there, you can see that plants would be too much crowded. They would
spread very little. Seeds must be carried from place to place. Some
light seeds, as those of the thistle, have a plume. The maple seeds
have wings. By these the wind blows them along.
But most seeds are too heavy to be wind driven. They must be carried.
For this work the plant takes its partner, the bird.
To please the eye of the bird, and attract it to the seed, the plant
has gay-colored seeds. Also it has often gay-colored seed cases. The
rose haws, you know, are vivid red. The juniper has a bright blue
berry. The smilax has a black berry. The berries of the mistletoe are
white, of the mulberry purple.
These colors catch the eye of the bird. Down he flies to swallow the
seed, case, and all. Also many seed cases, or covers, are nice food to
eat. They are nice for us. We like them. But first of all they were
spread out for the bird’s table.
Birds like cherries, plums, and strawberries. Did you ever watch a bird
picking blackberries? The thorns do not bother him. He swallows the
berries fast,--pulp and seed.
You have been told of the hard case which covers the soft or germ part
of the seed, and its seed-leaf food. This case does not melt up in the
bird’s crop or gizzard, as the soft food does. So when it falls to the
ground the germ is safe, and can sprout and grow.
Birds carry seeds in this way from land to land, as well as from field
to field. They fly over the sea and carry seeds to lonely islands,
which, but for the birds, might be barren.
So by means of its insect partners, the plant’s seed germs grow, and
perfect seeds. By means of the bird partners, the seeds are carried
from place to place. Thus many plants grow, and men are clothed, and
warmed, and fed.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] See Nature Reader, No. 2, Lessons on Ants.
[10] No. 1, Lesson 18.
LESSON XI.
AIR, WATER, AND SAND PLANTS.
Most of the plants which you see about you grow in earth or soil. You
have heard your father say that the grass in some fields was scanty
because the soil was poor. You have been told that wheat and corn would
not grow in some other field, because the soil was not rich enough.
You understand that. The plant needs good soil, made up of many kinds
of matter. These minerals are the plant’s food. Perhaps you have helped
your mother bring rich earth from the forest, to put about her plants.
But beside these plants growing in good earth in the usual way, there
are plants which choose quite different places in which to grow. There
are air-plants, water-plants, sand-plants. Have you seen all these
kinds of plants?
You have, no doubt, seen plants growing in very marshy, wet places, as
the rush, the iris, and the St. John’s-wort. Then, too, you have seen
plants growing right in the water, as the water-lilies, yellow and
white; the little green duck-weed; and the water crow-foot.
If you have been to the sea-shore, you have seen green, rich-looking
plants, growing in a bank of dry sand. In the West and South, you may
find fine plants growing in what seem to be drifts, or plains of clear
sand.
Air-plants are less common. Let us look at them first. There are some
plants which grow upon other plants and yet draw no food from the
plant on which they grow. Such plants put forth roots, leaves, stems,
blossoms, but all their food is drawn from the air.
I hope you may go and see some hot-house where orchids are kept. You
will see there splendid plants growing on a dead branch, or some other
dry thing, high up in the air.
Did you ever see a piece of mistletoe? It grows on some tree. It has
nice green leaves and white berries. That the mistletoe draws all its
food from the air has been proved. It thrives as well on a dead tree as
on a live one. A Frenchman, who loved to study plants, made a mistletoe
plant grow on a cannon ball. Another mistletoe sprouted and grew from a
seed held out on the point of a copper needle.
Thus, you see, these air-plants gain all their food from the air.
Water-plants will seem to you to grow in a more natural way. Most of
them are rooted in the earth at the bottom of the pond, or ditch, where
they grow. As the blossoms form, the flower stem grows long, and the
flower rises to the top of the water.
There the lovely blossom floats about in the sunshine. It is moored
by its long stem to the root, as a boat is moored by a rope. When the
seeds are ripe, the flower stem sinks down again. The leaf stems rise
to the top of the water. There the leaves lie spread out, to breathe
the air.
Now when these leaves of water-plants are made to grow to the top of
the water and live, they are broad, and often shaped like a shield.
They are to spread out on the surface of the water, and catch all the
air and sunshine that they can.
But there are other kinds of water-plants which have their leaves
growing down under the water. All these leaves made to stay in the
water are fringe-like and narrow. They look like wide leaves cut into
many small strips.
