54: THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



to the wild. First, however, I rest for a few 

 minutes under a wide-branching oak opposite 

 the site of a vanished house. You would 

 know there had been a house here at some 

 time, even if you did not see the cellar-hole, 

 by the old maid's pinks along the fence. 

 How fresh they look ! And how becomingly 

 they blush ! They are worthy of their name. 

 Age cannot wither them. Less handsome 

 than carnations, if you will, but faithful, 

 home-loving souls ; not requiring to be waited 

 upon, but given rather to waiting upon others. 

 Like mayweed and catnip, they are what I 

 have heard called " folksy plants ; " though on 

 second thought I should rather say " homey." 

 There is something of the cat about them ; 

 a kind of local constancy ; they stay by the 

 old place, let the people go where they will. 

 Probably they would grow in front of a new 

 house, even a Queen Anne cottage, so 

 called, if necessity were kid upon them, 

 but who could imagine it? It would be 

 shameful to subject them to such indignity. 

 They are survivals, livers in the past, lovers 

 of things as they were, charter members, I 

 should say, of the Society of Colonial Dames. 



