asked, as she tried to pound open a thorny chestnut-bur.
"I think the hulls must be to protect the young nuts from birds and
squirrels," answered her mother. "The trees do not like to have them
carried off until they are quite ripe, so they hold them very tight and
enclose them in a very tough shell, and the shell is very bad-tasting,
too. But when the nuts are ripe and sweet they let go of them very
easily, just as other seeds are dropped, and the hulls open and the
harvest is ready for whoever may come to gather it."
The Chief Gardener picked up a hickory-nut from one of the baskets.
"You see, we are eating flower-pistils all the time," he said.
"Are we? I don't believe I ever thought about that," said Davy.
[Illustration: THREE MEMBERS OF THE ACORN FAMILY]
The Chief Gardener pointed to the little black tip on the top of the
nut.
"That was once the stigma," he said. "You see, it is quite like one,
even now. Of course, it was soft then, and the pistil below was soft,
too. Then as it grew it became harder and harder until the shell
formed, and it was really a nut. The calyx hardened, and made the hull.
The pistil and the calyx of a flower are the parts that last longest,
but the stamens and the corolla are just as useful in their way. They
form a separate flower on the nut-trees. We will have to come to the
woods next spring when they are in bloom."
"Papa, don't hazelnuts and chestnuts belong to the same family?" asked
little Prue, who had some of each in her chubby hands.
"Why, yes, but why did you think so, Prue?"
"Well, you see, they both have those white spots on them, and I thought
mebbe it was a kind of family mark."
"Wise little head, Prue. And now what else is there that has the family
mark--we might call it the family seal?"
The children were silent a moment, thinking. They were sitting under
a big oak tree, and all at once Davy's eye caught something in the
leaves, just by his hand.
"This!" he shouted, and held up an acorn.
"Right you are, Davy boy! The nut that stands at the head of the
family. Few acorns are fit to be eaten, except by animals, but you see
how round and perfect the family seal is, and though the acorn-cup is
nothing like the chestnut-bur, or the husk of the hazel, it perhaps
would be, if the green acorn itself was not so bitter that it does not
need any other protection. The oak is one of the finest and most useful
of all trees, and the hazel and chestnut and beech are probably very
proud of belonging to the Oak family."
"And how about hickory and walnuts?" asked Davy.
"They are in a family together--the Walnut family. There are three
kinds of walnuts--the English walnuts, the butternuts, and these. There
are as many as half a dozen kinds of hickory nuts, and some of them are
as bitter as the bitterest acorns."
"Pignuts--I know those," said Davy. "They're awful. I tried to eat
some last year."
"You gave me one, too," said Prue. "I don't think that was very nice of
you."
Davy blushed and grinned, as he recollected the round, puckered face of
little Prue, after she had tasted the bitter nut.
"Never mind, Prue; we'll give him a mock-orange some day," said her
mother.
"The pecan is a hickory-nut, too," said the Chief Gardener, "a nut that
has left all its bitterness in the shell."
"Davy is a pecan-nut," said little Prue. "He's just bad outside."
Then the little party made ready to go home. They had a good way to
drive, and it grows chilly on October evenings. How still it seemed
to have grown in the woods when they were ready to go. A squirrel
scrambled up a hickory-tree, and sat chattering at them as they drove
away.
"He is scolding us for carrying off his winter food," said big Prue.
"Oh, let's leave him some!" said little Prue, the tender-hearted.
"Pshaw!" said Davy. "There are enough nuts in these woods to feed all
the squirrels in the world."
III
THERE ARE MANY THINGS CALLED FRUITS
TRULY October was harvest-time in the little garden. The winter
apple-tree yielded several bushels of bright red fruit, and Davy's
pumpkin-vine had great yellow pumpkins scattered all about. Some of
them Davy could hardly lift, and when they were carried into the
cellar, on the very last day of the month, they made a real pyramid of
gold. Then there were some late tomatoes, too, and peppers, which big
Prue made into pickles; also, a last gathering of green corn, besides
several ears of ripe corn, for seed, and all the pop-corn--fifty-five
ears of it from Davy's little patch.
There were some things to be taken up, too, and put into little pots
for the window-gardens, which Davy and Prue were going to have all
through the winter, this time.
There was a good open fire in the dining-room when Davy came in, after
picking his pumpkins, for the nights were getting colder, and the
bright blaze seemed so friendly and cheerful.
