ALONG THE WATERWAYS 51 



as Time o' Year turned toward the wood again to 

 rest his dazzled eyes, the third perfume of the day 

 played with my nostrils, a sort of blending of the 

 odors of Button -bush and Swamp Azalea, yet 

 more clearly defined and spicy than either, and 

 bearing the suggestion of damp leaves with it. 

 Another whiff, and my nose 

 decided that the perfume was 

 Clethra or White Alder, as it 

 is often called, though nowhere 

 could my eyes discover it. 



"A lot o' Sweet 

 Pepper - bushes on 

 ahead," said Time 

 o' Year, who was 

 in front of me. 

 "Fine ones, too, 

 well flowered and in a 

 likely spot, not too much 

 sun nor too much damp, 

 and screened from the 

 northwest wind, which 

 does a lot of harm, driv- 

 ing along the ponds and 

 rivers some Springs, after 

 things have started. I 



