i86 THE BROOK BOOK 



they droop and hang their heads stupidly indoors. 

 How much -better they look against a hummock 

 of tall sedges anyhow ! I wanted to know why a 

 certain white butterfly should so persistently cling 

 to the flower which hung out over the water. It 

 was odd that it should not flit, since tradition 

 demands it. 



No wonder it did not leave the flower ! There 

 it hung and even allowed me to take its wings 

 between my fingers. The flower had caught it as 

 with a tiny vise and would not let it go. A faint 

 hum caught my ear. My eye followed the direction 

 from which the sound came and found a velvety 

 bee in the same predicament. Both had been 

 caught by the leg in stepping lightly over the honey- 

 laden cluster between two parts of the complicated 

 flower. Failing to free themselves and the pollen 

 organs of the plant at the same time, they remained 

 as hapless prisoners, unable to fulfil their own 

 destinies or to carry out the designs of the milk- 

 weed. I have caught bees in my net before now 

 whose bodies and legs and heads fairly bristled 

 with milkweed "saddle-bags." These at least had 

 done all that could be expected of them. The 

 milkweed which thus sentences a bee or a butterfly 

 to a miserable death in the stocks gains nothing 

 by the act. 



My borrowed craft was drifting too near the 

 open water of the lake, for we had almost reached 

 the broad mouth of the creek. Fortunately the 

 current was weak, and I made my way back to 

 the mooring with some haste. I felt a little hesi- 



