INDIAN SPRING 



107 



Indian pipe which I had ever seen outside the 

 botany book. I can recall even yet the series of 

 sensations which I experienced at the sight; in- 

 credulity, astonishment, certainty, joy, wonder, 

 something like that. But if this was the first, it 

 was far from being the last. The way to Indian 

 Spring seemed to be haunted by these uncanny 

 flowers. When at last we counted twenty -seven 

 in one shadowy clump we 

 ceased to look upon them as 

 a rarity, but I shall always feel 

 a thrill at the sight of them; 

 they can never become quite 

 commonplace. 



Next we passed through 

 acres of ferns, rich in color 

 and fine of texture, spread 

 like a thick carpet over the 

 stones which scattered the 

 hollows. We crossed a mere 

 thread of a brook, spring-fed 

 and clear as crystal. At its 

 border the sun came down 

 through the tree tops and made it possible for a 

 mass of low shrubs and bushes to take possession. 

 They even disputed the way with us. Among 

 them I recognized several old friends of more 

 open uplands; sedges, raspberry vines, and jewel- 

 weed vied with rough tangled bedstraw and Joe- 

 Pye weed for supremacy. 



We could not resist the temptation to digress 

 at this juncture and see where the rill would lead 



BEDSTRAW 



