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Updated: May 10, 2025
Sometimes the sun was raining showers of diamonds on the trembling tree-tops of the valleys while the blackest storm clouds hung in ominous menace around Mount Mitchell and the Cat-tail.
Then Olaf pushed up the creek a little further, hoping to be able to land or else reach some Marsh Wrens' nests from the boat. But one nest was all they could find a ball of grasses fastened between two cat-tail flags. Olaf cut the stalks carefully and presented it to Dodo, much to her delight.
"Over there!" She pointed to the giant peaks projecting here and there in dim, blue waves beyond the Great Craggy Range in the foreground. "Holy Moses! Do we have to climb those crags before we start?" "To go to Black Mountain?" "Yes. That's where the lawyer said they lived, under Cat-tail Peak in the Black Mountain Range wherever t'ell that is." "No, no!
And the oftener it popped into Dickie's head the less he liked it. Sometimes, when summer had ended and fall brought a night that was rainy and cold, he liked to go home after he had finished his supper, and burrow deep into his soft bed of cat-tail down.
As long as I talk of cat-tail rushes, the homeless grimalkins of the areas and the back fences help me to a vision of the swamps thickly studded with their stiff spears; but if I called them 'Typha Latifolia', or even 'Typha Angustifolia', there is not the hardiest and fiercest prowler of the roof and the fire-escape but would fly the sound of my voice and leave me forlorn amid the withered foliage of my dream.
When he wasn't looking for food and eating it when he had found it he gathered cat-tail down in Cedar Swamp. If there was one thing that he liked in a house it was a soft bed. And he knew that if the weather happened to be chilly now and then, he could snuggle into the cat-tail down and sleep as comfortably as he pleased.
“Here I am, over here,” the voice said, and then out from behind a clump of tall, waving cat-tail plants, that grew in a pond of water, there stepped a long-legged bird, with a long, sharp bill like a pencil or a penholder. “Oh ho! So it’s you, is it?” asked Bully, making ready to hop away, for as soon as he saw that long-legged and sharp-billed bird, he knew right away that he was in danger.
"Why yes, it's the stopping place for the parties that climb Mount Mitchell. I remember it. We stayed all night here, left our rig, and started next morning at sunrise on horseback to climb the trail." "Pretty near the jumping-off place, then," he remarked. "We'll ask the way to Cat-tail Peak." He stopped the car in front of the low-pitched, weather-stained frame house and blew the horn.
She wanted some sweet-flag, but not cat-tail root, and to find out which was right she had to pull up many of the long, green streamers. If Sue had known how to tell the difference otherwise it would have been easier. It was in bending over to pull up some of the flag roots that she had leaned too far, and suddenly she found herself in the water.
The sun had not yet begun to draw the flies from their hiding places to buzz over the surface of the water. As he shot into the centre of the pool only one fly was in sight. A rather decrepit looking black fly was doddering about a cat-tail stalk at the edge of the pond. One quick flirt of his body, and Twinkle-tail slid out of the water and took the fly in his leap. But that was no breakfast.
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