"Dear, dear!" she cried. "How serious we all are getting! It was your moths, Pierre, that set me moralizing this way. Our work with them is not yet done, either, for we must spread out the sheets of paper on which they are to lay their eggs. Then we can move the pairs of moths onto them."
She rose briskly.
"But how can we, Mother?" queried Marie. "When we touch them they will surely fly away, won't they?"
"No, dear. After the moths have found their mates they can be moved very easily. I have often seen your father take them gently by the wings and put as many couples as he could on large sheets of white paper. There they remained, and after their eggs were laid we removed the moths and folding the papers of eggs put them away for next season's hatching. The eggs were fastened so firmly to the paper that there was no danger of losing any of them. Now where shall we spread the papers for our own moths? They must be put well out of the sun and the strong light and also where there is nothing to disturb the butterflies—no mice or insects for example—or they will not lay eggs for us. Suppose we spread our papers in Uncle Jacques' room. It is not in use now and it is on the shady side of the house."
Rising, she crossed the floor and threw open the door of a vacant bedroom.
Pierre noticed a shade of sadness flit across her face.
"Uncle Jacques would be glad to think we are using his room, Mother," said the boy quickly. "He has always been so interested in the silkworms. Perhaps by the time the mulberry trees leaf again we shall have peace, and he and Father will be once more at home helping us hatch out these very eggs. Who knows?"
"Who knows indeed, dear? Only the good God who is watching over their lives! It may be as you say. The spring may see them back again. We must do our part to be ready for their coming."
From a drawer she brought out some large flat sheets of white paper and spread them upon table, bureau, bed, and chairs. As the room was long there was plenty of space.