THROUGHOUT THE YEAR 



these wet places a cloud of yellow butterflies, hun- 

 dreds and hundreds of them, rose and danced before 

 us. In twos and threes they flew, 

 going through the most intricate 

 figures. We halted and stood like 

 statues. The zigzag lasted but a 

 minute longer; lower and lower 

 they flew, finally settling down 

 shoulder to shoulder until the 

 moist spot on the roadway was 

 yellow with them. 



As we neared the stream the air 

 was suddenly laden with a pungent 

 fragrance. "Mint," exclaimed the 

 Doctor, and "mint" I quickly 

 replied, hastening my steps to be 

 the first to locate it. 

 "Pe p permint 



Brook" we christened this new mem- 

 ber of the family. It was too dimin- 

 utive to be recognized by the local 

 map-maker, and we could not won- 

 der. A brook it should be to us, 

 though at present no water coursed 

 through its channel. Nature seemed 

 to have used its bed as a sort of rub- 

 bish heap and we plunged into a per- 

 fect snarl of burdock, its purple mask 

 thrown off and true character re- 

 vealed. It was hard to step between the plants : if one 

 escaped them it was only to be thrust at by a dozen 

 bare brown arms and left bristling with "pitchforks." 



ROADSIDE BUTTERFLIES 



"PITCHFORKS 

 (TWO-TINED) 



