192 Bog-Trotting for Orchids 



these species look like the ferns that are ordinarily 

 known, and unless one turns the leaves over and ob- 

 serves the sori or fruit dots, he would never guess to 

 what family they belonged, so different are they in 

 appearance from their brothers of the boglands and 

 hillside pastures. 



The rocks about were covered with tufts of the deli- 

 cate Wall-Rue, and great tangles of the Cliff-Brake, 

 growing from twelve to fifteen inches tall. The last 

 year's growth was still brown and rusty amid the fresh 

 green fronds of this season. Hardy indeed were these 

 ferns, growing in such a dry, exposed place. 



Later in the month I made another trip to secure 

 some ferns for photographing. It was Sunda}^ and 

 the church bells w^ere ringing at North Corners as I 

 drove into the valley, and hitched my horse opposite 

 the village inn. As I went my way toward the haunts 

 of the ferns, I soon discovered that I w^as not making 

 my ascent to the cliffs alone. A gray-haired woman, 

 with basket on her arm, overtook me. She seemed to 

 be gathering the bluebells along the ledges. We began 

 to converse, and when w^e came to some ripe straw- 

 berries, we ate in a social wa}^ the fruits we found by 

 the path. She told me she was gathering bluebells to 

 decorate the chancel of the church, as it was Children's 

 Day. 



On the brow of Gregor Rocks I asked my companion 

 if the legend were true, of which Hawthorne writes, in 

 1838, during his stay in the valley at North Adams: 

 ** A mad girl leaped from the top of a tremendous 



