d I; 'and it belonging to the _Chenopodiaceae_, the order that owns
beets and spinach, and all the rest of them. Trust a botanist, ma'am,' I
said. It made the sweetest pink icing you ever saw, and Mrs. Marsh is
for ever deeply grateful, and rears that _Blitum_ with fond and anxious
care."

"I would like to see that plant," said Wilkinson. So they retraced
their steps to the bank, over which Coristine leaned tenderly, picking
something which he put into his mouth. "Come on, Wilks," he cried; "it
isn't blite, but something better. It's wild strawberries themselves,
and lashings of them. Sure any fool might have known them by the leaves,
even if he was a herald, the worst fool of all, and only knew them from
a duke's coronet."

For a time there was silence, for the berries were numerous, and,
although small, sweet and of delicate flavour.

"Corry, they are luscious; this is Arcadia and Elysium."

"Foine, Wilks, foine," mumbled the lawyer, with his mouth full of
berries.

"This folly of mine, sitting down on the blessings of
Providence--turning my back upon them, so to speak," he remarked, after
the first hunger was over, "reminds me of a man who took the gold medal
in natural science. He had got his botany off by rote, so, when he was
travelling between Toronto and Hamilton, a friend that was sitting
beside him said, 'Johnson, what's in that field out there?' Johnson
looked a bit put out, but said boldly, 'It's turnips.' There was an old
farmer in the seat behind him, and he spoke up and said, 'Turmuts!' said
he, 'them's hoats--ha, ha, ha!'"

As they tramped along, the botanist found some specimens: two lilies,
the orange and the Turk's cap; the willow herb, the showy ladies'
slipper, and three kinds of milkweed. He opened his knapsack, took out
the strap press, and carefully bestowed his floral treasures between
sheets of unglazed printers' paper. Wilkinson took a friendly interest
in these proceedings, and insisted on being furnished with the botanical
names of all the specimens.

"That willow-herb, now, _Epilobium angustifolium_, is called fire-weed,"
said the botanist, "and is an awful nuisance on burnt ground. There was
a Scotchman out here once, about this time of the year, and he thought
it was such a pretty pink flower that he would take some home with him.
So, when the downy-winged seeds came, he gathered a lot, and, when he
got back to Scotland, planted them. Lord! the whole country about Perth
got full