There could hardly be any mistaking such specific
instructions even by an ignorant mountain peon," he added,
smiling.
The girl opened the curious receptacle, and breathed a little gasp
of delight. Bedded in fern, lay a mass of long sprays aquiver with
bells of the purest, most lucent white, each with a great glow of
gold at its heart.
"Ah," observed the young Caracunan, "I see that you are persona
grata with our worthy President, Miss Brewster."
"President Fortuno?" asked the girl, surprised. "No; not that I'm
aware of. Why do you say that?"
"That is his special orchid--almost the official flower. They call
it 'the President's orchid.'"
"Has he a monopoly of growing them?" asked Miss Brewster.
"No one can grow them. They die when transplanted from their
native cliffs. But it's only the President's rangers who are
daring enough to get them."
"Are they so inaccessible?"
"Yes. They grow nowhere but on the cliff faces, usually in the
wildest part of the mountains. Few people except the hunters and
mountaineers know where, and it's only the most adventurous of
them who go after the flowers.
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