Aunt Merce rummaged her pocket for flagroot; mother resumed her paper.

A short, quick stalk, and the muskrat, still eating a flagroot, was within thirty feet.

She took her handkerchief and a bit of flagroot from her pocket, to be ready for the sympathetic flow which she expected.

Therein she kept her keys, her smelling-bottle, her pocket-book, her handkerchief and her spectacles, a bit of flagroot and some liquorice stick.