Chapter XII: Part VI: Flowers (1)

THE BUILDING PLAN OF THE CHERRY BLOSSOM

One day your teacher brought to school a branch broken from the cherry tree. This she placed in water, standing the tumbler on the sunny window sill; and now its buds have burst into a glory of white blossoms.

To-day I want you to study the flower of the cherry; for if you know all about this flower, which is put together in a rather simple way, one that is easy to study, it will not be so difficult for you to understand other, less simple flowers.

You may wonder why I do not wait till the cherry tree outside is in blossom; but if we waited till May, other flowers, which are not built on quite so simple a plan, would have come and gone, and you would not have been able to understand them so well as if you had first studied the simple make-up of the cherry blossom.

Last fall we learned a little about this flower, but we had only its picture to help us in our work: so I think it well to begin all over again.

In looking at the cherry blossom (Fig. 160), we should first notice the green cup which holds the rest of the flower.

This cup is divided into five green leaves.

During the babyhood of the flower, when it was quite too young to face the cold, windy world, these green leaves were folded together so as to shut away from all harm its more delicate parts.

Above this green cup we see a circle made up of five white leaves. These pretty leaves are spread outward as if they were quite proud of themselves, and eager to attract attention.

And that is just what they are trying to do; for the cherry blossom is not wise enough to know that here in the schoolroom there are no bee visitors to bring it yellow dust, and to help it grow into a cherry. These leaves are the little handkerchiefs which the cherry tree, just like the apple tree we read about long ago, uses in signaling the bees.

Within the circle of white leaves you see a quantity of what we named “pins with dust boxes.” You remember that these dust boxes hold the powdery material which is as wonderful as Cinderella’s fairy godmother in its power to do strange and surprising things.

And in the very center of the flower you find a single “pin,” as we called it, with a flat top which is not a dust box.

But you remember that at the foot of this pin is another sort of box, a seedbox (Fig. 161).

And you have not forgotten that it is on the flat top of this pin that the bee brushes the yellow dust which gives new life to the seed below, and turns the little case of the seedbox into the juicy cherry.

So now what do we find in the cherry blossom? We find

1. A green cup cut above into separate leaves.

2. A circle of white leaves.

3. Some pins with dust boxes.

4. One pin with a seedbox.

Here you have the plan on which the cherry blossom is built (for flowers, like houses, are built on different plans), and the building plan of the cherry blossom is one of the simplest of all. So it is well, before studying more difficult flowers, to feel quite at home with this one. And you must try to remember first what work each part of the flower is expected to perform; for you see that the leaves of the green cup, the pretty white leaves, the pins with dust boxes, and the pin with a seedbox, have each and all their special task,—a task which they alone are able to accomplish.

Now, in talking about a flower it is troublesome to use a great many words where one would answer every purpose, so I will tell you what these different parts of the flower have been named; and by taking a little trouble to remember these names, we can save a good deal of time.

The green cup is called the “calyx.”

“Calyx” is a Greek word meaning “cup.”

The circle of leaves which grow above the green cup or calyx is called the “corolla.”

“Corolla” comes from a word which means “crown.”

The pins with dust boxes are called “stamens.”

“Stamen” comes from a word meaning “to stand.”

The pin with a seedbox is called the “pistil.”

“Pistil” is another form of the word “pestle.” A pestle is an instrument used in the drug shops for pounding and mixing medicines. You might ask to look at one the next time you are sent to the drug shop, and then you can see for yourselves if it really looks like its namesake, the pin with a seedbox.

Perhaps at first you may find it a little difficult to bear in mind these four words with their meanings; but soon they will become quite easy, and will save you much trouble.

Green cup,—calyx.

Circle of flower leaves,—corolla.

Pins with dust boxes,—stamens.

Pin with seedbox,—pistil.

If you remember the names of these four parts of the flower, how the different parts look, and what they do, you will have made a good start in the study of flowers.

LILIES

I think most of you know by sight at least one of the three following flowers.

I have asked for pictures of three different kinds of lilies, so that the city and country children alike may recognize an old friend; for every spring the white Easter lily (Fig. 162) stands outside the flower shops, and decorates the churches, and travels through the streets in the peddler’s cart; while in summer time the country is bright with the wood and meadow lilies (Figs. 163, 164).

And I hope that even now one of the living blossoms is before you, for I want you to see for yourselves what plan these lilies use in flower building.

The building plan of the cherry, you remember, began with a green cup or calyx.

Do you find in the lily any green cup?

No, there is nothing of the sort in the lilies. You see only a circle of flower leaves. In the last chapter you learned to call such a circle the corolla. But the wise men say that without a calyx there cannot be a real corolla. So in the lily we will speak of the “flower leaves” instead of the corolla.

Next we find six of the pins with dust boxes, or the stamens.

And then we come to the pin with a seedbox below, or the pistil.

