164 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



would be strange if a beech tree could not 

 do some things better than you and I can. 

 Every dog knows his own trick. 



Next comes a dry, homely, crooked, black- 

 ish, dead-looking twig, the slender divisions 

 of which are tipped with short clusters of 

 very fine purplish buds, rich in color, but so 

 small as readily to escape notice. This I 

 broke from a bush in a swampy place. It 

 is Leucothoe, a plant of special interest to 

 me for personal reasons. Year after year, 

 as I turned the leaves of Gray's Manual on 

 one errand and another, I read this roman- 

 tic-sounding Greek name, and wondered what 

 kind of plant it stood for. Then, during a 

 May visit to the mountains of North Caro- 

 lina, I came upon a shrub growing mile after 

 mile along roadsides and brooksides, loaded 

 down, literally, with enormous crops of sick- 

 ishly sweet, white flower-clusters. At first I 

 took it for some species of Andromeda, but 

 on bringing it to book found it to be Leu- 

 cothoe. I was delighted to see it. It is a 

 satisfaction to have a familiar name begin to 

 mean something. Finally, a year or two 

 later, passing in winter through a bit of 



