FERNS AS A HOBBY 



mountains of Vermont. It seemed almost desecra- 

 tion to force this little aristocrat to consort with the 

 pepper-pots and pickles of a hotel dining-room. In 

 my eagerness to see Calypso in her forest-home I 

 could scarcely wait to eat the breakfast for which a 

 few moments before I had been painfully hungry. 



Unfortunately the waiters at Banff were proved 

 as ruthless as vandals in other parts of the world. 

 Among the pines that clothed the lower mountain- 

 sides I found many plants of Calypso, but only one 

 or two of the delicate blossoms had been left to 

 gladden the eyes of those who love to see a flower 

 in the wild beauty of its natural surroundings. 



That same eventful day had in store for me an- 

 other delight as the result of my love for plants. 

 For a long time I had wished to know the shooting- 

 star, a flower with whose general appearance from 

 pictures or from descriptions I was familiar. I 

 knew that it grew in this part of the world, but dur- 

 ing a careful search of the woods and meadows and 

 of the banks of the rushing streams the only shoot- 

 ing-star I discovered was a faded blossom which 

 someone had picked and flung upon the mountain- 

 path. Late in the afternoon, having given up the 

 hope of any fresh find, I went for a swim in the 

 warm sulphur pool. While paddling about the clear 

 water, revelling in the beauty of the surroundings 

 and the sheer physical joy of the moment, my eyes 

 fell suddenly on a cluster of pink, cyclamen-like 

 blossoms springing from the opposite rocks. I 

 recognized at once the pretty shooting-star. 



6 



