or somebody, or something that can be just every bit good, all the
time, to everybody."
The Chief Gardener smiled.
"We can only do our very best," he said.
AUGUST
AUGUST
I
THERE ARE JUST TWO KINDS OF LEAVES
A GOOD many things were ripe in August, and some of the things were
through blooming. Prue did not plant a great deal. It was too hot to
dig long in the sun, and then there did not seem to be much in the way
of flowers that could be planted so late. Davy planted a few turnips
and some late beans and salad, because there was time for these, but
even Davy found it pleasanter to sit in the shade, where there was a
breeze, and pull plants to pieces and talk about Exogens and Endogens
and the different parts of things, than to hoe and dig and rake on an
August day.
The Chief Gardener heard quite loud voices under the peach-trees, one
warm afternoon. Prue and Davy were not really quarreling, but they
seemed to be a good deal in earnest about something. The Chief Gardener
went over there.
"What is all the excitement?" he asked.
Davy held up and waved a large stem of very coarse grass.
"It's an Endogen," he said, very decidedly, "isn't it, Papa?"
"It isn't at all, is it, Papa?" eagerly asked little Prue.
The Chief Gardener took the plumey stem and sat down.
"Why do you think it is an Endogen, Davy?" he asked.
"Because it's a grass, and belongs to the grass family. And corn
belongs to the grass family, too, and corn is an Endogen, for it has a
big pith instead of rings. So if corn is an Endogen, grass is, too."
The Chief Gardener smiled.
"Well, that's pretty good, Davy, and is true enough, but it isn't just
the best way to reason. Now, Prue, why did you think it was an Exogen?"
"Because the stem is hollow, and makes a ring when you cut off a little
slice of it, and because the bloom part is in five pieces."
"Sharp eyes," nodded the Chief Gardener, "but Davy is right. There
is not always a pith in the endogens. Pipe-stems and fish-poles are
hollow, but the cane we make them of is an Endogen, too. And as for the
bloom part of this grass, it is a sort of a tassel, like that of the
corn. The real blooms are very tiny--too small for us to examine. And
then, perhaps, some insect or bird has nipped some of it away. I think
I must tell you a little more about leaves, so Davy won't have to know
that grass is an Endogen because corn is, and so you won't be mistaken.
Suppose, Davy, you try to tell me how many kinds of leaves there are."
Davy looked quite helpless.
"It would take a hundred years," he said.
"Why, no," said Prue. "There are just two kinds. Exogens and Endogens."
Davy laughed, and the Chief Gardener laughed with him.
"But you are right, Prue, in one way," he said. "There are just two
kinds of leaves--simple and compound. A simple leaf is a leaf of
just one blade, like a grass leaf, or the leaf of a morning-glory. A
compound leaf is a leaf made up of several blades, like a bean leaf,
which you know is divided into three parts. Of course, there are
hundreds of shapes and thousands of species of leaves, but there are
just two great kinds, simple and compound. Suppose, Davy, you look
about and bring me three compound leaves, and you, Prue, try to find
three simple leaves, and let's see what they are."
The children jumped up quickly, and wandered out into the sunny garden,
looking as they went. The Chief Gardener heard them chatting, as they
looked this way and that. Presently they returned with what they had
found. Little Prue climbed up in his lap.
"Look at mine first!" she said, holding them out, and fanning herself
with her little hat.
Davy sat down by them, and looked his collection over to be sure they
were right.
"Well, Prue, let's see what you have," began the Chief Gardener. "One
peach leaf--that's simple enough. Then here's a lily leaf--that's
simple, too. But what's this? It looks as if it came from a Virginia
creeper. But where's the rest of it? That's only part of a leaf."
"I told Prue that," said Davy, "and I brought a whole one for one of my
compound leaves."
Davy held up what he had brought. The Chief Gardener took the stem of
the Virginia creeper. Branching from it were five little stems with a
small leaf on each. Prue had taken one of these to be a complete leaf,
when it was really only a part of one compound leaf divided into five
parts.
"You see, Prue, there is only one stem that joins the main stalk,"
explained the Chief Gardener. "Whatever branches out from that stem is
a part of that leaf. What else have you brought, Davy?"
Davy held up a blackberry leaf, and the leaf of a tomato.
