e 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.

[Illustration: "GO ON TIPTOE"]

"Now see how careful you can be in bringing in the moths. Go on tiptoe
and move gently."

Slowly the pairs of greenish white butterflies were transferred to the
papers. Scarcely one did more than flutter feebly.

"How long will it take before the eggs are laid, Mother?" inquired
Pierre.

"From twenty-four to thirty-six hours--usually not longer than that.
Each female moth will lay three or four hundred eggs."

"Shall we have room for so many?"

"Oh, yes," nodded Madame Bretton. "You recall how small they are--only
about the size of the head of a pin."

"In the meantime what are we going to give the moths to eat?" asked
Marie.

"Nothing. They are not hungry like silkworms. After they leave the
cocoon they eat no food, and they will live but a few days after their
eggs are laid. We must then gather up the sheets of eggs as quickly as
we can, for if they are left exposed to the light and air they will
hatch at once and then where should we be?"

"The entire crop would be lost!" gasped Pierre.

"Yes. Your father had a friend to whom that misfortune happened. He was
careless and left the newly laid eggs too long in the light, and when he
came back from the hills where he had gone on a few days' journey to cut
hay the tiny silkworms were hatched and he had nothing on which to feed
them. At that season the young mulberry leaves had gone by and, in fact,
the trees were nearly bare. It was a good lesson to him; but it was a
sad one, for the next spring he had to buy silkworm eggs, and