"Aren't those masses of willow-herb splendid? I love willow-herb
in seed. What's the name of this aromatic plant?"
No one knew, or seemed to care.
"These abrupt changes of vegetation--this little spongeous
tract of water plants, and on either side of it all the growths
are tough or brittle--heather, bracken, hurts, pines. Very
charming, very charming.
"Mr. Beebe, aren't you bathing?" called Freddy, as he stripped
himself.
Mr. Beebe thought he was not.
"Water's wonderful!" cried Freddy, prancing in.
"Water's water," murmured George. Wetting his hair first--a sure
sign of apathy--he followed Freddy into the divine, as
indifferent as if he were a statue and the pond a pail of
soapsuds. It was necessary to use his muscles. It was necessary
to keep clean. Mr. Beebe watched them, and watched the seeds of
the willow-herb dance chorically above their heads.
"Apooshoo, apooshoo, apooshoo," went Freddy, swimming for two
strokes in either direction, and then becoming involved in reeds
or mud.
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