Queen of Moccasin-Flo-wers 67 



buds of the Pitcher Plant and the purple Fleur-de-lis. 

 It seemed a land of dreams. 



The air vibrated with the happy, mellow song of 

 birds, interspersed with the ever-present lesser sounds 

 of deep solitudes. Major, like me, at first, was cautious 

 where he wandered, but once amid the various haunts 

 of wild creatures of the wood, he caught the happy 

 spirit of the hound, frisking and studiously following 

 the paths of the wild little animals to the very doors 

 of their homes. 



To test the land, I stood and deliberately shook the 

 foundation of the earth. All the blossoming ground 

 about me, for at least fifteen feet distant, trembled as 

 if it were so much jelly. Yet the spot was honey- 

 combed and dry on the surface, there having been 

 little rain in this region during the month. 



I now sought the western hillside path, and bearing 

 northwestward around the border of the swamp, I 

 occasionally ventured in and out along the edges of the 

 meadow bushes. Finally I reached the swamp maples, 

 which I had observ^ed from the interior, and I secured 

 a good-sized branch of the gold and crimson clusters 

 to carry off with my load of treasures. On every hand, 

 out of the small, muddy pools of water, rose the leaves 

 of the Buckbean {Meyiyanthes trifoliatd). The beauti- 

 ful spikes of white-bearded flowers were turning brown 

 with age, and the plants were setting their bullet-like 

 seed-pods. Now and then, beneath the low, shaggy 

 pines, I found the humble Pink Moccasin - Flower 

 {Cypripedium acatcle), which I hailed as a sign that 



