ker than the blackening sky. Of millions of leaves over my head, none
pleased my ear, in the airless calm, with their rustling summer song.

The first flying creatures, dimly visible by moments under the gloomy
sky, were enemies whom I well knew by experience. Many a fine insect
specimen have I lost, when the bats were near me in search of their
evening meal.

What had happened before, in other woods, happened now. The first moth
that I had snared was a large one, and a specimen well worth securing. As
I stretched out my hand to take it, the apparition of a flying shadow
passed, swift and noiseless, between me and the tree. In less than an
instant the insect was snatched away, when my fingers were within an inch
of it. The bat had begun his supper, and the man and the mixture had
provided it for him.

Out of five moths caught, I became the victim of clever theft in the case
of three. The other two, of no great value as specimens, I was just quick
enough to secure. Under other circumstances, my patience as a collector
would still have been a match for the dexterity of the bats. But on that
evening--a memorable evening when I look back at it now--my spirits were
depressed, and I was easily discouraged. My favorite studies of the
insect-world seemed to have lost their value in my estimation. In the
silence and the darkness I lay down under a tree, and let my mind dwell
on myself and on my new life to come.

I am Gerard Roylake, son and only child of the late Gerard Roylake of
Trimley Deen.

At twenty-two years of age, my father's death had placed me in possession
of his large landed property. On my arrival from Germany, only a few
hours since, the servants innocently vexed me. When I drove up to the
door, I heard them say to each other: "Here is the young Squire." My
father used to be called "the old Squire." I shrank from being reminded
of him--not as other sons in my position might have said, because it
renewed my sorrow for his death. There was no sorrow in me to be renewed.
It is a shocking confession to make: my heart remained unmoved when I
thought of the father whom I had lost.

Our mothers have the most sacred of all claims on our gratitude and our
love. They have nourished us with their blood; they have risked their
lives in bringing us into the world; they have preserved and guided our
helpless infancy with divine patience and love. What claim equally strong
and equally tender does the other parent establ