166 THE BROOK BOOK 



tight little bunches of cornel berries. There, too, 

 we found the rich crimson fruit of trillium, which 

 was new to me. The blue bullets of Clintonia (so 

 the Botanist had called it) , were held aloft on a tall 

 stalk, between the orchid-like leaves ; the red ones 

 of the cucumber-root looked tempting enough. 

 Pokeweed, too, was there, and from a distance we 

 could see the birds busy gathering those juiciest of 

 purple berries. 



So much has been said and is still being said 

 about spring flowers, that I often wonder why so 

 few writers seem to have followed these same 

 plants into the late summer. Their fruits are every 

 bit as varied and often more showy than their 

 flowers. Their ruddy or russet colors give char- 

 acter and spirit to the woods of early autumn, just 

 as their delicate blossoms are the charm of May. 



Peering among the mosses and lichens which 

 clung to the rocks we discovered another pedes- 

 trian. It was none other than the "walking fern." 

 The finding of this rare and beautiful plant was a 

 thrilling event. Long ago the Walking Party had 

 chosen it as one of its symbols. The "walking 

 stick" was another. I have forgotten the original 

 application, but the rate of speed of these two 

 creatures might well be taken as symbolic of the 

 lagging habits which some of our members had 

 lately fallen into. 



The walking fern we found that day was the 

 first I had ever seen outside the herbarium. It 

 had come climbing over the edge of a bank, and 

 already one of its long tapering fronds had "taken 



