The moth cleared the opening, and with
many wabblings and contortions climbed up the tree. He stared speechless
with amazement as the moth crept around a limb and clung to the under
side. There was a big pursy body, almost as large as his thumb, and of
the very snowiest white that Freckles ever had seen. There was a band
of delicate lavender across its forehead, and its feet were of the same
colour; there were antlers, like tiny, straw-colored ferns, on its head,
and from its shoulders hung the crumpled wet wings. As Freckles gazed,
tense with astonishment, he saw that these were expanding, drooping,
taking on color, and small, oval markings were beginning to show.
The minutes passed. Freckles' steady gaze never wavered. Without
realizing it, he was trembling with eagerness and anxiety. As he saw
what was taking place, "It's going to fly," he breathed in hushed
wonder. The morning sun fell on the moth and dried its velvet down,
while the warm air made it fluffy. The rapidly growing wings began to
show the most delicate green, with lavender fore-ribs, transparent,
eye-shaped markings, edged with lines of red, tan, and black, and long,
crisp trailers.
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