Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1918-12-31
mum FOOD
BY John Brock.

.kfT Y iii. Este malo!
1t was the first time an Indian
had volunteered conversation
with me beyond the inevitable Como eSta
usted," he passes you along the road.
had seen the old chap before, mistaking for
stupidity his stolid look. Now his wrinkled
face was eloquent with concern.
In my hand l bore a choice collection of
poisonous mushrooms, culled for practical
demonstration to those of my neighbors who
are feasting the innocent species so abund-
ant in the moist crevices OF rocky hOllows
The steam-bed, beneath the shade of the will
lows, where the wee water snakes abide, has
a remarkably yariegated crop. And, as al
ways, the innocent looking, pale amanita
lifts a deceptive head among them
l smiled and nodded thanks TO his warn
ing. But he was not to be satisfied until he
felt assured that L understood the venomous
properties of my bouquet. Finding inn
pervious TO his best and most volGble Span
ish, he resorted to Sign talk" In most
expressive dumb show he explained to me
that they would turn me fairly inside
out, give me a terrible PAIN and finally lay
me low. There could be no possible doubt
of his meaning.
But the sight of this aged and ragged
abOrigne leaning across his arm was so abb
surdly reminiscent of the small boy of dane
ing-school days attempting a ceremOnious
bow with shady notion as to the location
of his heart that l laughed aloud, though
acknowledged my conviction by tossing my
toadstoOls away.
A relieved cackle echoed my outburst; he
patted me cOnsolingly on the back, and offer
ed to assist me in a more profitable harvest.
/ accepted before he had time to think of
anything else he might have had to do,
curious to see Low far his knowledge went.
1t was thorough and accurate. In the
course of half an hour he had filled my pock-
cts with an assortment wider than my own
knowledge afforded, and l found that he
had an almost uncanny sense of where they
would be found. No Indian need go hungry
during the rains at any rate. There should
be a mushroom book especially adapted to
the Pacific slope, as the intensity of color
makes Identification by the present rules
trihe precarious. And by all means the In
dian should edit it.
Under my respect for his attainments my
mentor expanded visibly. For once a white
man was treating him as a superior; his
manner became increasingly Spanish his
gestures condescending and gracious. He
branched off into botany.
Here, Also he trod the edge of the peril
Gus with confident step. He highly recon-
mended the bulbs of wild hyacinth which
could not trust myself TO differentiate from
the Death mass though the ones he dug
for me developed a delicious flavor after
prolonged baking. L was willin; enough to
partake of what berries still fingered the
Dough until he offered me the black and
wrinkled drupe of a deadly nightshade,
which he, however, ate confidently. l MOTTO
ed, too, at this point that his palate was
more tolerant of bitter tastes than mine.
Another nightshade, he told me, would
make me dance-he illustrated with the
clumsy, hat-ooted motion of an amiable
bear, Glowing about though delighted at
my amusement. Altogether a delightfully."-
genial instructor this whom had taken for
sullen soul.
My general impression at the end of sew
eral hours was that nothing edible is be-
meath the notice of his people, from sun
flower seeds to woolly thistle sprouts. But
the browning discovery was a tiny wild 20
tato, whose delicate blossoms veined with
purple on the under sides of the translucent
leaves, resemble our Spring Beauty. Moth
ing could be more delicious than its tiny
bulb, almost ,ruitlike in its sweetness. What
he called it l could not even pronounce-he
got the laugh back on me over my attempts
much less spell, but the settlers call it