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CHAPTER XXX. 



PEDESTRIANS. 



ABOUT forty plants have attained their goal by pedestrianism not, of 

 course, by unbroken continuity of root-stretch from beginning to end of 

 the journey, but by repeated portages over short distances, re-establish- 

 ments again and again for another and another step inland, up-country, 

 Tutirawards. Neither do I mean to affirm that these wayfarers have been 

 too proud to have accepted from time to time a short lift on a roadman's 

 shovel, the warm shelter of a stomach, the grip of a mane or pastern, a 

 brief trundle on the wheel of a dray or buggy, the hospitality of a 

 friendly hoof or woolly shank, the assistance downhill of a brimming 

 water-table. They have, nevertheless, to all intents and purposes reached 

 Tutira on their feet. Dozens of times I have met or passed each of them 

 on its trek towards the station ; I have watched them drawing nearer 

 and nearer to its sacred soil ; I believe, in fact, that not a weed thus 

 moving towards the run by road has been overlooked. A natural 

 inclination, I suppose born in me, to note small changes in my environ- 

 ment had grown gradually into a habit of watchfulness. Each ride 

 beyond the run contained the element of anticipation, of hope, the 

 possibility of the discovery of a new wayfaring alien ; for nearly forty 

 years the fortunes of these wayside weeds have been an interest in my 

 life. 



The mode of approach of no two members of the group has been 

 exactly similar. Each has gone forward in the manner best suited to its 

 predilections and peculiarities. Some have advanced with celerity and 

 confidence, by leaps and bounds as it were ; others have progressed 

 hesitatingly, slowly, step by step, feeling their way ; others again I can 

 recall, laggards, faint-hearts, that were on the road in September '82, 

 but which have not even now attained the station. Mangel-wurzel, for 