Most sea-weeds have fringe-like leaves. Yet there are sea-weeds with
wide leaves. They, like the fish, are made to live in the water all the
time.
The fresh-water plants generally mean to come to the top of the water
some time. They have green leaves. Their leaves can keep green only by
the action on them of the air and light. This is why the leaf is made
fringe-like. Its fringed leaves act as a net, floating around in the
water. These leaf-nets catch not fish, but air-bubbles, and rays of
light.
The water crow-foot, or water buttercup, has two kinds of leaves. Those
at the bottom of the stalk are all in fine fringes. The leaves at the
top are broad, like other crow-foot leaves.
There are some water-plants which do not root at the bottom of the
pond. They spend all their lives floating about. A little plant called
“duck-weed” is one of them. It has a soft, green body like two halves
of a tiny pea. Its roots are three or four fine threads. It gathers all
its food from the water.
Most water-plants have two sets of roots. One set holds the plant fast
in its place. The other roots spring from the base of the leaves. They
gather food from the water.
Now, while leaves that grow in the water are fringe-like, I think you
will see that leaves of plants that grow in sand must be just the
opposite.
If you examine a plant growing in dry sand, you will find that it has
thick, soft, juicy leaves. The leaves of sand-plants are seldom flat.
They are shaped like fringes, or the palm of your hand, or like little
rolls.
Why is that? Can you not guess? The roots of these sand-living plants
can get very little water. Only when rain and heavy dew fall can they
get moisture. If they are wise little plants, they will store moisture
up.
These sand-plants store up food and moisture in their leaves. It may
surprise you that plants, growing in such dry places, have leaves so
full of juice. The leaves are their pantry. They are full of saved-up
water.
You will notice another thing. Many of the sand-plants have their
leaves covered with prickles, hooks, and thorns. The leaves are rough,
like burrs. Why is that? Is it not so, that birds and beasts will not
want to eat them?
If the leaves are nipped off by animals, these plants must die. Their
sand home gives them no water for their roots. If the leaves are eaten,
all the plant must perish.
As there is so little water in the sand to carry food to the plant
through the roots, the leaves of these plants must do most of their
eating. So in the sand-growing plants the leaves serve as mouth,
stomach, and pantry.
By the sea-side you will find plenty of sand-growing plants. You can
study them, and prove these points for yourselves.
Children who are not by the sea may, perhaps, have, near where they
live, a curious sand-loving plant, the cactus. The cactus prefers a
sandy soil. I have seen a large cactus, covered with yellow blooms,
growing right in a drift of clear sand.
You will notice that what you call the leaves of the cactus are not
real leaves, but thick, odd-shaped stems. These stems are green, and
answer for leaves. They are of many queer shapes. They are covered with
little clusters of prickles. As they serve for leaves, these odd stems
of a sand-plant are fleshy and juicy. The plant stores its food and
drink in them.
LESSON XII.
PLANTS THAT EAT ANIMALS.
[Illustration: QUEER DIET.]
You have now heard of so many wonders about plants, that perhaps
nothing new which you will hear of them will surprise you. You may not
even say “Oh!” when I tell you that some plants eat bugs,--as ants,
gnats, and flies,--and will not even refuse a nice bit of raw meat!
These plants are called the “flesh-eaters.” The name is a long
one,--carnivora. Here is a verse about them. As it has long, hard words
in it, I wish to say I did not make it.
“What’s this I hear
About the new carnivora?
Can little plants
Eat bugs and ants?
Why this is retrograding!
Surely the fare
Of flowers is air,
Or sunshine sweet.
They should not eat,
Or do aught so degrading.”
These animal-eating plants are so made that they catch insects, and
suck up, or draw out, the juice of their bodies. This juice the plant
seems to feed upon. It has been seen to pass from the leaf which
catches the insect into the stem and other parts of the plant.
In all these insect-eating plants, it is the leaf that does the killing
and eating.
I will first tell you of a little water-plant of this queer class. It
is called the bladder-plant. It is one of the water-plants which float
free. On the fringe-like leaves are little bags or bladders. These are
full of air, and help the plant to float. The mouth of these little
bags has a door opening inward. It is set round with hairs.
The little insect-larvæ which live in water, and other tiny animals
that swim about, see these little floating bags, with the small, green
doors. The creatures act as if they wanted to know what was inside such
pretty places. Finally they go in. To go in is easy. But once in, they
cannot get out. The little door will not open outwards.
