Every few steps she
paused and examined the shrubbery carefully, while Mrs. Comstock was
watching until her eyes ached, but there were no dandelions in the pail
she carried.
Early June was rioting in fresh grasses, bright flowers, bird songs, and
gay-winged creatures of air. Down the footpath the two went through the
perfect morning, the love of God and all nature in their hearts. At
last they reached the creek, following it toward the bridge. Here Mrs.
Comstock found a large bed of tender dandelions and stopped to fill
her pail. Then she sat on the bank, picking over the greens, while she
listened to the creek softly singing its June song.
Elnora remained within calling distance, and was having good success. At
last she crossed the creek, following it up to a bridge. There she began
a careful examination of the under sides of the sleepers and flooring
for cocoons. Mrs. Comstock could see her and the creek for several rods
above. The mother sat beating the long green leaves across her hand,
carefully picking out the white buds, because Elnora liked them, when a
splash up the creek attracted her attention.
Around the bend came a man. He was bareheaded, dressed in a white
sweater, and waders which reached his waist. He walked on the bank, only
entering the water when forced. He had a queer basket strapped on his
hip, and with a small rod he sent a long line spinning before him down
the creek, deftly manipulating with it a little floating object.
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