\u seldom considered. Some slight consideration 
‘y should be shown the healthy, and their wishes con- 
sulted at far-removed nows and thens. The golden- 
rod is one of my delights. From the time the first 
slender spike flashes its light upon the eyes to the 
last burnt-out splendor drooping shamed upon its 
stem, I keep them in niy study. | love their warm 
light—their laughter in bloom (for so their 
glow impresses me). I do not feel obligated 
to tell why I love what I love, and if pressed 
by some purist, I will not, but if let alone will 
probably disclose the secret of my passion. 
I love golden-rod because there is plenty of 
it, and I like plentiful things; hence, children, 
men, women, trees, stars, common-place things 
and people are dear to me. Golden-rod 
blooms mainly in flocks, as pigeons fly, and in 
many flocks, along fences, in pastures, by 
woods, in the woods, along highways (thank 
them for that courtesy). They are as the 
poet who pipes as the hedge sparrow does, 
“7 build my house by the side of the road."’ 
Where the dust clouds and chokes you on 
the long sun-burnt road, golden-rod will toss out 
its yellow light like some one you love looking 
at you through an open window. 
Golden-rod grows all across our 
America, in the north and south, in 
Maine and California. It is a hardy 
traveler. It dogs man’s steps. 
Trailing arbutus grows in 
New England and the north- 
