Saturday afternoon, and learned that she and
Tiny and Lena were going to the river next
day with Anna Hansen -- the elder was all in
bloom now, and Anna wanted to make elder-
blow wine.

"Anna's to drive us down in the Mar-
shalls' delivery wagon, and we'll take a nice
lunch and have a picnic. Just us; nobody
else. Couldn't you happen along, Jim? It
would be like old times."

I considered a moment. "Maybe I can, if
I won't be in the way."

On Sunday morning I rose early and got out
of Black Hawk while the dew was still heavy
on the long meadow grasses. It was the high
season for summer flowers. The pink bee-bush
stood tall along the sandy roadsides, and the
cone-flowers and rose mallow grew everywhere.
Across the wire fence, in the long grass, I saw
a clump of flaming orange-colored milkweed,
rare in that part of the State. I left the road
and went around through a stretch of pasture
that was always cropped short in summer,
where the gaillardia came up year after year
and matted over the ground with the deep,
velvety red that is in Bokhara carpets. The
country was empty and solitary except for the

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