So the building plan of the lily has only three divisions:—

1. Flower leaves.

2. Stamens.

3. Pistil.

If you look at the lower side of the outer row of flower leaves, you will see that they are streaked with green; and that when the flower is still in bud, only the green, thick parts of these leaves are exposed to the wind and cold, while the more delicate parts of the blossom are hidden almost as snugly as though they were covered by the leaves of a green cup or calyx.

These lilies are pleasant flowers to study. Their different parts are so large and simple that you have no doubt as to what they are meant for. The bees could hardly overlook their great, showy handkerchiefs; and the heaping dust boxes must powder the visiting bees so freely with golden or brownish dust, that plenty of this is sure to be carried to the pistil of a neighboring blossom; and the flat tip of this pistil is so large and so sticky, that, once the dust is brushed upon it, it is sure to stay there until its wonderful work is accomplished.

The gay tulip (Fig. 165) is a cousin to the lily. It is built on almost the same plan. There is no green cup in the tulip; but every tulip has

1. Flower leaves.

2. Stamens.

3. Pistil.

The tip of the tulip’s pistil is divided into three parts.

ABOUT STAMENS

Let us take a good look at the stamens of the Easter lily. There are six of these. Each dust box is fastened to the tip of a tall stalk. Fig. 166 shows you a single stamen from the Easter lily. It is drawn somewhat larger than life. Its box has opened, and is letting out some grains of dust.

There are many different kinds of stamens. I will show you some pictures that will give you an idea of their great variety. Here is one taken from the flower of the shin leaf (Fig. 167). The dust makes its escape through two little openings at the very top of the box.

That shown in Fig. 168 is from the barberry. The sides of the box open like a door which is hinged on top. This arrangement lets out a quantity of dust.

Here is a collection of stamens of different sorts. Fig. 169 has two boxes at the top of its stalk, and so has Fig. 171. Fig. 172 has a crosspiece, with a good-sized box at one end, and only the little beginnings of a box at the other. Fig. 170 has a similar crosspiece, with a box at one end only.

You see that flower faces show quite as much variety as do the faces of the people you know. You must not expect to find stamens all alike, any more than you would expect all the boys and girls you know to have noses of the same shape, or hair of the same color.

This picture (Fig. 173) shows you all the stamens of the pea blossom. Do you notice that quite a number of these (nine, in fact) grow together close about the pistil, while the tenth one stands alone? That is a strange custom always observed by the stamens of the pea.

Next we see all the stamens from one of the tiny flowers of the golden-rod (Fig. 174). These are very much larger than life. There are five of them, fastened together in a sort of tube. Split open this tube and flatten it out. Now they look like five little sisters, arm in arm (Fig. 175).

And here, again joined in a tube, we see the stamens of the mallow (Fig. 176). From the hollow of this tube stand out the tops of the mallow’s pistils.

Some flowers have so many stamens that you would find it almost impossible to count them. This little blossom (Fig. 177), the enchanter’s nightshade (drawn much larger than life), has only two.

I hope that you children, from now on, will be unwilling to pass by a flower without looking to see whether its stamens are few or many; and I hope you will try to carry away in your minds a clear idea of the size and shape of their dust boxes.

FLOWER DUST, OR POLLEN

When a child smells a flower, he is apt to put his nose right into the middle of the blossom, and to take it out with a dab of yellow dust upon its tip.

When he brushes off this dust, of course he does not stop to think that each tiny grain holds a speck of the wonderful material we read about some time ago, the material without which there can be no life.

And probably he does not know that the dust grains from the lily are quite unlike those which he rubs upon his nose when he smells a daisy; that different kinds of flowers yield different kinds of flower dust.

If you should look through a microscope at a grain of flower dust from the lily, you would see an object resembling Fig. 178.

Fig. 179 shows a grain from the pretty blue flower of the chicory. Fig. 180 is a dust grain from the flower of the pine tree. Fig. 181 is from the laurel, and the odd-looking Fig. 182 is from a dust box of the evening primrose.

The next picture (Fig. 183) shows you a group of dust grains from flowers of different kinds, one looking like a porcupine, another like a sea shell, another like some strange water animal, and all, I fancy, quite unlike any idea you may have had as to the appearance of a grain of flower dust.

When you are older, I hope it may be your good luck to see through a microscope some of the odd shapes and curious markings of different kinds of flower dust, or “pollen,” as this flower dust is called in the books.

And now that you know something of the appearance of flower dust, perhaps you wish to learn a little more of the way in which it helps the flower to turn into the fruit.

ABOUT PISTILS

But first you must know a little something about the pistil, if I am really to make clear to you how the flower dust helps the flower to change into fruit.

This picture (Fig. 184) shows you the pistil of the lily. At the foot of this pistil, you remember, is the box which holds the lily’s seeds.

The top of the lily’s pistil is quite large and somewhat flat. It is almost as sticky as if it had received a dab of glue.

This flat top dwindles below into a stalk, which grows larger again at its lower end.