"I am going to try some of my pop-corn," he said suddenly, and started
for the popper.
"I'll get some apples," said little Prue.
"I'll bring some nuts," added the Chief Gardener.
"And I'm afraid if you have all those things now, you won't care for
tea afterwards," objected big Prue.
"Never mind tea," said Davy. "These are the very best things for a fire
like this, and then if we don't want tea afterwards it'll save trouble."
So the pop-corn and apples and nuts were brought, and the little
family gathered about the bright blaze.
[Illustration: THE APPLE IS A CALYX. THE PISTIL IS THE CORE INSIDE OF
IT]
"Just think," said Davy, "it's only a few months ago that I planted
this corn, and saw it come up, just little green sprouts, and now it's
ripe and in the popper."
"And just think," said his mother, "it's a little while ago that the
apple-trees were all in bloom so sweet, and now the apples are ripe,
and we have them here on a plate."
"I like to think about the summer," said little Prue. "It all seems so
nice and shiny. It was hot, though, too, sometimes, in the garden."
The Chief Gardener picked up one of the apples.
"That is a pretty good calyx, Davy," he said.
Davy stopped popping corn a minute. His face was rather hot, anyway,
from the glowing coals.
"Why, I thought that was the pistil," he said.
"The pistil is the core inside of it. It is the calyx of the
apple-bloom that grows fleshy and makes the best part of the apple."
The Chief Gardener cut the apple in half, and showed the faint line
that marked the core.
"That was the pistil," he said, "and at the end you see there are still
the tips of the sepals and little traces of the stamens. The apple is
one of our very finest fruits, and we ought to be glad that at least
one of the Rose family has such a fine calyx. The rose itself gives us
sweet flowers, but its apples would be pretty poor eating. They are
called hips."
"But is the peach a calyx, too?" asked Davy. "It belongs to the same
family."
[Illustration: A RASPBERRY IS A CLUSTER OF PISTILS WITHOUT THE CORE. A
BLACKBERRY IS THE END OF A FLOWER-STEM WITH A CLUSTER OF PISTILS AROUND
IT.]
"No, the peach is just the pistil, and it is the same with the plum and
apricot and cherry. In the pear and quince it is the calyx, like the
apple; in the raspberry each little part is a separate pistil with one
seed, as I believe I showed you once, last summer."
"How about the strawberries?" asked Prue. "I like those best."
"I think I showed you that, too, but perhaps you have forgotten. The
strawberry is still different. It is neither a calyx nor a pistil,
but just the pulpy top of the stem that the flowers rest upon. It is
covered with tiny pistils, though, of one seed each."
"That is why strawberry seeds are on the outside," said Davy.
"Yes, and the little pistils are called akenes, though you need not try
to remember that now."
"It is strange," said big Prue, "how many things become fruits."
"Yes," said the Chief Gardener. "A fig, for instance, is simply a
hollow stalk which grows thick and pulpy, and has a lot of little
flowers inside that turn to seed when the fig ripens. A pineapple is
a cluster of flower-leaves. A strawberry is the end of a flower-stem.
A blackberry is the same, with a little cluster of pulpy pistils on
the outside. A raspberry is the little cluster of pistils without the
core; so that the blackberry is really the connecting-link between the
strawberry and the raspberry. In gooseberries, grapes, cranberries,
and huckleberries we eat the entire pistil, seeds and all. In peaches,
plums, and cherries we eat only the outer part, and in apples, pears,
and quinces we eat only the calyx, unless we eat the core."
"Well," interrupted Davy, "I am going to eat a nice big red calyx,
now, core and all, and I'm going to eat some hickory-nut and pop-corn
pistils, all but the shells and cob, and I feel hungry enough to eat
those, too."
So then they drew closer around the bright blaze as evening gathered on
the little faded garden outside.
NOVEMBER
NOVEMBER
I
THERE ARE ANNUALS, BIENNIALS, AND PERENNIALS
BUT November was not all brown and dry. The warm days lingered. The
lawn kept green, and suddenly about the house there was the most
wonderful glory of yellow and rose and white and crimson, for the
radiant flower of autumn, the chrysanthemum, was in full bloom. How
beautiful the flowers were when the sun was bright, and when it was
cloudy they seemed to have kept some of the sunlight and cheer to make
the dooryard glad.
