Edward was now left to himself. The girls had doubtless gone to fetch their mother. He began to think of beating a retreat, as he seemed to have been the cause, in some way, of the girls leaving the house. But at that moment, a woman, of prodigious size and attitude, appeared at the threshold. She stood stock still, and looked at the stranger furiously. He addressed her, but she gave no reply. He addressed her again, louder; but she was still silent. He looked at her again. In one hand she grasped a most formidable-looking axe; whilst in the other she held what looked like the half of a young tree. She was tall, stout, and remarkably muscular; her hair was of a carroty-red colour, and thickly matted together. Her dress was scanty; she was bare-legged, but wore a pair of old unlaced boots, such as are usually worn by ploughmen. With her axe in one hand and her pole in the other—with her clenched teeth, and fierce aspect—Edward could entertain no other idea of her than that she was mad; and that her intention was to brain him with her axe! He could not rush past her. Her space filled the doorway. He could not overpower her, for she was much more powerful than he was. His suspense was dreadful.
At last she moved one step forward; then another, until Edward thought he might plunge past her, and escape. But no; she opened her lips and spoke, or rather yelled—“Man, fat the sorra brocht ye in here, an’ you in siccan a mess! Gang oot o’ my hoose, I tell ye, this verra minit! Gang oot!” This appeal brought Edward to himself again. He apologised to her for entering her house, and begged her to let him remain until the rain had ceased. “Not a minit,” was the sharp rejoinder; “ye’ll pit my hoose afloat. Ye’re a’ vermin, an’ ye’ll pit’s in a hobble if ye dinna gang oot!”
THE CHIP-BOXES EMPTY.
He protested that he had nothing to do with vermin; but as he spoke he lifted up his hand to wipe something off his cheek. It was a hairy oobit! He was in a moment alive to the woman’s expostulations. On looking to his clothes he found that he was a moving mass of insect life. He cleared the room in a bound, regardless of the woman’s axe and cudgel. He went into an old shed, threw off his coat and waistcoat, and found them a mass of creeping things. On searching his pockets, he found that all the chip-boxes had given way, and that the whole of the collection which he had made during the last three days was lost. He might have collected the insects from his clothing, but he had nothing to put them in. He now found that he was the lunatic, and not the woman. Before he departed, he apologised to her for the trouble he had caused her, and then he departed homewards,—a sadder if not a wiser man.
After this adventure, he never again resorted to chip-boxes. He used little bottles for holding beetles and various insects. He had also a light flat box, about nine inches square, for containing the more fragile portion of the insect tribe, such as butterflies and moths. Before he pinned them down, he gave them a drop of chloroform to put them to sleep, and prevent them destroying their beautiful plumage. When he met these tender creatures reposing on a flower, he would always, if possible, drop a little chloroform upon them, and thus end their struggles. Then he boxed them. By this means he secured many splendid specimens.
HOW TO PRESERVE.
His hat was also an excellent insect-box, and a convenient receptacle for many things. He had a false crown put in the upper part of it, well stored with pins. And even when he went out to walk with his wife and children, he would occupy part of his time in looking for and storing up moths and butterflies, so that not an opportunity nor a moment’s time was lost.
He carried his caterpillars in a tin box, with several compartments; and his snails in a similar box of smaller dimensions. His eggs, after being emptied, were put into a sort of canister, and being well packed with cotton wool, they very seldom broke, although he carried them about with him for days together.
Whenever he shot a bird or animal, his first business was to fill up the mouth and nostrils with cotton wadding, and then to search for the wounds and fill them up. By this means he always got his specimens home clean. This he found to be indispensably necessary with sea birds, if he wished to bring them home unsoiled.
Being unable to purchase presses for his plants, he used heavy flat stones, and boxes filled with gravel and dry sand. These answered very well, and were all the presses he ever had.