WOODLAND PATHS 



No other season can give it such vivid 

 motion. 



To me there came too a dozen summer 

 messengers. Two or three varieties of 

 transparent winged dragon flies swirled in 

 and out of the little bay of sunshine. A 

 fulvous and black butterfly lighted on the 

 rock at my feet and gently, rhythmically 

 raised and lowered his wings. It was as 

 expressive of satisfaction as smacking the 

 lips would be. Again and again he slipped 

 away and then sailed back, leaving me still 

 in doubt as to whether he was the lovely 

 little Melitcea harrisi, or Phyciodes nyc* 

 teis, both of which are very solemn names 

 for pretty little butterflies which fly about 

 as a signal that summer is already begin- 

 ning to glow about us. 



By and by the joy of the spot seemed 

 to soothe him and he settled down for a 



longer stay, folding his wings and proving 

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