"Those are both right," said the Chief Gardener. "The blackberry has
three parts like the bean, and the tomato has a good many parts. There
are some leaves that are compounded as many as four times--each little
stem being compounded over and over until there are hundreds of little
parts, and yet all are connected with the main leaf-stem which joins
the stalk or branch, making really only one leaf. Of course, it is
not always easy to tell about leaves, any more than about flowers.
Sometimes shapes are so peculiar that it is almost impossible to tell
just what they are. Pine-needles are leaves, but it is hard to tell
whether they are simple or compound, and it would be hard to tell
whether the pine was an Exogen or an Endogen if we had only the
needles to go by."
"But you haven't told us how to tell that by the leaves at all," said
Davy. "That is what we started to find out."
[Illustration: SOME SIMPLE LEAVES]
"That's so, Davy. It's hard to keep to the subject in botany. There are
so many things, and all so interesting."
The Chief Gardener took up the lily leaf and that of the blackberry,
and held them up to the light.
"Do you see the difference?" he asked.
"Why, yes," said Prue, "the blackberry is all criss-crossy, and the
lily leaf runs straight and smooth."
"Those are the veins," said Davy; "I heard Mamma say so."
[Illustration: PINE-NEEDLES ARE LEAVES]
"Yes, they are the veins," nodded the Chief Gardener, "and when they
form a network, or run criss-crossy, as Prue says, it means that the
plant is an Exogen. When they run side by side smoothly, as they do in
corn and grass, it means that the plant is an Endogen. There are a few
of both kinds which do not quite follow this rule, like the pine-tree,
which is an Exogen, but has its little straight-grained needles, or
like smilax, which has netted leaves, but is an Endogen."
II
SOMETIMES I THINK PLANTS CAN SEE AND HEAR
IT was about a week after this that Davy and Prue came to the Chief
Gardener with their hands filled with leaves.
"We want you to tell us about them," they said. "There is a lot of
kinds and shapes, and some we can't tell whether they are simple or
compound, or anything."
The Chief Gardener looked over their collection.
"Well," he said, "I am afraid you are getting ahead too fast. It would
take a real sure-enough botanist to tell all about these leaves."
Davy picked up a daisy leaf.
"Is that simple or compound?" he asked.
"It's mostly ribs," laughed the Chief Gardener. "There really isn't
much leaf about a daisy leaf, but what there is of it is simple, only
it is so cut and sprangly that it might almost be called a compound
leaf."
They looked at many others in the collection, and the Chief Gardener
explained as far as he could.
"You will learn all the names of the different shapes some day," he
said, "but it is too much for little folks. I suppose, though, you
might remember the parts of a leaf. They are the blade, the stem, and
the stipules."
"This is the blade, and this is the stem," said Davy, "but what are
stipules?"
The Chief Gardener picked up a red clover leaf, and pointed to a little
thin pale-green husk where the stem joined the main stalk.
"Those are stipules," he said. "In the clover they grow together, as
one. The stipules are a part of the outside of the leaf-bud. When the
bud opens, and the leaf goes out into the world, the stipules stay
behind. Sometimes they are like little leaves, and take up air for
the plant, just as the leaves do. Sometimes they almost take the place
of leaves, and are quite large. Sometimes they are very tiny, and some
plants have no stipules at all."
[Illustration: "THERE IS A LOT OF KINDS AND SHAPES"]
"But leaves have veins, too," said Davy.
"Those are parts of the blade. The blade has ribs--they make a
framework which holds it together; also veins--the fine threads which
help to carry the sap. You see, plants are a good deal like ourselves,
and live much in the same way. Some leaves have only one strong rib
through the center--a sort of a backbone. Some have as many as six or
seven."
They talked about these things, and looked at the different leaves and
stems. Then they spoke of the stalks of different plants, and the Chief
Gardener explained how the tender stalk of the lowliest plant, that of
the tall twining vine, and the trunk of the giant oak, were all one one
and the same, only different in kind. Each came at some time from a
tiny seed. Each put forth buds and leaves and branches. Each was made
to withstand the storm--the oak by its strength, the vine by its fast
hold on the wall or lattice, the tender plant through its lowliness.
"Oh," said Davy suddenly, "that makes me think of something. Our
Virginia creeper on the front lattice has three ways to climb."
"What are they, Davy?"
"Why, it twists, for one way."
"Twines, you mean."
"Yes, twines, and then it has little curlers, like a grape-vine."
"Tendrils, they are called, Davy."
