STALKING THE WILD GRAPE 



and button bush which stand ankle deep 

 in the water of the pond. Here on the 

 little knoll daisies sent out that faint, 

 hay-like smell which is common to most 

 of the composite. The squaw weed in 

 the meadowy edge between the swamp 

 and the knoll had given me the same 

 fragrance. But standing on the top of 

 the knoll while the soft morning wind 

 swept the daisy fragrance by me knee 

 high, I caught, head high, the elusive, 

 alluring odor that I was seeking. It led 

 me down to the pond side and called me, 

 dared me, to come on. Why not? I 

 was dressed for it, and I was wet to the 

 skin with the drench of the morning 

 dew already. 



The cove was but a hundred yards 



across, and I stood on the bank wishing 



to note carefully the direction I must 



take. The lazy morning wind drifted 



41 



