EARLY AUGUST BAYS 
not real. Her Auntie had given her permission to 
pick as many petunias as she wished. 
“You know they do not matter,” she said with 
something of Joseph’s contempt for them. “I do 
not bother to pick them. I cut them with the 
sickle.” 
We began to understand why it was that Queenie 
had sometimes such large bunches of golden glow, 
phloxes and petunias about her. The portulaca 
flowers, however, that are blooming in her own 
garden she never picks. Occasionally we see her 
gathering their tiny seeds, which are like grains 
of silver. Wherever there was space, Queenie 
must have sown them in her garden. She seems to 
admire these small flowers of red, white and purple 
almost as much as do the butterflies. It was from 
her that Joseph learned about them, and no doubt 
he will sow some at the Six Spruces when March or 
April returns, and the farmers believe the frost has 
slipped out of the ground. 
One of the young catbirds raised in the smoke- 
tree has met with a tragic death. It was killed on 
the triangle by a hideous, yellow cat which we had 
never seen before in this neighbourhood. We did 
not know where the cat came from, or what at- 
tracted it. Perhaps it heard the young bird trying 
to imitate its cry. 
When Mrs. Keith reached the triangle, the yel- 
low creature had the bird in its mouth, and was 
making for the wall as fast as it could. Mrs. 
