here," he muttered to himself; "this is the very
soil for it,--yes, here we have it!"

The object over which he was stooping was a plant, but its leaves
appeared shrivelled, or rather quite withered away. The upper part of a
bulbous root, however, was just visible above the surface. It was a
bulb of the wild leek (_Allium tricoccum_.) The leaves, when young, are
about six inches in length, of a flat shape and often three inches
broad; but, strange to say, they shrivel or die off very early in the
season,--even before the plant flowers, and then it is difficult to find
the bulb.

Lucien, however, had sharp eyes for such things; and in a short while he
had rooted out several bulbs as large as pigeons' eggs, and deposited
them in his birchen vessel. He now turned to go back to camp, satisfied
with what he had obtained. He had the rice to give consistency to his
soup, and the leek-roots to flavour it with. That would be enough.

As he was walking over a piece of boggy ground his eye was attracted to
a singular plant, whose tall stem rose high above the grass. It was
full eight feet in height, and at its top there was an umbel of
conspicuous white flowers. Its leaves were large, lobed, and toothed,
and the stem itself was over an inch in diameter, with furrows running
longitudinally. Lucien had never seen the plant before, although he had
often heard accounts of it, and he at once recognised it from its
botanical description. It was the celebrated "cow parsnip" (_Heracleum
lanatum_). Its stem was jointed and hollow, and Lucien had heard that
the Indians called it in their language "flute-stem," as they often used
it to make their rude musical instruments from, and also a sort of
whistle or "call," by which they were enabled to imitate and decoy
several kinds of deer. But there was another use to which the plant was
put, of which the naturalist was not aware. Norman, who had been
wandering about, came up at this moment, and seeing Lucien standing by
the plant, uttered a joyful "Hulloh!"

"Well," inquired Lucien, "what pleases you, coz?"

"Why, the flute-stem, of course. You talked of making a soup. It will
help you, I fancy."

"How?" demanded Lucien.

"Why, the young stems are good eating, and the roots, if you will; but
the young shoots are better. Both Indians and voyageurs eat them in
soup, and are fond of them. It's a famous thing, I assure you."

"Let us gather some, then," said Lucien; and the