36 Bog-Trotting for Orchids 



still nearer, amid the low, grassy reeds and poison 

 sumachs of the wet swamp, three tall, stately pines 

 reared their shaggy green forms against the dark blue 

 tones of the mountains, lending strength and balance 

 to the scene. 



My day nearly spent, I packed away my colors, and 

 started on my return trip, leaving the mill at the bend 

 of the road at three o'clock. Just above the Kimball 

 Farm, I came to a pent-road leading through the 

 pastures to Ball Brook Farm, where I must go to get 

 my Moccasin-Flowers, left hidden in the stream, I 

 found them as fresh and fragrant as if just gathered. 



The walking was good, so I exchanged my high, 

 heavy boots for low shoes, which were much more 

 comfortable for dry paths and climbing hillside roads. 



Going directly up through the cow-pastures along 

 the border of the Glen of Comus, I came upon a colony 

 of Pink Moccasin-Flowers, growing on a sloping hill- 

 side under low-spreading pines and birches. Although 

 the spot was shaded, many flowers were unfolding, but 

 they were not so deep in color as time and sunshine 

 would paint them. I counted at least two hundred 

 buds and blossoms, thinking w^hat a feast for the eyes I 

 should have another day, when they were in their 

 prime. 



Later, as I turned into the Centre Road, I met 

 Lorenna, one of the school children in District Four- 

 teen. She, too, had her hands full of flowers. I 

 asked her to keep a lookout for strange, small Moc- 

 casin-Flowers, hoping thereby that she might find the 



