THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 121 



mile or so through a stretch of flat land. Into the 

 mouth of this winding stream we rowed, keeping 

 the boats far enough apart to avoid danger. The 

 water was like a sheet of glass. Every plant on 

 the bank was mirrored by its smooth surface. 

 Clumps of Joe-Pye weed and wild sunflower lost 

 none of their color in the reflection. After a short 

 distance the 'banks came closer together and the 

 boats proceeded Indian file. Trees hung with 

 vines leaned over the water's edge, the reflections 

 now broken by our oars. It was here that I 

 caught my first sight of the forget-me-not. If I 

 had not been in the Professor's boat I should have 

 demanded a landing that we might fill the boat 

 with them. As it was, I sat still and gloated. The 

 banks were literally carpeted with the plants, 

 which were blue with the precious tiny flowers. 

 Although that first glimpse is never to be forgot- 

 ten, it does not prevent my enjoying the same ex- 

 perience every year. They are just as plenty and 

 just as "gloat-worthy" now as then. Few people 

 know the way to the Lagoon. Those who do 

 know it are chary about making their knowledge 

 public. Then, too, it is a "skeetery" place and 

 frequented only by fishermen and field classes. 



The Professor had stopped rowing. He wanted 

 to drink in anew the well-known scene, and to 

 watch the effect on the newcomers. Not a detail 

 escaped him, from the bold curve of the bank it- 

 self to the rich gleam of the bittersweet berries 

 overhanging it. 



We were in the lead and soon moved on around 



