?”
Elnora parried the question. “Have you ever hunted moths, Mr. Ammon?”
“Enough to know the ropes in taking them and to distinguish the commonest ones. I go wild on Catocalae. There's too many of them, all too much alike for Philip, but I know all these fellows. One flew into my room when I was about ten years old, and we thought it a miracle. None of us ever had seen one so we took it over to the museum to Dr. Dorsey. He said they were common enough, but we didn't see them because they flew at night. He showed me the museum collection, and I was so interested I took mine back home and started to hunt them. Every year after that we went to our cottage a month earlier, so I could find them, and all my family helped. I stuck to it until I went to college. Then, keeping the little moths out of the big ones was too much for the mater, so father advised that I donate mine to the museum. He bought a fine case for them with my name on it, which constitutes my sole contribution to science. I know enough to help you all right.”
“Aren't you going north this year?”
“All depends on how this fever leaves me. Uncle says the nights are too cold and the days too hot there for me. He thinks I had better stay in an even temperature until I am strong again. I am going to stick pretty close to him until I know I am. I wouldn't admit it to any one at home, but I was almost gone. I don't believe anything can eat up nerve much faster than the burning of a slow fever. No, thanks, I have enough. I stay with Uncle Doc, so if I feel it coming again he can do something quickly.”
“I don't blame you,” said Elnora. “I never have been sick, but it must be dreadful. I am afraid you are tiring yourself over that. Let me take the knife awhile.”
“Oh, it isn't so bad as that! I wouldn't be wading creeks if it were. I only need a few more days to get steady on my feet again. I'll soon have this out.”
“It is kind of you to get it,” said Elnora. “I should have had to peel it, which would spoil the cocoon for a' specimen and ruin the moth.”
“You haven't said yet whether I may help you while I am here.”
Elnora hesitated.
“You better say 'yes,'” he persisted. “It would be a real kindness. It would keep me outdoors all day and give an incentive to work. I'm good at it. I'll show you if I am not in a week or so. I can 'sugar,' manipulate lights, and mirrors, and all the expert methods. I'll wager, moths are numerous in the old swamp over there.”
“They are,” said Elnora. “Most I have I took there. A few nights ago my mother caught a number, but we don't dare go alone.”
“All the more reason why you need me. Where do you live? I can't get an answer from you, I'll go tell your mother who I am and ask her if I may help you. I warn you, young lady, I have a very effective way with mothers. They almost never turn me down.”
“Then it's probable you will have a new experience when you meet mine,” said Elnora. “She never was known to do what any one expected she surely would.”
The cocoon came loose. Philip Ammon stepped down the embankment turning to offer his hand to Elnora. She ran down as she would have done alone, and taking the cocoon turned it end for end to learn if the imago it contained were alive. Then Ammon took back the cocoon to smooth the edges. Mrs. Comstock gave them one long look as they stood there, and returned to her dandelions. While she worked she paused occasionally, listening intently. Presently they came down the creek, the man carrying the cocoon as if it were a jewel, while Elnora made her way along the bank, taking a lesson in casting. Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes shining, the bushes taking liberties with her hair. For a picture of perfect loveliness she scarcely could have been surpassed, and the eyes of Philip Ammon seemed to be in working order.
“Moth-er!” called Elnora.
There was an undulant, caressing sweetness in the girl's voice, as she sung out the call in perfect confidence that it would bring a loving answer, that struck deep in Mrs. Comstock's heart. She never had heard that word so pronounced before and a lump arose in her throat.
“Here!” she answered, still cleaning dandelions.
“Mother, this is Mr. Philip Ammon, of Chicago,” said Elnora. “He has been ill and he is staying with Dr. Ammon in Onabasha. He came down the creek fishing and cut this cocoon from under the bridge for me. He feels that it would be better to hunt moths than to fish, until he is well. What do you think about it?”
Philip Ammon extended his hand. “I am glad to know you,” he said.
“You may take the hand-shaking for granted,” replied Mrs. Comstock. “Dandelions have a way of making fingers sticky, and I like to know a man before I take his hand, anyway. That introduction seems mighty comprehensive on your part, but it still leaves me unclassified. My name is Comstock.”
Philip Ammon bowed.
“I am sorry to hear you have been sick,” said Mrs. Comstock. “But if people will live where they have such vile water as they do in Chicago, I don't see what else they are to expect.”
Philip studied her intently.
“I am sure I didn't have a fever on purpose,” he said.
“You do seem a little wobbly on your legs,” she observed. “Maybe you had better sit and rest while I finish these greens. It's late for the genuine article, but in the shade, among long grass they are still tender.”
“May I have a leaf?” he asked, reaching for one as he sat on the bank, looking from the little