SINCE AUTUMN HAS COME 259 



Iron-weed itself is most often taller than I, and its 

 long, pointed leaves are like a saw about their 

 edges. 



I don't know why this plant was named Iron- 

 weed. There is nothing about it that is hard or 

 strong, and it is much too pretty besides to be called 

 a weed. It comes some time before the Asters, and 

 even Uncle Hiram's meadow is like a garden in 

 the places where it blooms. Tommy says it will 

 begin to fade when the Asters come, and that they 

 will burst open in such numbers, we won't even 

 miss it. Of course I can't tell whether Tommy is 

 right about this or not, because I have never been 

 in the country in the autumn before; but now I 

 think he has made a mistake and that I shall miss 

 Iron-weed very much. 



We walk along the roadsides now to gather 

 flowers. The autumn ones make very fine bou- 

 quets, although Grandmother seldom puts them in 

 the library. She says they are too bold, and need 

 no coaxing, and that they look best in the hall. 

 They are not vanishing, so we can pick just as 

 many of them as we please. 



Philip knows almost as much about flowers now 

 as Tommy, but it seems to me that neither of 

 them love the autumn ones so much as those they 

 had to hunt and hunt for in spring. The young 

 birds have all learned to fly now, and to sing like 

 the old ones, and the only nests we find are quite 

 empty. 