Now take a sharp knife and cut open lengthwise this pistil.

The lower, thicker part, seen through a magnifying glass, looks like Fig. 185. You see a great many baby seeds fastened to a central wall. Each one of these seeds holds a speck of the wonderful material without which there is no life. But this speck of life has not the power to make the seed grow into a plant. To do this, the seed must have some outside help; and this help can come only from a grain of flower dust.

Perhaps you wonder how a dust grain brushed on the pistil’s flat top can ever reach the baby seeds hidden away in the seedbox.

I could not tell you to-day how this is done were it not for those wise and patient men and women who have spent days and weeks and months, and even years, in watching and studying the ways of plants.

But first let me ask you a question.

What happens when a healthy seed falls on moist ground?

Why, it seems to take in the moisture, and to thrive upon it. It swells up, and at last it bursts open, and it sends a root down into the earth.

Now, something not altogether unlike this happens when a lily dust grain falls upon the moist tip of a lily pistil. The dust grain sucks in the moisture. It grows bigger and bigger. The outer skin becomes too small for the swelling contents. At last it bursts open, letting out a little tube.

This little tube works its way down through the stalk of the pistil, almost as a root pushes down into the earth, and at last it reaches one of the seeds in the seedbox below.

And into this tiny seed the little tube pushes its way.

The tube has carried with it that speck of wonderful living material which every dust grain holds. And when this living speck has been added to that which the seed already holds, a great change begins to come about.

This new touch of life, added to that already present, gives the lily seed the power to grow into a lily plant.

The other dust grains that were brushed upon the flat top of the lily’s pistil act in just the same way. Apparently without difficulty the different tubes find their way to the different seeds, till at last each one has received the fresh touch of life without which it cannot grow into a lily plant.

I cannot show a lily dust grain in the act of sending out its life-bearing tube; but above is a dust grain (Fig. 186) from the thorn apple. You see that it has burst open, and that a tube is pushing its way out.

This picture (Fig. 187) is that of a pistil seedbox cut open, showing you a tube that is working its way from the dust grain above to a tiny seed in the seedbox below.

As I told you in the last chapter, the name “pollen” has been given to this wonder-working flower dust. A grain of flower dust is a grain of pollen.

In many flowers you will find a pistil much like the one that you see in the lily.

But there are as many different kinds of pistils as there are different kinds of stamens.

This pistil (Fig. 188) is from the grass of Parnassus, that pretty white flower which you find in the wet meadows in August and September. It has no real stalk, you see, like that of the lily; but it is quite thick all the way from top to bottom. In Fig. 189 it is cut across, showing the seeds inside.

Many pistils that are joined in one piece below, where the seeds are held, separate above into two or more parts. Fig. 190 shows the seed holder of a saxifrage, divided into two pieces above; Fig. 191 gives that of the Saint John’s-wort, separating into three parts; that of the sundew (Fig. 192) separates into six parts. Fig. 193 is a section of the pea flower. This is cut lengthwise so as to show you the seeds which line the inner surface of the pistil. Here you have the baby pea pod.

All these flowers have only one real pistil,—one pistil which may persuade you, by the way in which it separates above, into thinking that there are more than one. So you must be on your guard in this respect, and remember that flowers have a way of playing tricks with all but the most wide-awake of boys and girls. Look long and carefully before you declare that a flower has only one pistil.

Here we see half of a buttercup (Fig. 194). The buttercup has a great many entirely separate pistils. Look sharply at the picture, and you will see them crowded upon the little thimble-shaped object in the middle of the blossom. Do not confuse them with the stamens, for the buttercup has also a great many stamens. When buttercup time comes round, I want every one of you to look at these many pistils and stamens.

The next picture (Fig. 195) shows you a strawberry. In the strawberry blossom the pistils are so small, and so crowded, and so hidden by the many stamens, that it is not easy to see them; and so I show you the full-grown berry, with little pistils scattered all over its surface. Each of those tiny objects which stand out on the strawberry is a separate pistil.

Whenever you look at a flower, I want you to remember that its bright flower leaves will soon fade and fall, and that its stamens will lose their pollen and wither away, but that the pistil or pistils will remain, turning at last into the ripened fruit,—the fruit which is the end, the aim, the object, of the plant’s life.

THE FIRST ARRIVAL

I should like to ask each of you children to tell me what flower you believe to be first to come in the spring.

Some of you have never stopped to think about this. But there are sure to be a few among you who will name one special flower as the earliest of the year.

Perhaps even in March you may have ventured into the woods to look for the lovely, fragrant, waxlike blossoms of the trailing arbutus. You know the sheltered hollow where the snow first melts; and there the delicate pink flowers make you glad with their beauty, and with the thought of the good time coming. To some of us this first hunt for the arbutus is one of the great events of the year. It means the beginning of long, delicious hours in the fresh air, with birds and trees and butterflies and wild flowers as our chosen companions.

