WILD PASTURES 



swarming bees I saw further beauty 

 beyond. On firmer ground nestling 

 lovingly against an old chestnut post 

 was a great, glorious spike of haben- 

 aria, the purple-fringed orchis. It is 

 not uncommon, the habenaria, in peaty 

 meadows, but no man sees it for the 

 first time in the season without a great 

 glow of delight, and I hastened over to 

 give it nearer greeting. Just as I 

 reached it the butterfly came dancing up, 

 but not to sip the sweets of the wonder- 

 ful great orchid. Instead he lighted, 

 right under my nose, on the roughest 

 part of the old fence post and began to 

 lick this as he had the pine trunk. 



I watched him again, hearing sub- 

 consciously the voice of a great crested 

 flycatcher over on a near-by tree, cry- 

 ing " Grief," " Grief." A moment and 

 the little red tongue which I had noted 

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