After a day or two, the animal thus trapped is all eaten. Only the
hard, horny parts, which serve for its bones, are left.
There is another small plant, called the sun-dew, which eats insects.
Any of you who live near a cranberry bog can find sun-dew growing on
the edges of the bog. It is a plant that lives in wet places.
The sun-dew has a number of leaves about the size and shape of pearl
shirt-buttons. They grow on short stems close to the ground. The leaves
are covered with red hairs. These hairs are called tentacles. As many
as a hundred and fifty will grow on one little leaf.
From these long, red hairs come tiny drops of sticky stuff. These drops
gleam like dew. From them, and the little red, hairy rays, the plant
has its name.
The insect comes flying by. The “dew” looks like something good to eat.
But as soon as the insect touches the leaf, the juice holds its legs
fast. The insect begins to kick, but cannot get away.
The struggles of the insect seem to irritate the plant. For, when the
hairs are touched, they pour out more juice. Not only this, but the
touch of the insect on the hairs causes the leaf to bend upwards. It
bends over, over, folding down, until it is all shut up upon the insect.
Here is the insect held in the folded leaf. The glue runs out over it
faster than ever. When you think how the insect breathes through tubes
wound over all its body,[11] you will see that it must soon smother,
held in this sticky juice.
When the leaf is bent over the insect, the juice changes. When the leaf
is so bent, the juice is acid, or sour. This acid juice melts up the
body of the insect. As it melts, the mouths, or glands, of the leaf
seem to suck it up.
The sun-dew will melt up and devour bits of meat laid on the leaf.
Water-drops on the leaf will not make it bend. But when milk-drops are
put on the leaf, it bends, and sucks them up.
The leaf will not close over a piece of stone, or glass. But it will
close over a bit of boiled egg, or a scrap of bone. It melts the bone
so soft, that you can stick a needle into it.
Another animal-eating plant is the Venus’s-flytrap. It grows only in
North Carolina. The leaf-blade has sharp bristles about the upper part.
Each half of the leaf hollows a little, so that when the two halves
come together they form a small pouch.
The leaf has some fine hairs which an insect cannot but touch, when
it moves on the leaf. When the hairs are touched, the leaf bends. The
bristles on the edges lock together, so that the insect is held in a
cage, even before the leaf closes.
When the leaf is fully closed, the insect is held in a bag prison. The
glands then pour out juice to melt up the body of the insect. As it
melts, its juices are drawn into the plant.
The Venus’s-flytrap does not seem to depend alone on the chance
lighting of the insect upon it. It has a sweet juice on the leaf to
attract insects. But it does not need as much sticky fluid as the
sun-dew, to hold the insect. The two halves of the leaf snap together
like a trap. They give the insect no time to get away.
Another very odd plant which eats insects is the side-saddle plant.
This is often called the pitcher-plant. It looks far more like a
pitcher than like a saddle. The leaves of this plant are like a
beautiful pitcher painted red and green.
These plants are common in the South. They grow also in marshy places
in the North. I remember how happy I was when my father brought me
three of them, when I was a little girl.
There are two or three kinds of these pitcher-plants. One kind is
green, spotted with red, and has some yellow lines. Another kind is
green with purple marks. You must notice that the inner side of the lid
is of the brightest color.
Why is this? Insects see the gay color and fly to the plant. The leaves
of the pitcher-plant are large, and they are bent and the edges grow
together nearly all the way up. This forms a close pitcher which will
hold water.
The seam where the leaves are joined is usually of a light yellow
color. It is covered with a honey-like juice, in small drops. The rim
of the pitcher and the inside of the neck have also these honey drops.
The insects, attracted by the gay color, come to feed on the honey.
They feed along the seam and rim, and so into the throat of the
pitcher. They seem to get dizzy, or so full of honey, that they feel
dull. They get down into the pitcher, and--there they stay!
Why do they not come out? For three reasons. The inside of the pitcher
has a band of hairs growing downward. The insects cannot creep up
through these. The hairs turn them back, as a brush fence turns cattle.
Then, too, part of the inside of the pitcher is so smooth that insects
fall back when they walk on it. Still, as they can walk on glass, I
think their slipping back must be due more to being dizzy, than to the
smooth surface.
