142 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 



nodded from slender stems. It was the pitcher-plant, 

 which I had never seen in blossom before. 



From the stream the hidden path wound through 

 thicket after thicket, sweet as spring, with the fra- 

 grance of the wild magnolia and the spicery of the 

 gray-green bayberry. Its course was marked with 

 white sand, part of the bed of some sea forgotten a 

 hundred thousand years ago. By the side of the path 

 showed the vivid crimson-lake leaves of the wild 

 ipecac, with its strange green flowers; while every- 

 where, as if set in snow, gleamed the green-and-gold 

 of the Hudsonia, the barrens-heather. The plants 

 looked like tiny cedar trees laden down with thickly 

 set blossoms of pure gold, which the wind spilled in 

 little yellow drifts on the white sand. In the dis- 

 tance, through the trees, were glimpses of meadows, 

 hazy -purple with the blue toad-flax. Beside the path 

 showed here and there the pale gold of the narrow- 

 leaved sundrops, with deep-orange stamens. Beyond 

 were masses of lambskill, with its fatal leaves and 

 crimson blossoms. 



On and on the path led, past jade-green pools in 

 which gleamed buds of the yellow pond-lily, like 

 lumps of floating gold. Among them were blossoms 

 of the paler golden-club, which looked like the tongue 

 of a calla lily. At last the path stretched straight 

 toward the flat-topped mound that showed dim and 

 fair through the low trees. The woods became still. 

 Even the Maryland yellow-throat stopped singing, 

 the prairie warbler no longer drawled his lazy notes, 

 and the chewink, black and white and red all over, 



