He looked down toward the grass at his feet, and there appeared near him a flash of gold.
What Harlson saw was but a dandelion.

That most home-like and steadfast flower blooms in early springtime and later in the season, with no regard to the chronology of the year.

It was one of the vagrant late gladdeners of the earth that his eye chanced to light upon.
It held him, somehow.

It was wide open--so wide that there was a white spot in its yellow center--and close above it drooped, a beech-tree's branch, so close that one long green leaf hung just above the petals.
And upon this green leaf the dew was gathering.
The man looked at the flower.
"Is all the world golden ?" he said to himself.

And he straightened and moved and went from the tent to where the open was.