But not all of you will agree that this trailing arbutus is the first spring flower. Many think the violet can lay claim to this honor. The yellow violet especially may be found in the woods before the trees have put forth their leaves.

And some say that the little blue liverwort (sometimes this is pink or white) is the earliest of all; and others vote for the spring beauty, or for the yellow adder’s tongue, or for the Dutchman’s breeches, or for the anemone.

And still others say that the marsh marigold, the shining flower that in April gilds the wet meadows, leads the procession.

But you are wrong, every one of you. The earliest blossom of the year makes its appearance long before any of these flowers you have mentioned.

The first plant to blossom knows better than to proclaim the change of season by anything so fragile as a violet, an anemone, a spring beauty. It sends out its rather coarse little flowers under the protection of a tough waterproof hood, which shields them from the rude winds and nipping cold.

This plant bears the ugly name of skunk cabbage (Fig. 196). Its broken stem and leaves give out an odor which at once persuades you that its title is deserved.

In the swamps the skunk cabbages send up by the dozen the curious purple hoods which curl about the thick clusters of little flowers. When you come across a colony of these queer-looking objects, no wonder it never occurs to you that the first flower of spring is at hand. The great shiny hoods look more like snails than like flowers; and indeed usually the flowers are not in sight at all, so well are they shielded by these hood-like leaves.

But each little hidden flower has four flower leaves, four stamens, and one pistil. When they have been dusted with pollen by fly visitors, and are preparing to turn into fruit, the purple hoods wither away. Then the plant sends up clusters of large bright green leaves. In June you see these great leaves everywhere in the wet woods.

So if you wish to be on hand to welcome the very first flower of the year, you must begin to keep your eyes open by the end of February. You must visit the swamps each day, and look for the purple hoods inside which are snugly hidden the little blossoms of the skunk cabbage.

And I advise you now to take a sheet of paper and make a list of the plants as you find them in flower. Put down the date of each blossom as it appears, and the place where you find it. If you begin to do this as children, and keep it up when you are older, you will take real delight in the habit. Each year it will interest you more and more to turn back to the old lists and discover whether the flowers are on time, or whether they are late or early in making their first appearance.

I hope your teacher will start you at once with such a list; for the sooner you begin, the more complete will be your pleasure in this delightful season.

PUSSY WILLOWS

Soon after the skunk cabbage has sent up its purple hoods comes the pussy-willow season. But it is not every child who has the luck to be in the country at this time.

There is a clean, sweet smell in the air. Down in the boggy meadow, just before nightfall, the little frogs sing so loud that you wonder if they are trying to make you believe the birds have come back.

The brook is getting a bright green border. The buds on the trees are so big that you feel sure in a few hours they must burst open. And you know that each new day may bring with it some happy surprise,—a bird, a leaf, or a flower that you have not seen for many a long month.

So when you find the willow branches set thick with silken pussies, you know that a happy time has begun, at least for you country children.

And even the city children learn to love these soft pussies when they are placed in tall vases on the teacher’s desk.

If you look carefully at the different branches, you see that they bear different kinds of pussies; and your teacher will tell you, or perhaps you will discover yourselves, that these different branches were broken from different trees.

Do you know what each “pussy,” or tassel, is made up of?

Each tassel is made up of many tiny flowers.

But willow flowers are built on quite a different plan from cherry flowers. If you pick apart one of these tassels, and examine a single blossom, you will find it hard to believe that it is a flower at all.

On one branch the tassels are all golden yellow. The flowers that make up these yellow tassels have neither flower leaves nor pistils. Each blossom has two stamens which are fastened to a little fringed leaf, and nothing more. Such a flower, much magnified, is given in the picture (Fig. 197). The golden color comes from the yellow pollen which has been shaken from the dust boxes.

The other branch is covered with silvery green tassels. Each flower in these tassels is made up of a single pistil, which is also fastened to a little fringed leaf (Fig. 198).

So you see the building plan used by one kind of pussy-willow flowers is nothing but two stamens; while the plan used by the other kind is still simpler, it is nothing but one pistil.

The golden dust is carried by the bees from the willows which bear dust boxes to those other willows whose flowers have only seedboxes.

When they have given to the bees their pollen, the yellow tassels fade away; but the silvery green tassels, on account of their seedboxes, grow large and ripe, turning into the fruit shown in Fig. 62, p. 61; and this fruit is one of the kind which scatters its seeds abroad by fastening them to silky sails.

ALDERS AND BIRCHES

There is another shrub or low tree growing along the brook’s edge which flowers almost as early as the willows.

This is the alder.

Perhaps you noticed last fall that these alders were hung with a quantity of little green tassels. These tassels did not fall off with the leaves in November. Through the long winter they clung to the shrub. Sometimes they wore little coats of ice which made them look like the glass ornaments on a Christmas tree.

When the warm weather came, they put off their ice coats, and grew larger and longer, and at last let out a quantity of stamens.