"I don't remember when you planted the chrysanthemums," said Prue, one
bright morning to the Chief Gardener.
"No, it was when you were a very little girl--about four years ago."
"I remember," said Davy. "I helped you."
"Why don't you have to plant them every year?" asked Prue.
"Because they are perennials--they live on, year after year."
Prue did not seem to understand very well, so the Chief Gardener
explained.
"There are three kinds of plants," he said: "Annuals, biennials, and
perennials. The annuals live but one season. They come from the seed
each spring, and when they have grown and bloomed and made seed for
another year they die. Sweet-pease and sunflowers and Davy's corn are
annuals."
"And radishes and beets," said Davy.
"No, Davy. That is where you are mistaken."
"But we have to plant them every spring," said Davy.
"We do so to get good vegetables for our table. But if we were
planting only for seed we would leave the roots in the ground, or take
them up and reset them in the spring. Then they would send up long
stalks to bloom and bear seed. Beets and radishes and turnips and most
such things are biennials, which means that they bloom the second year
and then die. They spend all the first year in laying up strength in
the roots, to use in making seed the second summer. Some biennials,
like the cabbage, lay up this strength in the thick stalk. The strength
which they take up from the earth and from the air, through their
leaves, they do not spend in flowers and show, but turn it into food
for themselves, and the food is so good that men gather it for their
own use."
"I don't think that is quite right," said Prue, "after the poor thing
has worked so hard all summer to be ready to bloom next year, for us to
take it and eat it."
The Chief Gardener smiled and shook his head.
"I'm afraid we do not think much about the plant's rights," he said,
"unless they happen to be the same as our own. And after all there are
plenty of seeds saved every year--more than are ever planted."
"And are potatoes biennials, too?" asked Davy.
"No, potatoes are perennials. In the right climate they would live on
year after year, laying up new strength each year for the next season's
growth. Dahlias are perennials, too, and most of the grasses, and, of
course, all trees, and shrubs. Your pinks, Prue, and sweet-williams,
and the hollyhocks, are perennial, and live through the winter, though
they bear a great deal of seed, which shows how determined they are to
live on. These chrysanthemums also bear seed, and most plants have at
least two ways, and some as many as four ways of producing others like
them. Your onions, Davy, can be produced in four different ways. They
can be grown from seed, from sets--which are little seed-onions taken
out of the ground and kept through the winter--from bulblets--which
are the little onions you saw growing on the top of the stalk last
summer--and from multipliers--which are large bulbs broken into several
small parts."
[Illustration: THE SEED AND SETS OF THE ONION]
"I should think an onion was surely perennial enough," said Davy, "with
four ways of keeping alive."
"Can you name the three kinds of plants now?" asked the Chief Gardener,
turning to little Prue.
"Yes," said Prue, putting out three fingers. "Annuals that have to die
every fall, like my sweet-pease. Bi-yennials, that have to die every
other fall, like Davy's turnips. Only we don't let 'em die--we kill 'em
and eat 'em just when they are ready for their best time. Perennials,
that have a lot of ways to live and never die at all."
The Chief Gardener laughed.
"Well, that's pretty good for a little girl. I think we might almost
make a poem out of it.
"The annuals we plant each spring--
They perish in the fall;
Biennials die the second year,
Perennials not at all."
"I've made a rhyme, too," said Prue. "It's about the kinds of plants in
a different way. This is it:
"The kinds of plants are these--
Herbs, shrubs, and trees."
"Why, I think we shall have to make up some more," said the Chief
Gardener. "It will help us to remember."
II
PLANTS KNOW HOW TO SPREAD
IT was not many days after this that the Chief Gardener was digging
among his vines, and he called to the children, who came running.
"We were talking the other day," he said, "about the many ways that old
plants have of making new ones. See how this black raspberry vine is
spreading."
The Chief Gardener pointed to a long branch that had bent over until
the end touched the earth. This end had taken root, and now a new
little plant was there all formed and ready to grow the coming year.
"There is another just like it," said Davy, "and another--why, there
are lots of them!"
"Yes, the vine sends out many of those long slender branches with a
heavy little bud at the end of each to weigh it down. Such branches are
called stolons, and when the bud touches the earth it sends out roots.
Strawberries have runners which do the same thing. You will find plenty
of them if you look in the patch."
Davy and Prue went over to the strawberries and found that the vines,
now red and brown from frost, had sent out runners, and made little new
plants, like the black raspberries.
