SUMMER IN A BOG. 31 



welling springs, and we are driven to seek 

 higher ground. The purple flags have pre- 

 empted this spot, coming close enough to solid 

 land to bestow a bouquet for our gathering in 

 the month of May. 



Rushes and sedges of many beautiful kinds 

 are here, and water-cress where the stream 

 runs freely. Some day the town dweller will 

 discover the secret of this pungent herb and 

 add it to his regimen, as in the older hemi- 

 sphere. 



Should we follow our little stream farther 

 down its course, until we come to a broad alu- 

 vial deposit, we will find it edged with the 

 yellow pond-lily or spatterdock. The water- 

 plantain, the cat-tail, the sagittaria, the bur- 

 reed, will not be absent; the fog-fruit in the 

 moist ditches, with many other plants which 

 love the water. We may catch a glimpse of the 

 great blue heron, extending like a slender line 

 above the trees, as it disappears from view. 

 The green heron flies noisily into the neighbor- 

 ing underbrush. 



The kill-dee cries plaintively along the 

 meadow lands. The water-wagtail may be seen 

 in the recesses of the woods, where the stream 

 steals among the flat stones and pebbles. He 

 seems busy about something, a secret from all 

 but himself. 