"And little clingers, like an ivy."
"Feet, you should say. Yes, I have noticed that. A lattice is not very
well suited to a Virginia creeper, and ours has to try every way known
to vines, to hold on. I have never known all three ways on one vine
before. But vines are very curious things. Sometimes I think they can
see and hear. I know they can feel, for a honeysuckle shoot will grow
perfectly straight until it touches something that can be climbed. Then
it will begin to twist so fast you can almost see it."
"But why do you think they can see and hear?" asked little Prue.
"I don't know that I do really think so, but I have tried every way I
can think of to keep those morning-glories of yours from running up my
little pear-tree. I have pushed them away, and tied them away, and I
have even cut some of them away. But if I turn my back for a day, or
even a half a day, there is one of them starting up the stalk, or, at
least, reaching out for it as hard as ever it can."
Little Prue laughed, and ran over to see. Yes, there it was--a fuzzy
green shoot half-way up the little pear-tree, and three more reaching
out in the same direction.
"A vine will grow in the direction of a tree or shrub, if it is half
way across the garden from it. Whether it hears or sees, or, perhaps,
smells it, I do not know. Some vines will turn out of their way for a
drink."
"For a drink! Oh, Papa!"
"Yes, certain melon vines. In dry weather they will turn to find a pan
of water set several feet away. I suppose they can sense the moisture
from it."
The children talked the rest of the afternoon about these curious
things. They found where a scarlet runner had traveled several feet
through the grass to reach a peach-tree, and had climbed far up into
its branches. Then Davy happened to remember the story about the vines
which the Chief Gardener had told them during the winter, and told
it all over to little Prue--how the honeysuckle had laughed at the
scarlet runner and the morning-glory, and had been punished by being
made to twine to the left, away from the sun, instead of to the right,
toward it, like the morning-glory and the bean. So the happy summer day
passed, and in the cool of the evening big Prue came out to watch the
sun go down, and in the pleasant arbor they all had tea together.
III
THERE ARE PLANTS WHICH DO NOT BLOOM
BUT during the last two weeks of August the Chief Gardener and big Prue
and little Prue and Davy all went to the seashore, which was not far
away. They lived in a pretty cottage near the beach, and there were
meadows behind that stretched away to the blue hills. Davy and Prue
loved the sea, with all its curious shells and star-fishes and other
wonderful creatures. They loved the white sand, where they found these
things, and where the great waves billowed and broke over them when
they bathed on hot afternoons. They loved the meadows, too, for here
there were birds building in the grass, and flowers unlike any in their
gardens, and little streams of clear water that went singing to the sea.
It was when they came from the meadow one afternoon, that they hurried
to the Chief Gardener with the little basket which they always carried.
"We have found some things," said Davy, "and want you to look at them."
The Chief Gardener took the basket. On top were some mushrooms--two
kinds. One had whity-brown tops, and was pink or brown or almost black
underneath, while the other had yellow tops with white spots on them,
and was very pale underneath. The Chief Gardener looked sharply at the
children when he saw these yellow mushrooms.
"Go and wash your hands, quickly," he said, "and I hope neither of you
have put your hands to your mouth since you touched these."
"I haven't," said Davy, "and I picked the yellow ones."
"They are deadly poison," said the Chief Gardener, "they are called the
Amanita, and even to touch the tongue with your fingers after handling
them might make you very ill. The others are meadow mushrooms and
harmless. But even they could not be eaten after being in the basket
with the Amanitas."
The children ran to wash their hands, and were presently back to ask
questions. Meantime the Chief Gardener had found a lot of beautiful
moss and ferns in the bottom of the basket, and some lichens, which the
children had gathered from a rocky cliff not far away.
"Papa, _aren't_ mushrooms toad-stools, and _don't_ they build them to
sit on, in pleasant weather, and to get under, when it rains?"
This was little Prue, and she was quite excited.
"I think they are some kind of plants," said Davy, "but I don't see
where the flowers are, or how they make seeds."
"How about the ferns?" asked the Chief Gardener. "Did you find any
flowers on the ferns?"
"No, but we found seeds."
Davy turned one of the fern leaves over, and, sure enough, there were a
lot of little brown seeds under the ends of some of the leaflets. Then
the Chief Gardener turned over one of the meadow mushrooms, and divided
the little layers beneath with the tip of his pencil.