But on the same alder tree that bears these tassels with flowers made up of stamens or dust boxes (Fig. 199, _a_), you find also the tassels flowers made up of pistils (Fig. 199, _b_).

If you make a search, you will find the little upright clusters composed of these flowers with pistils.

Late in the year, when these clusters have turned into fruit, they look like this picture (Fig. 200).

The pretty birches are cousins to the alders, and keep house in much the same way, bearing the tassels with stamens (Fig. 201, _a_) and the little clusters made up of flowers with pistils (Fig. 201, _b_) on the same tree.

The tassels on some of the birches are very beautiful. When full grown, they are golden yellow, and so long and soft and graceful that one feels like stroking them and playing with them as he would with a kitten.

I hope every country child who reads this book and does not already know the willows, the alders, and the birches, will make their acquaintance this spring, and will examine their two kinds of flowers. And I hope that branches from the different trees will be brought into the city schoolroom, so that all can see these flowers, which are among the very earliest of the year.

THE GREAT TREES

Most people seem surprised to learn that all kinds of trees have flowers. In March and April they go to the woods in search of the trailing arbutus, the violet, the anemone; and when they have picked a quantity of these, they come home and say, “These are the only flowers we saw to-day.”

But if they had looked overhead, up into the trees, they would have seen many more; for each tree has its own flower, and most of the trees blossom very early in the year, before they put out their leaves. There is a good reason for this, which I will tell you by and by.

One of the early trees to flower is the swamp maple. In March or April its bright red blossoms tinge the wet woods with warm color. Sometimes the snow lies thick on the ground at this season, and the little red flower clusters fall, and look wonderfully pretty against the smooth white sheet which is drawn beneath the trees.

At the same season, in our city parks and streets, sharp eyes will discover the yellowish blossoms of the silver maple. Both of these trees flower before they leaf.

The building plan used by maple flowers is rather confusing. In one flower you will find both calyx and corolla, but not in another. One blossom will have both stamens and pistils, another will have no pistils.

Fig. 202 shows you a blossom from the sugar maple. It has stamens, but no pistils. Next you see what was once a flower containing both stamens and pistils (Fig. 203). The withered stamens can still be seen; and the pistil is turning into the well-known maple key.

The great elms also put out their flowers before their leaves. Here you see a flower cluster from the white elm (Fig. 204). Fig. 205 shows you one of these little flowers enlarged; and in Fig. 206 you have the blossom cut open so as to display its pistil, which grows into the winged fruit you saw on p. 62.

In some of our city streets grows the poplar. Its flowers are crowded into long green tassels. Many of these fall to the pavement below, and lie there, looking like great caterpillars. These tassels are those which bear the flowers with stamens. Now, if we were in the woods, we should be pretty sure to find near by another poplar whose tassels do not fall so quickly. This is because these are made up of flowers with pistils. They cling to the tree not only till they have been powdered with pollen from the neighboring poplar, but till their tiny seeds have had time to ripen and are ready to start out on their life journey.

THE UNSEEN VISITOR

I promised to tell you why so many of the trees flower before they leaf.

Many of these tree blossoms are neither bright enough to attract the attention of the bees and butterflies, nor so fragrant as to tempt the passing insects to visit them; for when the flower handkerchiefs are not large and bright enough to signal the bees, the blossom often gives notice of its presence by a strong perfume. How, then, is the pollen from one flower to reach the pistil of another? And especially how can this be arranged when the flowers with pollen may live quite a way off—on another tree, in fact—from the flowers with pistils?

“Perhaps the birds carry it,” suggests some child.

But if these little flowers are not beautiful enough, or sweet-smelling enough, to please the bees and butterflies, it is hardly probable that the birds will pay them any attention.

So let us go out into the woods with our eyes and our ears wide open, and see if we can discover some flower visitor that does not ask for fine clothes and sweet smells.

Through the bushes comes the lisp of the song sparrow. From overhead falls the note of the bluebird. The bees are buzzing about the golden willow tassels. On the top of an old tree trunk a butterfly is drowsing in the sun’s rays. But already we know that neither bird, nor bee, nor butterfly will go out of its way to help our pale, scentless little tree blossoms.

A squirrel darts from under cover, and runs along the stone wall. Among the dead leaves at our feet a little striped snake lies in a sluggish coil. But squirrel and snake would be alike useless as flower visitors.

We are almost tempted to give up trying to guess the answer to the riddle. Somewhat discouraged, we stop to rest on an old log overgrown with delicate mosses.

A soft, sighing sound creeps through the pines at the foot of yonder hill. Over the little hollow sweeps a gust of wind. A faint cloud, as of dust, fills the air. One of the children begins to sneeze. Where can the dust come from? The roads are still deep with mud. And, besides, ordinary dust does not make us sneeze as though it were pepper.

