WILD PASTURES 



drew eagerly nearer to see what he 

 was getting. 



It was a humid day and I was thirsty 

 myself. What woodland brew could be 

 on tap here? In Ireland it used to be 

 true that the Leprachauns, the little men 

 of the hedge, could make good beer of 

 heath, and if you could only catch and 

 hold one he would tell you how. Here 

 might be a similar chance. My nose was 

 within six inches of the white admiral's 

 now and my eyes were bulging out with 

 surprise as much as his do naturally, 

 for behold he had what butterfly never 

 had before, a little red tongue on the 

 tip of his proboscis, and with it he was 

 nervously licking the bark in its rough- 

 est places as hard as he could. 



I might have seen more had not my 

 foot slipped on the glossy pine needles, 

 and while I clutched the trunk of the 

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