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Updated: August 10, 2024
Part of his walls were mallow, part alder, thorn, willow, and dogwood. Below there filled in a solid mass of pale pink sheep-laurel, and yellow St. John's wort, while the amber threads of the dodder interlaced everywhere. At one side the swamp came close, here cattails grew in profusion.
He glanced at the pan of his rifle, then again fixed his keen, blue eyes on the tiny glimmer of white which even I could distinguish now, though Heaven only knows how his eyes had found it in all that tangle. "That's raw wood," he repeated. "A deer might bark a twig," said I. "Maybe, sorr," muttered Murphy; "but there's divil a deer w'ud nibble sheep-laurel."
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