Stanley. “But I don’t want to delay long enough to dig another well.”
“We won’t have to,” cheered Bub. “Up there I see an Indian cucumber plant that’ll answer nicely.” And he pointed ahead into the woods.
Stanley curiously examined the slender stem, some two feet in height and girdled with leaves surmounted by more leaves and blue berries.
“See, it grows horizontally,” said Bub, pulling it up. “Try it.” Stanley did so eagerly and found it deliciously cooling. Bub found several more and before proceeding they had quenched their thirst.
“You can always find it in low woods,” reminded Bub. “You fix it up with salt and pepper and serve it with trout and it’s better than the real cucumber for me.”
“What a wonderful place is the wood,” murmured Stanley. “And what a wonderful thing is nature. I never realized until I came to Maine that one could get food in the wilderness unless he shot or caught it.”
“In other words you never stopped to realize that everything we eat and wear springs from nature,” smiled Bub. “That’s because you’ve lived in the city, where everything you see is artificial. Your druggist sells you some medi-
