28 FOOTING IT IN FKANCONIA 



from Cuba or from Chickamauga," I ventured 

 to say. " Chickamauga," he answered lacon- 

 ically, and marched on. Whether it was 

 typhoid fever or simple " malaria " that had 

 whitened his face there was no chance to in- 

 quire. He was munching an apple, which 

 at that moment was also my own occupation. 

 I had just stopped under a promising-look- 

 ing tree, whose generous branches spilled 

 their crop over the roadside wall, — excellent 

 " common fruit," as Franconians say, mel- 

 low, but with a lively, ungrafted tang. Here 

 in this sunny stretch of road were more of 

 my small Grapta butterflies, and presently I 

 came upon a splendid tortoise-shell (^Va- 

 nessa Mlherti). That I would certainly 

 have captured had I been armed with a net. 

 I had seen two like it the day before, to the 

 surprise of my friends the carriage people, 

 ardent entomological collectors, both of them. 

 They had found not a single specimen the 

 whole season through. " There are some 

 advantages in beating out the miles on 

 foot," I said to myself. I have never seen 

 this strikingly handsome butterfly in Mas- 

 sachusetts, as I once did its rival in beauty, 



