THE PRIMULA 



"HAVE you never been down under the bridge 

 to see the Primula?" inquired the Doctor. "Why, 

 is it possible? Can you go at five o'clock to-day?" 



Of course we could and did. It was a warm after- 

 noon for the middle of May. How grateful was the 

 cool shade at the bottom of Fall Brook gorge, after 

 descending the many steps which lead one down 

 from the haunts of men to the home of ferns and 

 saxifrage, away from the sound of many hammers to 

 the soothing plash of flowing water. 



After a rest at the end of the swinging bridge, we 

 began our walk up the stream. It was half scramble 

 and half run or slide. The banks were steep and 

 moist, but their mossy sides were full of delightful 

 surprises. Many were the distracting sights on this 

 zigzag path, which zigzagged in at least three dimen- 

 sions. The partridge berry set forth its red fruits in 

 tempting array. Never had they seemed so large or 

 so brilliant as now against their glossy green back- 

 ground. Would they not grow in that shady spot in 

 the garden? Should one take them up now or 

 make a special trip ? 



The interest in partridge berry is suddenly 

 crowded out by a clump of snowy tiarella or false 

 mitre-wort, now lit up by a sunbeam strayed in from 

 the outer world just to give such shadowy flowers a 



(48) 