And here is the third reason, the pitcher is half full of liquid, and
this liquid seems to make the insect dizzy. This liquid looks like
pure, clear water. It tastes like the root of the plant,--a biting
taste.
It is not like the honey-dew which lies on the seam for a bait. In this
liquid, inside, the insects are drowned.
You may find many dead insects in one pitcher. I told you a little
about this, in the last book, in the lessons on flies.[12] The dead
bodies of the insects melted up seem to help to feed the plant. But
often a pitcher catches more insects than the plant can use.
There are many kinds of pitcher-plants in very warm lands. You may be
able to see some of them in hot-houses. All have the same general way
of killing and eating insects.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] See Nature Reader, No. 2, p. 77.
[12] Nature Reader, No. 2, pp. 59-60.
LESSON XIII.
WEATHER PROPHET PLANTS.
Once, when I was a little girl, I ran one morning to the garden, and
said to the old Scotchman who worked there, “To-day I am going up the
mountain for berries.”
“No, no, Missey, not to-day,” he said; “it will rain.” “No, it will not
rain,” I said. “The sun is up. The cook says it will be fair. The glass
in the hall does not say rain.”
“Tuts, tuts,” said the old man. “I care for no suns, or cooks, or
glasses. The pimpernel says it will rain, and so it _will_ rain.
Flowers, Missey, always tell the truth. When they say ‘rain,’ go, get
your umbrella.”
Sure enough, by noon, the rain was pouring down. After that, I looked
with great respect at the tiny flower, sometimes brick red, sometimes
blue, which could tell about the weather.
[Illustration: A RAINY DAY.]
But the pimpernel is not the only plant that is a weather prophet. We
will look first at some plants, and then at some seeds, which tell
about the weather.
If you go into the garden, and find the African marigold shut, after
seven o’clock in the morning, you may be pretty sure that there will be
a rainy day.
But while the African marigold stays shut for rain, the Siberian
thistle gets ready for rain, by keeping open. If this thistle does not
close at night, you may look out for rain next day.
You see the marigold, which had origin in a hot land, stays folded, to
keep the rain out of its petals. But the thistle, which had origin in a
cold, stormy land, keeps wide open to get a good washing.
Did you ever see near the way-side the pretty little morning-glory or
bind-weed, with its pink and white blossoms? Even if it is wide open,
in the early day, it twists its striped cup close together, and droops
its head, if a rain cloud drifts across the sky. It seems to want to
shield its stamens and pistil from the wet.
There is a little single marigold, which shuts up in a hurry if the sky
becomes clouded. It is called the “rainy-marigold.”
Most plants which we call “weather prophets” shut up for rain. But some
plants open for rain. The cause of the opening and closing is probably
the difference in light. Most likely, these plants shut their flowers
because there is too little light, not because there is too much
moisture.
But you know there are some plants which shrink from a strong light,
and love the shade. You will find that most shade-loving plants, as the
verbenas, do not close for rain.
Lilies, tulips, and other flowers that love the sun, shut for rain. The
tulip and crocus families are among our best weather prophets. Just
as the gay tulip shuts at evening, when the dew begins to fall, so it
shuts for a shower.
Tulips are careful not to open their cups very wide in the morning, if
it is likely to rain. The roses make no change; they seem not to fear
wet.
On the whole, you may be pretty sure, if you go into your garden,
and find many flowers, as tulips, marigolds, morning-glories, and
celandine, shut, it will be a stormy day, unfit for picnics or long
walks.
Just as some blossoms are weather prophets, so are some seeds. But in
the case of the seeds it is the moisture, not the light, which affects
them.
Among these seeds, that of the wild-oat is chief. When the air is
moist, the long bristles, called awns, on the seed, squirm and twist.
In old times, before people knew why this was, they said that this seed
was a witch!
There is a marigold which grows at the Cape of Good Hope, and in dry
weather has its head of seeds held close, like a round button. When
rain is coming, this seed-head opens out, like a star with many points.
Do you see the use of these motions? The wild-oat, as it wriggles and
twists back and forth, from the dampness of the air, or earth, twists
its way into the soil. It plants itself by these motions.
The marigold keeps its seeds safe in dry weather, which would kill
them. When rain comes, it opens the seed-head. Then the seeds fall out
on moist earth, where they will sprout and grow.
