As she stopped to set the butter in the water, came another thought.

"Perhaps it was a moth!" Mrs.
Comstock dropped the butter and hurried out with the lamp; she held it high above her head and waited until her arms ached.

Small insects of night gathered, and at last a little dusty miller, but nothing came of any size.
"I must go where they are, if I get them," muttered Mrs.Comstock.
She went to the barn after the stout pair of high boots she used in feeding stock in deep snow.

Throwing these beside the back door she climbed to the loft over the spring house, and hunted an old lard oil lantern and one of first manufacture for oil.

Both these she cleaned and filled.