A DAY IN JUNE 135 



pated the happy mood in which the forenoon 

 had been passed, and there was no recover- 

 ing it by force of will. A mihtary man 

 would have said, perhaps, that I had lost my 

 morale. Something had happened to me, 

 call it what you will. But if one string was 

 broken, my bow had another. Quiet medi- 

 tation being impossible, I was all the readier 

 to go in search of Selkirk's violet, the possi- 

 ble finding of which was one of the motives 

 that had brought me into the mountains thus 

 early. To look for flowers is not a question 

 of mood, but of patience. To look at them, 

 so as to feel their beauty and meaning, is 

 another business, not to be conducted suc- 

 cessfully while poisonous insects are fretting 

 one's temper to madness. 



If I went about this botanical errand 

 doubtingly, let the reader hold me excused, 

 lie has heard of a needle in a haystack. 

 The case of my violets was similar. The 

 one man who had seen them was now dead. 

 Years before, he had pointed out to me casu- 

 ally (or like a dunce I had heard him casu- 

 ally) the place where he was accustomed to 

 leave the road in going after them — which 



