e one of the most
magnificent of native moths. Gingerly Mr. Flint picked him up between
thumb and fore-finger, and as gingerly dropped him back into the
breeding-cage. He squared his shoulders, wiped his brow, and drew a
long whistling breath.

"Phe-ew! It took all my nerve to do it!" said he, frankly. "I felt for
a minute as if a strong-arm cop'd chased me up an alley and pulled his
gun on me. The feeling of a bug's legs on your bare skin is something
fierce at first, ain't it? But after _him_ none of 'em can scare me
any more. I could play tag with pink monkeys with blue tails and green
whiskers without sending in the hurry-call."

The setting boards and blocks, the arrays of pins, needles, tubes,
forceps, jars and bottles, magnifying-glasses, microscope, slides,
drying-ovens, relaxing-box, cabinets, and above all, the mounted
specimens, raised his spirits somewhat. This, at least, looked
workman-like; this, at least, promised something better than stoking
worms!

If not hopefully, at least willingly enough, he allowed himself to be
set to work. And that work had come in what some like to call the
psychological moment. At least it came--or was sent--just when he
needed it most.

He soon discovered, as all beginners must, that there is very much
more to it than one might think; that here, too, one must pay for
exact knowledge with painstaking care and patient study and ceaseless
effort. He discovered how fatally easy it is to spoil a good specimen;
how fairy-fragile a wee wing is; how painted scales rub, and vanish
into thin air; how delicate antennae break, and forelegs will
fiendishly depart hence; and that proper mounting, which results in a
perfect insect, is a task which requires practice, a sure eye, and an
expert, delicate, and dexterous touch. Also, that one must be
ceaselessly on guard lest the baleful little ant and other tiny curses
evade one's vigilance and render void one's best work. He learned
these and other salutary lessons, which tend to tone down an amateur's
conceit of his half-knowledge; and this chastened him. He felt his
pride at stake--he who could so expertly, with almost demoniac
ingenuity, force the costliest and most cunningly constructed
burglar-proof lock; he whose not idle boast was that he was handy with
his fingers! Slippy McGee baffled, at bay before a butterfly? And in
the presence of a mere priest and a girl-child? Never! He'd show us
what he could do when he really tried to tr