under the brink, gems of the first water in a rude 

 setting. The red blossoms glowed faintly against 

 the bald cliff like rubies set in the walls of a rock 

 temple. From under the roots of the clinging 

 spruce a small stream slid like molten glass over 

 the escarpment above and burst into spray, gently 

 undulating like a fine veil, as it descended to the 

 pool below with the dominant and strenuous song 

 of the waterfall. 



Probably honey bees do not leave their mountain 

 meadows for this dim twilight region, though they 

 may possibly become acquainted with these hanging 

 gardens on their way to some bee-tree in the 

 woods. It is left to the wandering bumblebee to 

 fertilize most woodland flowers, and in the case of 

 the columbine, perhaps to the humming-bird. On 

 the same cliff were tufts of the alpine woodsia 

 and dense patches of rock-brake — but these stand 

 in no need of the bee. 



When, at some three thousand feet, wood- 

 anemones were blooming, summer slipped gently 

 away and April took its place. It seemed quite 

 natural then to find adder's-tongue and to see 

 wake-robins and bunchberry everywhere. The last 

 part of the ascent might have been through a 



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