Ah, my friend, you are getting warm, very warm indeed; for this dust is no dried earth from the highroad. No, it is made up instead of golden grains from the dust boxes that are swaying in the wind on yonder trees. And as the trees just now are bare of leaves, the journey of the pollen through the air is an easy matter. It is carried along by the wind, settling here, there, and everywhere, sometimes in our throats and noses in such a fashion as to make us sneeze, but also on the tops of many little pistils whose seeds cannot ripen without its gift of new life.

And so, although we have not seen the visitor who befriends these little flowers that are neither beautiful nor fragrant, we have heard his voice as it came whispering through the pines; and we know that this whisper is the gentle voice of the wind.

Now you understand that it is well for those trees whose flowers depend upon the wind for their pollen, to blossom before their leaves are out, and thus likely to interfere with the pollen in reaching its destination.

PLANT PACKAGES

On your walks through the woods these spring days I want you to notice the neat and beautiful way in which plants do their packing; for the woods now are full of plant packages,—little bundles of leaves and flowers, done up with the greatest care.

Some of these have just appeared above the ground. Others have burst from the branches of the trees and shrubs.

Of course, a plant does not like to send its young, delicate leaves and flowers into the cold world without wrapping them up, any more than your mother would like to send your baby brother out for the first time without a great deal of just such bundling-up.

And so well wrapped are many of these plant babies, that it is not an easy matter to guess just what they are, what kinds of leaves and flowers will appear when the wrappings have been thrown aside.

Sometimes the package looks like the sharp-pointed object in the picture at the head of this chapter (Fig. 207). Soon the leaves push their way out of their papery envelope, and before long our friend Jack-in-the-pulpit himself appears.

Sometimes it is such a woolly roll as you see in the next picture (Fig. 208). This roll soon uncurls into a pretty fern (Fig. 209).

The beech tree folds its leaves like fans (Fig. 210). The preceding picture (Fig. 211) shows you how carefully and cleverly the hobblebush packs its young leaves.

During their babyhood many leaves wear a hairy coat as a protection from both cold and heat; but when their green skin becomes thicker, they throw this off.

Most of these plant packages are very interesting and beautiful, and well worth your attention. I wish that during these weeks of early spring the country schools would hold exhibitions of these babes in the woods, asking each child to bring what he considers a good specimen of a plant package.

UNDERGROUND STOREHOUSES

Long ago we learned that certain plants stow away the food which they are not fitted to use at the time in those thick underground stems which most people call roots.

This food they hold over till the next year.

It is often a surprise, these spring days, to see how suddenly a little plant will burst into blossom. One does not understand how it has had time to get up such a display. Had it been obliged to depend for food upon new supplies taken in by its roots and leaves, the flower would have put off its first appearance for many a day.

So when a plant surprises you with any such sudden and early blossoms, you can be pretty sure that its food supply has been on hand all winter.

Both in the garden and in the woods you can see for yourselves that this is so. In the garden perhaps the earliest flower to appear is the lovely little snowdrop. The snowdrop’s food is stored away in the “bulb,” as we call its thick, underground stem, which lies buried in the earth.

The other early garden flowers, such as the hyacinth, crocus, daffodil, and tulip, are able to burst into beautiful blossoms only because of the care and labor with which they laid by underground provisions last year.

And in the woods at this season you find the yellow adder’s tongue, spring beauty, anemone, wake-robin, Jack-in-the-pulpit, wild ginger, and Solomon’s seal. Each of these plants has stores of food hidden in its underground stem. This may take the shape of a bulb, or a tuber, or a rootstock; but in any case it shows you at once that it is a little storehouse of food.

A collection of the different kinds of underground stems which serve as storehouses for the early-flowering plants would be quite as interesting to work over as a collection of plant packages.

DIFFERENT BUILDING PLANS

This morning let us take a stroll in the woods with the idea of noticing the different building plans used by the early flowers.

First we will go to the spot where we know the trailing arbutus is still in blossom. Pick a spray, and tell me the plan of its flower.

“There is a small green cup, or calyx, cut into five little points,” you say; “and there is a corolla made up of five flower leaves.”

But stop here one moment. Is this corolla really made up of five separate flower leaves? Are not the flower leaves joined in a tube below? If this be so, you must say that this corolla is five-lobed, or five-pointed, not that it has five flower leaves.

“And there are ten pins with dust boxes, or stamens.”

Yes, that is quite right.

“And there is one of those pins with a seedbox below, one pistil, that is, but the top of this pistil is divided into five parts.”

Well, then, the building plan of the trailing arbutus runs as follows:—

1. Calyx.

2. Corolla.

3. Stamens.

4. Pistil.

So far, it seems the same plan as that used by the cherry tree, yet in certain ways this plan really differs from that of the cherry blossom. The calyx of the cherry is not cut into separate leaves, as is that of the arbutus; and its corolla leaves are quite separate, while those of the arbutus are joined in a tube.

The cherry blossom has more stamens than the arbutus. Each flower has but one pistil. But the pistil of the arbutus, unlike that of the cherry, is five-lobed.