"That is where the mushroom keeps its seeds, too," he said. "We do not
call them seeds, though, but spores. Fern seeds are called spores,
also."
"But toads do sit under mushrooms, don't they?" insisted little Prue.
"Why, yes, I suppose a great many toads have done that, but they are
really plants, as Davy says."
Davy had become thoughtful.
"Are they Exogens?" he asked, "or Endogens? I should think the
mushrooms might be Endogens from their stems, and the fern Exogens from
their leaves."
"Well, Davy, that is very well said, but they are really neither one.
They belong to a great class of their own. Exogens and Endogens are
only the two kinds of flowering plants. These mushrooms and ferns
and mosses and lichens all belong to the flowerless plants, and are
called Crip-tog-a-mous--a very long word, which I do not expect you
to remember. The divisions of flowerless plants are too hard a study
for little folks, but the plants are all very interesting, and we can
gather them, and see how they grow. In fact, I think we will have to
call our meadow and our beach your August garden."
"But there isn't anything on the beach," said Prue.
"How about all that seaweed you were gathering yesterday?"
"But does that really grow like our plants on the shore?" asked Davy.
"Very much the same, and it belongs to the flowerless class, too, along
with the mosses and lichens and ferns and mushrooms. It has spores
instead of seeds, and is really a sort of a moss of the sea."
"Oh, call us not weeds, we are flowers of the sea,
For lovely and bright and fresh-tinted are we,"
sang little Prue, with a memory of her kindergarten.
"Yes, they are flowers of the sea, though they do not bloom," said the
Chief Gardener, "and are very beautiful in color and form. I will give
you some white cards and you can gather specimens to dry. You spread
out the little branches with a tooth-pick, and the cards make pretty
little books afterwards."
"But do seaweeds and mosses and lichens and ferns and mushrooms all
belong to one family?" asked Davy.
"Oh, by no means. Not even all to the same division of flowerless
plants. But it is too hard a study for a little boy, and it is
enough to learn now that they do all belong to the big flowerless or
Crip-tog-a-mous class."
"Papa, is it true that if you put fern seeds in your shoes, nobody can
see you?" asked little Prue.
"Why, I don't very well see how '_nobody_' could see you, but I think
somebody might."
"It says in my fairy book that the princess put fern seed in her shoe,
and then there wasn't any one who could see her. I wish it was like
that. I'm going to try it," and the little girl pulled off some of the
brown spores and tucked them in her dusty ties.
"Can you see me? Can you see me, now?" she asked, dancing about.
"Why, no," said the Chief Gardener, who pretended to be looking for her
in another direction.
"Can you, Davy? Can you see me?"
"Not very well, when _you_ go so fast," laughed Davy. "Stand still, and
let me try."
Just then big Prue came out on the porch, and little Prue danced up to
her.
"Can _you_ see me? Can you _see_ me, Mamma? You mustn't, you know,
because I've got fern seed in my shoe."
Big Prue shut her eyes, and put out her arms.
"No, I can't see you," she said, "but you feel like the same little
girl," and she kissed the little round tanned face on her shoulder.
IV
THE PRINCESS BY THE SEA
"I HEARD you talking about flowerless plants," big Prue went on, "as I
sat there by the window. I wonder if you would like to hear a little
story of how they came to be without flowers."
"Please, yes!" and little Prue forgot her fern seed and hugged closer.
"Well, once upon a time there was a princess with a beautiful garden--"
"Is this the same princess that turned into a red rose?"
"Oh, no, this is another princess. There have been a great many
princesses with gardens. This princess lived by the sea, where there
was a meadow, and a cliff not far away, much like it is here. She loved
her flowers more than anything in the world, and her garden was so
beautiful that even the fairies loved it better than their own gardens
of fairyland and came at midnight to dance in the moonlight, after the
princess was asleep.
"And the princess knew that they danced there, for once a gentle fairy
had come to her and told her of it, and warned her never to try to see
them, for whoever sees the fairies dance by the midnight moon may meet
with some dreadful misfortune, which even the fairies themselves cannot
help.
"But when the princess heard about the fairy dance, she wanted to see
it very much. Instead of trying to forget it and going to bed before
it began, she thought of it all the time, and the more she thought,
the more she made up her mind to see it, no matter what might happen
afterwards.
"So one night, just before twelve o'clock, she crept into a large
cluster of blooming ferns--"
"But ferns do not bloom--"
"They did then, and their sweet odor filled the still night air; the
moon was white and round in the sky, and the level sea had a path of
glory that led close to where she lay.
