74 DON*T PLUCK IT 



generation have settled into long mounds of moss and 

 lichens. There the floral treasures are to be found, 

 and there they should be left to live out their lives, 

 emblematic of the joy that lingers where all seems 

 shadowy and dark. 



There are flowers that can fight their way among 

 the grasses of the hills and fields, and give a happy 

 and defiant invitation to all who seek them. The ox- 

 eye Daisies of summer may be gathered in armfuls. 

 The Cone Flower, too, seems to thrive in spite of its 

 rich attractiveness. The Asters of advancing summer 

 and the Golden-rods of autumn are also of the 

 composites that thrive in spite of inconsiderate 

 collecting. Jo Pie Weed, tall and vigorous, displays 

 its purple crown of flowers and four-leaved whirls 

 of green where marsh and land vegetation meet. 

 It perpetuates the name and fame of an Indian 

 medicine man. But there are so many flowers that 

 suffer and are threatened with local extermination 

 that their friends are warranted in appealing to the 

 public to spare them. The beautiful blue of the 

 Fringed Gentian is seen less frequently than hereto- 

 fore. It is an annual and unless its flowers are allowed 

 to fill their mission and produce seed it cannot 

 survive. The deeper ultramarine and lighter shades 

 of the Lobelia are also growing more scarce by 

 the choked and sluggish streams, and the Cardinal 

 Lobelia, the brightest of all the sisterhood of flowers, 



