Anna Charles smiled a faint, twisted little smile. "We've been through a lot together, Ronnie," she said wistfully, not caring if the others heard. "We've quarreled a lot, learned an awful lot together, and I think at last found that life could be beautiful for us both. So I can afford to be patient. Now look--" She bent down. Her little fists clutched a tall, tattery plant, that grew nearby in the grass. Tugging vigorously, she pulled it out. From its top, where there was a cluster of homely golden nodules, there dusted a fine, yellowish powder. Pollen. Anna's nose wrinkled. Suddenly she sneezed very hard. "Somebody ought to write some music about this plant, now," she said at last. "It is commonly known as--Ragweed. Some Terrestrials are terribly alergic to it, though nothing like the poor Acharians from flowerless Achar, of course. Its dry pollen, drifting with the summer breeze, causes more--and more violent--_hay-fever_, than anything else known on Earth!" End of Project Gutenberg's The Raiders of Saturn's Rings, by Raymond Z. Gallun