So, although the general plan used by these two flowers is the same, it differs in important details.

Above you see the flower of the marsh marigold (Fig. 212). Its building plan is as follows:—

1. Flower leaves.

2. Stamens.

3. Pistils.

This, you remember, is something like the building plan of the easter lily. The lily has a circle of flower leaves in place of calyx and corolla. So has the marsh marigold. But the lily has six flower leaves, one more than the marsh marigold, and only six stamens, while the marsh marigold has so many stamens that it would tire one to count them.

And the lily has but one pistil (this is tall and slender), while the marsh marigold has many short, thick ones, which you do not see in the picture.

So these two flowers use the same building plan in a general way only. They are quite unlike in important details.

The pretty little liverwort and the delicate anemone use the same building plan as the marsh marigold. This is not strange, as all three flowers belong to the same family.

The yellow adder’s tongue is another lily. It is built on the usual lily plan:—

1. Six flower leaves.

2. Six stamens.

3. One pistil.

The wild ginger (Fig. 213) uses the lily plan, inasmuch as it has no separate calyx and corolla; but otherwise it is quite different. It has no separate flower leaves, but one three-pointed flower cup. It has stamens, and one pistil which branches at its tip.

The next picture (Fig. 214) shows you the seedbox, cut open, of the wild ginger.

To find this flower, your eyes must be brighter than usual. It grows close to the ground, and is usually hidden from sight by the pair of round, woolly leaves shooting up from the underground stem, which tastes like ginger. This thick underground stem is the storehouse whose stock of food makes it possible for the plant to flower and leaf so early in the year.

Fig. 215 shows you the pretty wake-robin. This is a lily. But it is unlike the lilies we already know, in that its calyx and corolla are quite distinct, each having three separate leaves. It has six stamens, and one pistil with three branches.

The general building plan of the violet (Fig. 216) is the old one of calyx, corolla, stamens, pistil. But the leaves of this calyx (Fig. 217) are put together in a curious, irregular fashion; and the different leaves of the corolla are not of the same shape and size as in the cherry blossom. Then the five stamens of the violet are usually joined about the stalk of the pistil in a way that is quite confusing, unless you know enough to pick them apart with a pin, when they look like this picture you see above, to the right (Fig. 218).

The garden pansy (Figs. 219, 220) is cousin to the violet. You notice at once that it uses just the same building plan.

The wild geranium (Figs. 221, 222) is put together almost as simply as the cherry blossom.

A more beautiful flower than the columbine it would be difficult to find (Fig. 223). Its graceful hanging head and brilliant coloring make it a delight to the passer-by.

It has not the fragrance of some other flowers, but for this there is a good reason.

The columbine is so brightly colored that the nectar-hunting bee can see it from a great distance.

It is only when a blossom is so small and faintly colored as to be unlikely to attract the eye, that it needs to make its presence known in some other way than by wearing gay clothes. By giving out fragrance it notifies the bee that material for honey making is on hand.

So you see that a pale little flower with a strong fragrance is just as able to attract the bee’s attention as is a big flower with its bright flower handkerchiefs. A big flower with bright flower handkerchiefs does not need to attract the bee by its perfume.

Perhaps you will be somewhat surprised to learn that this columbine uses the old plan, calyx, corolla, stamens, pistil.

In the columbine the calyx as well as the corolla is brightly and beautifully colored, and only the botanist can tell which is which. In this way many flowers confuse one who is only beginning their study. So you must try to be patient when you come across a flower whose coloring and shape make it impossible for you to say what is calyx and what is corolla. You should turn both over into the one division of flower leaves, and when older you may be able to master the difficulty.

The pretty fringed polygala (Fig. 224) is one of these confusing flower. You find it in the May woods. Its discovery is such a delight, that one is not apt to make himself unhappy because he cannot make out all its parts.

The jewelweed (Fig. 225), the plant which blossoms down by the brook in August, is another of these puzzling blossoms.

A CELEBRATED FAMILY

Do you know this pretty flower (Fig. 226)?

It is the yellow lady’s slipper. It lives deep in the woods of May, perhaps part way up the mountain side. It has several sisters. One of these is the pink lady’s slipper, which blossoms just a little later. Another is the white lady’s slipper. This comes late in June, and is one of the loveliest of our wild flowers.

These three sisters belong to a celebrated family, that of the Orchids.

The Orchid family is noted for the beauty of its flowers, and for the pains which these take to attract the attention of the bees.

The building plan used by the orchids is too difficult for you to learn yet awhile. Perhaps the orchids take more trouble than any other flowers to have their pistils well dusted with pollen. A good landing place for the bee is provided; signs are hung out to point the way to the hidden nectar; and if directions are followed, the pistil is sure to receive the wished-for pollen.

This picture (Fig. 227) shows you an orchid which you see in the windows of flower shops during the winter. It comes to us from far South, not growing out of doors in our climate.

