Perhaps the moccasined feet of the Indian check the 

 growth of the native plants and press the daisy seeds 

 into the ground just enough. 



Whatever may be the true cause, the cheerful 

 white-and-yellow daisy has converted some of the 

 old camping grounds of Cree and Chippewa among 

 the sombre pines into a veritable starland of flowers. 



I have come upon many gorgeous floral scenes in 

 the Northwoods, each with a charm of its own. The 

 lily-dotted lakes, the great areas of purple fireweed. 

 the shady trail lined with the white-and-green of the 

 partridge berry, the great patches of moccasin flowers 

 among the old spruces and tamarack, all left in- 

 delible pictures on my mind ; but the most wonderful 

 of all the wild flower landscapes are the acres of 

 daisies on an old camping ground near the divide be- 

 tween Lake Superior and Hudson Bay. There were 

 four or five acres of them, planted amongst scattered 

 jack pines, in the hap-hazard but most pleasing fash- 

 ion of wild nature. Close up they crept to the desert- 

 ed tepee poles and fire places of the Indians. Where 

 they grew somewhat thinly, they shaded the richest 

 wild strawberries, while over most of the ground they 

 grew in dense profusion. I made several trips from 

 my camp just to see the wild daisy garden, the garden 

 of "White men's weed" as the Indians call it. 



Our own native woodland flowers have a charm 

 of their own. The shallow lakes are dotted with white 

 and yellow water lilies; that is, where Manitou cattle, 

 the moose, have not uprooted them. 



In tamarack and spruce swamps flourish the strange 

 pitcher plant, the rich red purple Noah's ark and the 



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