28 IN THE FLAT-WOODS. 



never seen in bloom before, although I had 

 once admired a Cape Cod " hollow " full of 

 the rank tropical leaves. St. Peter's-wort, 

 a low shrub, thrives everywhere in the pine 

 barrens, and, without being especially attrac- 

 tive, its rather sparse yellow flowers not 

 unlike the St. John's-wort do something to 

 enliven the general waste. The butterworts 

 are beauties, and true children of the spring. 

 I picked my first ones, which by chance were 

 of the smaller puq)le species (Pinyuicula 

 pumila)) on my way down from the woods, 

 on a moist bank. At that moment a white 

 man came up the road. " What do you call 

 this flower ? " said I. " Valentine's flower," 

 he answered at once. " Ah," said I, " be- 

 cause it is in bloom on St. Valentine's Day, 

 I suppose ? " " No, sir," he said. " Do you 

 speak Spanish ? " I had to shake my head. 

 " Because I could explain it better in Span- 

 ish," he continued, as if by way of apology ; 

 but he went on in perfectly good English : 

 " If you put one of them under your pillow, 

 and think of some one you would like very 

 much to see, some one who has been dead 

 a long time, you will be likely to dream of 

 him. It is a very pretty flower," he added. 



