PLYMOUTH MAYFLOWERS 17 



become a burning bush of ruby flame, and along 

 the bog edges the willows are in the full glory of 

 their yellow plumes. The richest massed color- 

 ing one can see in the region today, though, is 

 that of the cranberry bogs. Looking away from 

 the sun the thick-set vines are a level floor of rich 

 maroon, not a level color but a background show- 

 ing the brush marks of a master painter's hand. 

 Toward the sun this color lightens and silvers to 

 tiny jewel points where the light glances from 

 glossy leaf tips. The later spring growth will 

 fleck the bogs with greens, but the maroon back- 

 ground will still be there. 



The arbutus does not trail in all spots beneath 

 the oaks, even in this secluded wilderness. 

 Sometimes one thinks he sees broad stretches 

 green with its rounded leaves only to find last 

 year's checkerberries grinning coral red at him, 

 instead of the soft pink tints and spicy odor of 

 the Epigaea blooms. Sometimes the pyrola simu- 

 lates it and cracks the gloss on its leaves with a 

 wan wintergreen smile at the success of the de- 

 ception. But after a little the eye learns to dis- 

 criminate in winter greens and to know the out- 

 line of the arbutus leaf and its grouping from 

 that of the others. Then success in the hunt 



