THE SEASON OP FLOWERS 193 



as impartially as over the bills of the iridescent 

 mites of humming birds that sometimes hover 

 over them, almost while you pick, to take their 

 last sip of sweetness from the lily's deep narrow 

 throat. 



The pavement dwellers that meet you return- 

 ing will never suspect or believe that you are 

 carrying wild flowers. 



The lilies grow also in the moist places along 

 the railroad between Glencoe and Ravinia, in 

 the open fields at Clyde and Berwyn, and prob- 

 ably at many points between the western edge 

 of the city and the Desplaines river. 



The field lilies yield the palm but to the most 

 magnificent of all America's native flowers, the 

 pink lady-slipper, and her attractive but shyer 

 cousins in yellow. The pink slippers are full 

 two inches long and marvelously beautiful in 

 form and tints. Years ago they grew thickest 

 where East Chicago now is, and once I stood 

 on a low sand ridge and counted more than two 

 hundred bordering a swampy spot. They tossed, 

 proud and free in the full sunshine, at the top of 

 their tall, straight stalks, yet I picked them down 

 to the ground, all I could carry, and they made 

 my neighbors and my child-garden glad. Now I 

 would not harm one on any account. I am 



