The pink moccasin, the largest of our native orchids, is easily the

queen of the rare woodland spot in which it grows. Its flower of bright

rose pink, veined with red, is held with the stalwart erectness of an

Indian, whose love of solitude and quiet woods it shares.

To Amanda it was one of the loveliest flowers of the woods. She always

counted the days as the time drew near when the moccasins bloomed.

When Isabel Souders arrived at the Reist farmhouse she found Amanda

ready with basket and trowel for the lady-slipper hunt. Amanda had put

on a simple white dress and green-and-white sun hat. She looked with

bewilderment at the city girl's attire, but said nothing just then.

They stopped long enough for Isabel to meet the mistress of the home

and then they went down the road to the Crow Hill schoolhouse.

Suddenly Isabel stood still and panted. "Oh--Manda--you _can_ run!

Have compassion on me. My hair will be all tumbled after such mad

walking, and my organdie torn."

"Hair!" echoed the country girl with a laugh. "Who thinks about hair on

a moccasin hunt? You should not go flower hunting in city clothes. With

your pink and white dress and lovely Dresden sash, silk stockings and

low shoes, you look more fit for a dance than a ramble after deep woods

flowers, such as moccasins. But we might as well go on now."

She led the way across the school-yard, climbed nimbly over the rail

fence and laughed at Isabel's clumsy imitation of her. Pink azaleas

grew in great bushes of bloom throughout the woods. Isabel would have

stopped to pick some but Amanda said, "That withers easily. Better pick

them when we come back."

They followed a narrow path, so narrow that later the summer luxuriant

growth of underbrush would almost obliterate it. But Amanda knew the

way to her spot. Deeper into the woods they delved, past bowers of pink

azalea and closely growing branches of trees whose tender green foliage

was breaking into summer growth. The bright May sunshine dripped

through the green and dappled the ground in little discs of gold.

Suddenly the path led up-hill in a steep grade. Amanda stopped and

leaned against a slender sapling.

"Stand here and look up," she invited.

Isabel obeyed, her gaze traveling searchingly along the steep trail.

"Oh, the beauties!" she cried as she discovered the pink flowers. "The

beauties! Oh, there are more of them! And still more! Oh, Amanda!"

Before them was Amanda's haunt of the pink moccasin. From the low

underbrush of spring growth rose several dozen gorgeously beautiful

pink lady-slippers, each alone on a thick stem with two broad leaves

spreading their green beauty near the base. What miracle had brought

the rare shy plants so near the dusty road where rattling wagons and

gliding automobiles sped on their busy way?




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