Its building plan would almost serve for a wayside tavern. You can see that the pocket would answer as a front doorstep, making a convenient landing place for bee or butterfly.

The dark spots on the upper flower leaf point downward to the refreshment room.

Even more curious than this one are other orchids which grow in far-away places.

In their efforts to please, they wear the most striking colors, and take on a variety of fantastic shapes.

One of them dresses itself much like a bee. In this way perhaps it secures a visit from the real bee.

Another is called the baby orchid, because in the center of each flower is an object which really looks like a fairy baby.

There are some ten or twelve orchids which are common in our Northern woods. I hope you children will keep on the lookout for them all summer.

Just now you could not tell whether or not a flower was an orchid. But if you come across a plant whose flowers look as though they were built to serve as wayside taverns for the bees, why, carry them to your teacher, and ask her to find out for you whether they belong to the Orchid family.

But it is only fair to tell you that some of our orchids bear flowers so small and insignificant that you would hardly guess them to be members of so distinguished a family.

CLEVER CUSTOMS

On this page you see a picture of the garden foxglove.

The garden foxglove is an English wild flower. It is so striking and beautiful that it was brought across the sea to decorate our gardens.

We can guess that the spots within each bell are the signposts leading to the refreshment room.

The yellow false foxglove (Fig. 228), which grows wild in our woods in midsummer, is a less brilliant flower than its English cousin, and is without the spots that serve as signposts.

Our wood and meadow lilies (Figs. 229, 230) are well fitted to secure bee visitors. Their colors are brilliant enough to catch the eye of the most unobserving of bees in its voyage across the meadow, and their spots vivid enough to lead it at once to the refreshment room.

Try for yourselves to follow these markings with your tongue, and you will win the bee’s reward, a sweet drop of nectar.

Whenever you see a flower with such vivid markings as these, it will be worth your while to play the bee, and start a honey hunt.

Sometimes the sweet drop lies at the base of the flower leaves, as in the lilies; sometimes in a pocket, as in many of the orchids; sometimes it is in the bottom of a long spur such as you see in the columbine, violet, and nasturtium (Fig. 231).

Fig. 232 shows you the beautiful flowers of the mountain laurel.

These flowers play a clever trick on their bee visitors. They wish to make perfectly sure that their pollen will be carried from one blossom to another, and so they set a little trap.

In a freshly opened blossom each stamen is bent over, as you see they are bent over in the picture (Fig. 233).

Their dust boxes are caught in little pockets of the flower cup. When a bee lights on a flower (Fig. 234), the jar causes the dust boxes to spring from the pockets with so much violence that the pollen is shaken over the body of the visiting bee, which is sure to leave some of it on the pistil of the next flower.

Some flowers take special care to prevent their pistils from being dusted with pollen from the dust boxes of the same blossom. The fireweed bears such blossoms as these.

In Fig. 235 you see that the stamens of the fireweed are large and ripe, and ready to shed their pollen; but the pistil is bent sideways, pushing its closed tip quite out of the corolla, and out of reach of any pollen from a neighboring stamen.

Fig. 236 shows you another blossom from this same plant. The stamens have shed their pollen, and are quite dry and withered; but its pistil has straightened itself, and spreads out its four tips so as to receive the pollen from another flower.

It is believed that those seeds which are touched with life by pollen from another flower are more likely to change into healthy, hardy plants than those which are quickened by the pollen of their own flower.

Such of you as live near the sea know the lovely sea pinks (Fig. 237), which make a rosy carpet across the salt meadows early in August. The stamens and pistils of this sea pink act in the same way.

FLOWERS THAT TURN NIGHT INTO DAY

Already we have read that certain flowers attract insects rather by their fragrance than by their brilliancy of coloring.

It is interesting to learn that some blossoms open usually only during the night. Of course, if these flowers hope to receive visitors, and get their share of pollen, they must devise some means of making known their presence to those insects which are awake and at work in the darkness.

You can understand that at night the brightest colors would be useless. A red flower is less easily seen in the darkness than a white or a yellow one; so night-opening flowers nearly always wear a white or yellow dress.

And not only this: to make sure that they will not be overlooked, and so miss the chance of ripening their seeds, they send out a strong fragrance as soon as the night falls. Through the deepest gloom this message of invitation reaches the wandering moth.

Do you know the evening primrose (Fig. 238)? There ought to be no need of asking you this, for it is one of our commonest wayside plants. But perhaps you have hardly noticed it, because ordinarily only at night is its flower wide awake.

When the sun has set, this pale yellow blossom unfolds, and gives out a strong, sweet fragrance, which means that it is “at home” to visitors.

After one short summer night it dies.

But during its little life the chances are that its invitation has been accepted by the pretty pink moth which oftentimes you find asleep in the faded flower cup.

The moth visitor has brought its hostess the pollen from another blossom, and has powdered the pistil’s four spreading tips, so that the little primrose seeds below get the needed touch of life, and the short life of the flower has not been in vain.