44 



BIRDS AND FLOWERS. 



cially good place for flowers, but if it were July we 

 should see the pretty purple-blue racemes of the vetch 

 running riot in the fence corners. Here, too, is the 

 place where the yellow threads of the dodder, en- 

 crusted with close, white flower clusters, writhe about 

 the stems of the goldenrod and asters which they are 

 choking in their parasitic grasp. 



Pleasant it is at last to sit on the edge of the steep 

 bank and watch the water eddying at our feet. The 

 swift current runs like the sands of Time. On the 

 opposite shore is a broad, sandy beach, where the spot- 

 ted sandpiper teeters. Just beyond the beach is a 

 fine grove of maple and elm where the cows love to 

 wander. There is a thin growth of grass in this 

 grove, but no underbrush; perhaps because the land 

 is so often overflowed. The afternoon that I visited 

 it, June fourth, the tree-trunks were drenched in a 

 gold-green light, which sifted through the dense, ten- 

 der foliage. The place looked like an English park. 

 Back of the grove is another old bed of the river, and 

 then come the three fine farms of Sugar Ball. We 

 can see none of the buildings from here, except the 

 sap-house in the grove, belonging to the Lougees. 



On our side of the river a flirting flicker is preen- 

 ing his feathers on a branch, apparently turning him- 



