only the timid irradiation with which his tallow
dip suffused the blossoming wands of an azalea, growing lithe and
tall hard by. With this witness only he wrote the letter--an anonymous
letter, and therefore he was indifferent to the inadequacies of his
penmanship and his spelling. He labored heavily in its composition, now
and then perpetrating portentous blots. He grew warm, although the fire
that had served to cook supper had long languished under the bank of
ashes. The tallow dip seemed full of caloric, and melted rapidly in
pendulous drippings. He now and again mopped his red face, usually so
bloodless, with his big bandanna handkerchief, while all the zephyrs
were fanning the flying tresses of Spring at the window, and the soft,
sweet, delicately attuned vernal chorus of the marshes were tentatively
running over _sotto voce_ their allotted melodies for the season. Oh,
it was a fine night outside, and why should a moth, soft-winged and
cream-tinted and silken-textured, come whisking in from the dark, as
silently as a spirit, to supervise Nehe-miah Yerby's letter, and travel
up and down the page all befouled with the ink? And as he sought to
save the sense of those significant sentences from its trailing silken
draperies, why should it rise suddenly, circling again and again about
the candle, pass through the flame, and fall in quivering agonies once
more upon the page? He looked at it, dead now, with satisfaction. It had
come so very near ruining his letter--an important letter, describing
the lair of the illicit distillers to a deputy marshal of the revenue
force, who was known to be in a neighboring town. He had good reason
to withhold his signature, for the name of the informer in the ruthless
vengeance of the region would be as much as his life was worth. The
moth had not spoiled the letter--the laborious letter; he was so glad of
that! He saw no analogies, he received not even a subtle warning, as he
sealed and addressed the envelope and affixed the postage-stamp. Then he
snuffed out the candle with great satisfaction.

The next morning the missive was posted, and all Nehemiah Yerby's plans
took a new lease of life. The information he had given would result in
an immediate raid upon the place. Leander would be captured among the
moonshiners, but his youth and his uncle's representations--for he
would give the officers an inkling of the true state of the case--would
doubtless insure the boy's release, and his r