have been asked 
once I have been 
asked fifty times to explain 
the secret of that frothy, 
bubbly mass which clings 
to the stems of grasses 
and weeds in the sum- 
mer meadows. Surely 
no one of our readers 
who has spent a June 
or July in the country 
can have failed to, ob- 
serve it. Even as I 
write, having just returned to my studio 
by a short cut across a meadow near by, 
my nether garments plainly show that I 
must have come in contact with five hun- 