Some seed-pods fly open when they are dry. The sand-box tree has
seed-pods as large as an orange. They fly open in dry weather.
What is the reason of all these queer actions of the flowers? No doubt
they are all due to light and moisture. To light, most of all.
The little pimpernel probably needs much heat and light to open its
petals. Even a little moisture in the air, or a little less light than
it likes, will cause it to keep shut.
A pimpernel in full bloom will close its blossoms almost as soon as you
pick it. Very likely the slight moisture of your hand causes it to do
that.
This motion of closing, during rain, may be very useful to some
flowers. A frail flower with a large cup, such as a tulip or crocus,
might, if open, be broken to pieces by a heavy shower. These flowers
fold up, and expose only a close-pointed bud, to the storm. Then no
rain can get among the petals.
Also, the rain might break the large pollen cases of the tulip, and
wash the pollen all away. So, if the convolvulus had its long tube
filled with water, the stamens and pistil would perhaps be harmed, and
its seeds would not be able to grow.
LESSON XIV.
PLANT CLOCKS.
I knew an old man who made a great clock for his grandchildren. What
kind of a clock do you suppose it was? The clock was in the garden, and
it was made of flowers.
Did it tell the time well? Only pretty well. Flower clocks are as
liable to get out of order as clocks made at a factory.
This clock was a great flower bed, divided into twelve parts. The
divisions were marked out by little rows of box-plants. In the middle
was a post three feet high. It had two clock hands on it, but _they_
were only for show. They did not move.
But the post had a sun-dial on it, and that gave true time. So the
children could tell when the flower clock was not working well.
As there are twelve hours of day and twelve of night, and some plants
open only at night, each of the twelve divisions of the clock was
divided into two parts by a little line of red colors. On one side of
this were the night bloomers, on the other side the day bloomers.
The children thought it lovely, and were proud of it. And the clock did
for them what the grandfather wished,--it made them like and notice
plants.
I have just said that there are plants which open only by night, and
others which open only by day. This opening and shutting for day and
night is called “the sleep of plants.”
This sleep of plants is not because the plant is tired; it is due to
the absence or presence of light, and to changes in the amount of
light. Yet, no doubt, in it the organs of the plant do rest, as their
growth and action are not then so rapid.
Both the flowers and the leaves of plants have this sleep motion. We
will look first at the sleep of flowers.
You have noticed that the morning-glories are open when you rise, and
that they fold or shut up by noon. Have you in your garden a flower
with gay yellow or scarlet blossoms, called the four-o’clock? That does
not open until about four in the afternoon.
As you run to school in the morning, the dandelions are gay along the
way-side. When you come from school in the afternoon, the dandelions
are all folded in their green cups.
If this is so, why does not the flower-clock tell true time? You can
see that owing to the changes in the heat and rising of the sun in
different places, and seasons, the sleep of the flowers would not begin
at the same time.
I have seen my morning-glories open as late as nine o’clock, and stay
open all day in cool October days. In August they opened by six and
were shut by eleven. So the four-o’clocks and dandelions may vary by an
hour or two.
All the water-lilies shut at night. Some not only shut, but draw their
heads down under water. I will tell you when you will find some flowers
opening. At four in the morning you will find the goat’s-beard and the
blue chicory opening. The chicory petals are then a fine blue. They
become lighter in color until near mid-day, when they are almost white.
Chicory is called “Miss-go-to-bed-at-noon” by some children, as the
flowers shut at noon.
At five in the morning the common morning-glory and the poppy open. At
six the yellow hawk’s-weed and dandelions look out on the way-side. At
seven the water-lilies smile at us. At eight, if the day is fine, the
pimpernel opens its red eyes.
At nine the marigold spreads out, and the tulip. At noon, on a hot
day, you will find the tulip opened nearly flat. At eleven the Star of
Bethlehem shuts up, while most of the day flowers are in their best
bloom.
At twelve the lazy passion-flowers awake, and the sweet-peas have their
banners opened wide. At two the wild daisies are brightest. Then at
four in the afternoon, out comes the four-o’clocks, and at five the
“beauty of the night,” and at six the delicate evening primrose. At
seven the white lychnis, which blooms only at night, opens. Later still
the night primrose puts out its white bloom, and at two o’clock in the
morning the purple convolvulus wakes up and wonders why the sun is so
late.