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?