MY LADY DAHLIA 167 



Butterfly life is fascinating, and to our unseeing eyes 

 free from care, yet who can imagine a more dutiful or a 

 busier one bent on making ends meet*? When all is said, 

 it is near that of the Romany who builds his camp fires 

 where others have cut wood, and who sets his youngling 

 at the barn gate at milking time. 



The butterfly gypsy plays havoc in the parsley bed and 

 cuts many a cabbage and tobacco leaf. It is a mischief- 

 maker of the first order. Its beauty of painted wing and 

 jeweled head does not blind us to its purposes in life. 

 Other gypsies frequent the waste places, steal through 

 the broken paling in the garden fence, and excite the 

 wrath of the man who sows and reaps. These are the 

 weeds now in the high tide of their mischievous careers. 

 As in the case of Romany, there is a sense of caste among 

 them, high-born and lofty mannered and the lowly 

 tramps. The goldenrod, wild sunflowers, mints, and 

 asters are camp followers, and much is forgiven because 

 of their beauty. 



The true gypsies are the ragweed, Indian hemp, pig- 

 weed, hogweed, plantain, pusley, smartweed, and thistles 

 and not to be forgotten and mighty in their schemes, 

 the whole bur family. They seem bent on annoying 

 humankind; and, unless one looks closely, they do not 

 have signs of beauty to invite the passing interest. Not 

 so daintily winged as the butterfly nor gifted with the 

 turn of temper of a Romany of the camp fire, the gypsy 



