Pink MOccasins

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?

"May I pick them?" asked the city girl.

"Yes, but only one root. I'll dig that up with the trowel. That's for
your friend's botany specimen. The rest we'll pull up gently and we'll
get flower, stem and leaves and leave the roots in the ground for other
years. I never pick all of the flowers. I leave some here in the woods
--it seems they belong here and I can't bring myself to walk off with
every last one of them in my arms and leave the hill desolate."