"The princess thought how beautiful was all the world, and especially
her garden, and she grew sad to think that perhaps some time she would
not be there to see it all. And then all at once she forgot everything
else, for there in the moonlight were the fairies, dancing in a great
glittering ring.
"The princess looked, hardly daring to breathe. Then it seemed to her
that she could not see so well. She rubbed her eyes, but the world
about her only grew dimmer still. She thought the moon had gone under
a cloud, but it was sailing high in the sky. And then everything faded
out, the world became dark and the princess gave a great cry of grief,
for she knew that her punishment had come, and she was _blind_!
"The fairies heard the cry, too, and vanished, but the gentle little
fairy who was her friend came and guided her in sorrow to her palace,
and said, 'I can grant you one wish, but it must not be to see
again--that I cannot grant.'
"'Then,' said the princess, 'if I cannot see my flowers, I wish that
they may never bloom again until some one, who cares more for them than
I, shall wish to see them.'
"And the wish came true. Never a flower in the garden of the princess
bloomed from that day. Their buds dropped, their leaves shrank, and
many of them hid away where they would not be seen by passers-by. Some
slipped away into the water and became seaweeds. Some hid in the deep
woods, and crept into dark places, and became ferns. Others, growing
smaller each year, became moss. Some hid among the rocks of the cliff
and became lichens. And some, who wanted to be useful if they could
not bloom, scattered themselves over the woods and fields and became
mushrooms. But some of these were of bitter or sharp nature, and
these we cannot eat. And some grew wicked and vicious, and these are
poison. One of them, the Amanita, which had bloomed as a great golden
white-spotted flower in the garden of the princess, became the most
vicious of all. It kept much of its color, which now makes people shun
it because it is a sign of deadly poison."
"And will the flowers that grew in the garden of the princess never
bloom again?"
"Never, unless some one who cares more for them than she did shall wish
to see them."
"But how can I care so much unless I can see them?" asked little Prue.
"Perhaps that is why they will never bloom again," said Davy.
SEPTEMBER
SEPTEMBER
I
A FLOWER REALLY HAS CLOTHES
THE little gardens were in quite a bad way when Davy and Prue came back
from the seashore. Everything had done well, even to the weeds, and
that was just the trouble. It took two whole days, working when the sun
was not so very hot, to get the beds in shape, and the Chief Gardener
had to work, too, very hard. But by and by everything was clean and
beautiful again, and the seat under the peach-tree was a finer place
than ever, because there were more things in bloom, and everything had
become more beautiful.
One day Davy came to the seat, where little Prue and the Chief
Gardener were resting, with a double carnation in his hand.
"I wish you would look at this," he said. "I can't tell petals from
stamens."
The Chief Gardener took the flower, and slowly pulled it to pieces.
"Well, no," he said; "it isn't the easiest thing to do, though, of
course, those anther-looking things must belong to stamens."
"But the filaments are like petals," objected Davy.
"Yes, and here are others like them, though they have no anthers. Those
are supposed to be stamens, too, or, at least, they were stamens, once."
Davy looked puzzled.
"You remember I told you once, Davy, that a flower was only one form
of a leaf--a leaf intended to make the plant beautiful, and to make
it bear seed. Well, in some plants, especially cultivated ones, the
flower-leaves seem to get rather mixed in their parts."
The Chief Gardener picked a scarlet canna that grew near.
"Here is a flower which has three little petals and four large
flower-leaves which you would think were petals, wouldn't you? But
the stamens and petals and sepals are so mixed that even botanists
can hardly decide which is which. In a water-lily, too, the petals
gradually become stamens, so, perhaps, the leaf came first, ages and
ages ago, and little by little it has changed, first to sepals, then
petals, then to stamens and pistils, so that it could make seeds and
scatter them to the wind. Gardeners make double flowers out of single
ones by a process of turning stamens and even pistils into petals.
The double flower is sometimes very beautiful, but it is not the most
perfect flower. The wild rose is more perfect than the finest double
American Beauty. Perhaps double flowers came before single ones, a
long time ago, when the leaves were turning to blossoms, so that
the gardeners who make the wonderful double blooms now are really
going backward instead of forward. But that is all too hard. I'm
afraid--especially for a little girl who likes very double carnations."