106 
THE AMERICAN BOTANIST. 
kodak for a day under the cliffs. We wondered what they 
thought of our extended tramps, as few in this part of the 
country see any pleasure to be gained from the woods save 
the manly one of killing something — a bird or a fish, or some- 
times larger game. A remark, however, made to us before 
we left — "Now, if you women jes' had bloomers," showed 
the light in which we were regarded, and made us see our- 
selves from their focus. 
This locality, as well as the one we had just left, had its 
"Indian Fort." A favorite name for any oblong knob, in the 
range of hills, was "Potatoe Hill." One hill of this name, 
over a mile long, was surrounded by cliffs that were worn into 
many picturesque grottoes. One of them. Buzzard's Cave, 
was quite large, and served us as a pleasant retreat for a noon- 
day meal, or during a sudden shower. Our freckle-faced, 
bare-footed guide told us where we should find the "mostest 
fyarns," and asked many questions about "the street cyars that 
ran with a wire," "Wasn't ther nothin' pretty in town that 
you should come up heah to hunt somethin' pretty?" he in- 
quired. He had perfect faith, that if called, the "doodle 
bugs" would come up out of their dens. His faith was so 
genuine that it gave us great pleasure to keep him calling the 
ant-lions at their traps in the soft sand, — little hollows in the 
earth where each insect waits with open arms, so to speak, 
for an intruding ant. This insect has been immortalized by 
Riley. 
"An' nen he showed us little holes 
All bored there in the ground. 
An' little weenty heaps o' dust 
*At's piled there all around. 
That wus the Doodle-Bug's charm — 
To call 'em up he said : — 
'Doodle! Doodle! Doodle-Bugs! 
Come up an' git some bread!" 
