22 Bog-Trotting for Orchids 



which had at one time bloomed among these very hills 

 ages and ages ago. 



Climbing a fence, I found myself in a parched, short- 

 cropped cow-pasture, but the stream soon passed into a 

 large tamarack swamp, where in many places neither 

 man nor beast can wander with ease or safety. I rested 

 under a wide-spreading pine tree, looking the marsh 

 over to choose the best path through it, for I still had 

 some distance to walk before I could reach Pownal 

 Pond and the Bogs of Etchowog. 



In order to make my journey less burdensome, I de- 

 cided to leave my treasures of gold and crimson hidden 

 in this stream, where they would not only keep fresh, 

 but would be much safer than with me. I felt that 

 they would be reasonably safe from marauders, for 

 orchids are far more numerous than human beings in 

 this forlorn locality; for where verdant meadows might 

 spread were only uncultivated, almost impassable, dis- 

 mal swamp-lands. 



At last my flowers were safely placed in the bend of 

 the brook near an old pine stump, where I made them 

 fast, covering them with the coarse brakes which grow 

 everywhere; then I strode on northward through the 

 tamarack swamp. This marsh covers a large part of 

 Ball Farm, from which the brook crossing it derives 

 its name. 



Through the trees I could see the old weather-worn 

 farm buildings, nestling in the shade of a dozen or 

 more large, thrifty maples, and now and then I heard 

 a faint murmur of distant voices. Suddenly they sub- 



