98 Bog-Trotting for Orchids 



trace twenty miles of fairy- sea, as the foaming fog fol- 

 lows the serpentine windings of the Hoosac from its 

 source under Greylock, ever broadening toward the 

 plains of Hoosac Falls and the hills of Saratoga. Be- 

 fore ten o'clock the mist usually dissolves, or rises as 

 the sun burns forth. 



In all my wanderings, I had kept an eye out for the 

 leaves and seed-capsules of the Ram's- Head Moccasin- 

 Flower {Cypripedium arietinurn), and had revisited the 

 Amidon Woods, where Lorenna found the first speci- 

 men for me, but without discovering any new plants. 

 On Sunday, the second day of July, a friend and my- 

 self drove to Pownal Centre. We returned by the 

 Gulf, or ** Witch- Hollow " path, — a cross- to wm road 

 seldom travelled, although shaded and pleasant. Here 

 the sounds of the winds, breathing and reverberating 

 through the narrow vales, then dying mournfully in 

 the distance, intimidated the early settlers, who, being 

 superstitious, attributed the sounds to the witches so 

 prevalent in the history of New England. To-day 

 there are no more dreadful sounds in these glens than 

 the hoots of owls and the piping of frogs in the Chalk 

 Pond pools. 



We were nearing the pond region. Just west of the 

 road there is a beautiful, ever-bubbling spring, known 

 far and wide to tourists sauntering to Mann Mountain 

 beyond. From this I washed to get a draught of de- 

 licious water for my friend, so I hitched the old horse 

 to a tree by the roadside. Somehow this morning I 

 lost my bearings, and entered the wrong ravine. I had 



