238 FLOWERS OF THE SUN 



in one, to have a masculine companion. Why? 

 For purely logical reasons. If there is any trem- 

 bling to be done, I want to do it myself. And 

 I like the manly reassurance, " There is nothing 

 to be afraid of," whether I believe it or not. 



Flower Hat went to the mountains in August 

 soon after our last day at Tree -bridge, and so 

 missed the great flower show of the composites. 

 But she reappeared one perfect middle September 

 day, and begged for another trip to complete the 

 Sunlight Sonata, if it were not too late. 



"Too late?" I said hesitatingly. "Not for com- 

 posites, but rather late for the simple singing 

 flowers. However, we will try, though it will not 

 be to find orange and yellows, but rather more 

 fragile and uniquely clad blossoms." 



"Better yet!" she cried. "They '11 be the theme 

 for the Scherzo or slender light -stepping Minuetto." 



Then we departed from our usual haunts in the 

 Sea Gardens and Time o' Year's woods, and turned 

 Nell in a northeasterly direction, to where low 

 meadows basking in sunlight borrowed moisture 

 from adjoining springy woods, where in time it 

 collected in pools, that gained motion and mean- 

 dered off as little streams to find the Housatonic. 



