ORCHID-HUNTING 143 



like the newspaper in the old conundrum, stopped 

 calling his name from the thickets and singing, "Drink 

 your tea!" 



I knew that at last I had come upon a fairy hill, 

 such an one wherein the shepherd heard a host of 

 tiny voices singing a melody so haunting sweet that 

 he always after remembered it, and which has since 

 come down to us of to-day as the tune of Robin 

 Adair. Listen as I would, however, there was no 

 sound from the depths of this hill. Perhaps the sun 

 was too high, for the fairy-folk sing best in late 

 twilight or early dawn. 



The mound, like all fairy hills, was guarded. The 

 path ran into a tangle of sand-myrtle, with vivid little 

 oval green leaves and feathery white, pink-centred 

 blossoms. Just beyond stood a bush of poison-sumac. 

 Pushing aside the fierce branches, I went unscathed 

 up the mound. At its very edge was another sentry. 

 From under my feet sounded a deep, fierce hiss, and 

 there across the path stretched the great body of a 

 pine snake fully six feet long, all cream-white and 

 umber-brown. Raising its strange pointed head, 

 with its gold and black eyes, it hissed fearsomely. 

 I had learned, however, that a pine snake's hiss is 

 worse than its bite and, when I poked its rough, 

 mottled body with my foot, it gave up pretending to 

 be a dangerous snake and lazily moved off to some 

 spot where it would not be disturbed by intruding 

 humans. 



The pyxies had carpeted the side of the mound 

 thick with their wine-red and green moss, starred with 



