1 88 THE FANTASIES OF FERNS 



It was the afternoon in early August when we 

 had gone to Time o' Year's woods, crossing Tree- 

 bridge to find Rattlesnake Plantain and then to 

 have a Fern hunt through haunts that were in part 

 both moist and dry, continuing along the grassy 

 meadow edges and strip of bog that, together with 

 the river, bounded the woods on three sides. At 

 that moment we sat resting, listening to the sound 

 of the water coming down the rocky glen, its voice 

 deepened and strengthened by two days of steady 

 rain, and looking at the graceful draperies that the 

 Ferns were casting about the rocks and trailing 

 down the river banks, heaping their gauzy fabric 

 so recklessly near the water's edge that it seemed 

 as though a breeze would blow it in, while the 

 long, pliant Lady Ferns, drooping, covered each 



other's roots until 

 they had all the sin- 

 uous grace of vines. 

 "Of course it's be- 

 cause so few Ferns 

 have easy remember- 

 able English names, 

 and the lack of the 

 name, I suppose, is 

 because Ferns have 



