124 WILD FLOWERS OF SCOTLAND 



interest for the needle-eyed but eminently prac- 

 tical naturalists. No one who has put a centaurea 

 in his mouth will try it again. In the main, the 

 glory has departed. The blues and whites of 

 summer have given place to the darker hues reel 

 and purple not many reds, only purples. 



Harebells a relic of the blues tremble on 

 autumn airs, so light as scarce to fan the children's 

 hot cheeks. Some ring their chimes down the 

 ditch side to the dark meadow butterflies. 



One tall tuft is chiming its graceful bells to a 

 great painted lady on the path. The children 

 approach the bells and catch sight of the butterfly. 

 Flowers are cast away. Cans, whose descent is 

 made noisier by rattling coppers, roll into the 

 ditch, and the chase begins. Most of the fun is 

 with the butterfly, which enters on the game with 

 the utmost zest. 



With arm in readiness for action, the children 

 pull one foot after the other. Suddenly they drop 

 the ribbonless hat. Bit by bit they lift the broken 

 brim to peep under. Slowly they realise that the 

 covered spot is deserted. 



" There it is ! " 



And they are off in pursuit. 



After a merry curve over the field, the butterfly 



