Flowers of Mystery 453 



that u cat-sticks " were poor spindling sticks, either 

 growing or in a load of cut wood. I heard a coun- 

 try parson say as he regarded ruefully a gift of a 

 sled load of firewood, " The deacon's load is all cat- 

 sticks." Of course a cat-stick was also the stick 

 used in the game of ball called tip-cat. Myself 

 when young did much practise another loved ball 

 game, "one old cat," a local favorite, perhaps a local 

 name. " Cat-ice," too, is a good old New England 

 word and thing ; it is the thin layer of brittle ice 

 formed over puddles, from under which the water 

 has afterward receded. If there lives a New Eng- 

 lander too old or too hurried to rejoice in stepping 

 upon and crackling the first "cat-ice" on a late au- 

 tumn morning, then he is a man ; for no New Eng- 

 land girl, a century old, could be. thus indifferent. 

 It is akin to rustling through the deep-lying autumn 

 leaves, which affords a pleasure so absurdly dispro- 

 portioned and inexplicable that it is almost mysteri- 

 ous. Some of us gouty ones, alas ! have had to 

 give up the " cat-slides " which were also such a de- 

 light ; the little stretches of glare ice to which we 

 ran a few steps and slid rapidly over with the im- 

 petus. But I must not let my New England folk- 

 words lure me away from my subject, even on a 

 tempting " cat-slide." 



Though garden flowers run everywhere that they 

 will, they are not easily forced to become wild 

 flowers. We hear much of the pleasure of sowing 

 garden seeds along the roadside, and children are 

 urged to make beautiful wild gardens to be the delight 

 of passers-by. Alphonse Karr wrote most charmingly 