"You see," said the Chief Gardener, "we pick the berries, which are the
seeds, so all berry vines must have some other way of spreading. The
red raspberries do it in a different way. They send out runners, too,
but they are from the roots, and when the sprouts come up, we call them
suckers. Many kinds of plants have suckers, and there are some kinds of
trees sprout so badly that they cannot be used for shade."
"What a lot of ways there are for plants to start!" said Davy.
"Suppose we try to think of as many as we can," said the Chief
Gardener. "You begin, Prue."
"Seeds and roots and bend-overs and stuck-ins," said Prue. "That's
four."
[Illustration: A BLACK RASPBERRY VINE PREPARING TO SPREAD]
Davy and the Chief Gardener laughed.
"Well, that is a good start, but there are a good many kinds of roots
and 'bend-overs,' and what are 'stuck-ins?'"
"Why, pieces stuck in the ground to grow. Mamma does it with her
geraniums."
"Oh, slips! I see. Why, Prue, your answer covers about everything,
after all. Now, Davy, suppose we hear from you."
"Well, seeds--that's one. Bulbs, all the kinds, like the three onion
kinds, and maybe other kinds, roots like the red raspberries, that
make suckers and other kinds of roots, like potatoes, and then all the
runners and suckers that Prue calls 'bend-overs,' and slips and grafts
and buds."
"Stuck-ins," nodded the Chief Gardener. "Prue was about right after
all, for there are so many kinds of each different thing, and so many
ways, that I am afraid we should never remember all the kinds and ways.
'Seeds and roots and bend-overs and stuck-ins' take in about all of
them, and we are not apt to forget it. If you'll come now, we'll look
at some of the kinds of roots."
They went down into the garden, and the Chief Gardener opened a hill
of potatoes which had not been dug. Then he picked up one of the
potatoes and showed it to Davy and Prue.
[Illustration: "WHAT ARE STUCK-INS?--OH, SLIPS!"]
"That kind of a root is called a tuber," he said. "Those little spots
on it are eyes, and make the sprouts. You remember we cut the potatoes
we planted into little pieces, with one eye on each."
"I remember," said Prue, "and I asked if they had eyes so they could
see which way to grow."
"The pieces we planted sprouted, and kept the sprout growing until it
could send out roots. Besides the roots, there were little underground
branches, and a potato formed on the end of each branch. When the
soil and the season are both good there will be a great many of these
branches and new tubers, but when the soil is poor and the season bad
there will be very little besides roots."
The children followed the Chief Gardener, and dug up a bunch of thick
dahlia roots, and he told them how these were really roots, and not
tubers, like the potatoes. Then he dug up some sweet-flag, and they saw
how the rough root-pieces were joined one to the other, in a sort of
chain of roots, and these he told them were root-stalks, and that they
kept a store of nourishment for the new plants, in the spring.
"There is a grass," he said, "which has such a root, and every time
it is cut it sends up a new plant, so that every time the farmer tries
to get it out of his grain-field he only makes more plants, unless he
pulls up every piece and destroys it. You see, that grass has to fight
to live, and it makes one of the very best fights of any plant I know,
except the Canada thistle, which does very much the same thing. And
that is what all plant life is. It is the struggle to live and grow
and spread. The struggle with men and animals and heat and cold and
with other plants. And in the struggle the plants, and especially the
weeds, which have to fight hardest, have grown strong and persevering,
and have learned a thousand ways to multiply their roots and to scatter
their seed."
III
ALL THANKS FOR THE PLANTS
THANKSGIVING brought the usual good dinner, and upon the table and the
sideboard there were many things to remind the little family of their
garden and their summer-time. There was a large plate of red apples and
a dish of nuts, and there was a pot of pinks, which Prue had saved for
her window-garden. Then there was a fine little jar of pickles, made
from Davy's tomatoes, besides dishes of tomatoes and turnips, all from
the little garden that had come and gone, leaving these good things and
many pleasant memories behind.
And after the dinner was over, and the pudding eaten and the nuts
passed, the little family sat around the table to talk, as they often
did.
"I am sure we have a great deal to be thankful for this year," said big
Prue. "Two such nice healthy children, with plenty to eat and wear, and
a fire to keep us warm, and a good roof over our heads."
"And all from the plants," said the Chief Gardener. "If we are thankful
for the plants, we are thankful for almost everything we have."
