58 ALONG THE WATERWAYS 



to be in the last of the seven ages of a horse, sans 

 everything but sleep, 



I laughed aloud. 



A flowery hat was straightened, and a far-away 

 voice said, "Oh, I 'm wide awake. I 've heard 

 every word you said, but I 'm too comfortable to 

 answer." Which statement, as I had not spoken, 

 was perfectly true. 



Then once more my thoughts joined with the 

 river, and followed it down to its sea -gardens. 



The day before I had looked for flowers in the 

 marshes threaded by hybrid watercourses, half creek, 

 half river, where the salt relish stimulates other con- 

 ditions of growth and different colorings. It had 

 been a good morning for going to the marsh lands. 

 The sky was overcast, the wind, fresh and east- 

 erly, had driven the mosquitoes from the wet -bot- 

 tomed salt meadows back to the bracken thickets. 

 The 'tide was low, so that the feathery edging of 

 lilac Sea Lavender that bounded the salt haying 

 grounds was reachable. 



Where the coarse grass was short, and the sunken 

 tide -water had left a sort of metallic luster on the 

 mud, grew the dwarfed Seaside Gerardia, its flowers 

 purple -pink, its shape a minute counterpart of its 

 sisters of wood and upland meadows. There, too, 