Davy sat thinking silently about this, but little Prue did not quite
understand.
"I suppose you mean that the plants made us healthy to work in them,"
she said.
"I mean that, and I mean a great many other things. In the first place,
plants furnish all the food in the world. Not only the vegetables,
but the animal-food. Our turkey would not have been here to-day if he
had not been fed on grain, and even the oysters must live from a sort
of plant-food in the sea. Every creature that walks or flies or swims
lives either on plants themselves or from some creature that does live
on them."
"Do sharks live on plants, too?" asked Prue.
"Of course!" said Davy. "Sharks eat men, and men eat plants."
"I don't suppose sharks live altogether on men," laughed big Prue, "and
the little fish they eat may live on other little fish, but if you go
far enough you will find that somewhere the beginning is plant-life."
"Plants also warm and light us," went on the Chief Gardener. "Every
stick of wood, or bit of coal, or drop of oil we burn, comes from
plant-life. The coal was vegetation long ago--very long ago--and the
heat and light that come from it were stored there in that far-away
time by the green leaves that drew in life and light from the sunbeams."
"Do the leaves really take up light?" asked Davy.
"They really do. With every particle of vegetable matter that is made,
a portion of the sun's heat and light is laid up in it. The light is
still in the coal, though it looks so black. We have only to burn it,
to get back the sunlight."
That was a very wonderful thought to the children, and they had to talk
about it a great deal before the Chief Gardener went on.
"Every bit of clothing we wear comes from the plants," he said at last.
"The cotton grows like the down about the thistle seed, and the wool
that grows on the sheep's back is there because the sheep feeds on the
green grass in summer and upon hay and grain in the winter-time. Silk
is made by worms from mulberry leaves, linen is from the flax plant,
and leather from the cattle that grow in the same way that the sheep
grows.
[Illustration: THE WOOL THAT GROWS ON THE SHEEP'S BACK IS THERE BECAUSE
THE SHEEP FEEDS ON THE GREEN GRASS IN SUMMER]
"Then there is our house. A great deal of it is made from wood, and
even the bricks have vegetable matter in them, while the stones are
shaped by tools that have wooden handles, and the bricks and stones are
hauled in wooden carts."
"But the iron doesn't grow, Papa," said little Prue.
"No, but without heat to forge it--heat that comes from wood and
coal--it would be of no use."
"But there is one other thing that is more to us than all the rest.
Plants purify the air we breathe. Air that we have breathed once is not
fit for us again. We have used the oxygen from it, and turned it into
carbonic acid gas. But carbonic acid gas is just what the plants need,
so they take our breathed air and turn it into oxygen again and give it
back to us fresh and pure, so that we can keep our life and health."
"Don't forget the flowers, Papa," said little Prue.
"I haven't forgotten them. If it were not for the flowers many of
the plants would die out, and besides being so useful, the flowers
feed the bees and make the world beautiful, and our lives happier and
sweeter, by filling them with color and perfume and loveliness. No, I
could hardly forget the flowers, Prue. They are the crowning glory of
the plants that feed and clothe and warm and shelter us. So let us be
thankful for the plants, every part of them, and especially for the
flowers."
"We ought to be thankful for the sun that makes them grow, too," said
Davy.
"And we must not forget the One to whom all thanks are due," added his
mother.
And as the November day closed in they gathered around the big open
fire, and were happy and cheerful in the blaze of the same sunbeams
that had shone on the great forests which had perished so many ages
ago.
DECEMBER
DECEMBER
I
NEW GARDENS IN THE WINDOWS
DECEMBER was a month for putting things away. The envelopes of seeds
which Davy and Prue and the Chief Gardener had gathered were all put
into separate tin boxes, and these boxes were put in a dry place on the
top cupboard shelf, where they would not be disturbed. The bulbs and
roots were also put into dry boxes in the basement, and the different
kinds labelled in large plain letters by Davy, who could print very
nicely indeed.
The bulbs were quite interesting. Some, like those of the Easter lily,
had small bulbs formed inside of them. Others, like the crocus, had
tiny bulbs formed on the outside, and then there were bulblets which
had formed above the ground, just where the leaf joins the stalk. These
were little lily bulbs.
So all the seeds and bulbs and roots were put away for the winter,
except a few that Davy and Prue planted in some pots for their
window-gardens.