PLANTS
AND THEIR CHILDREN

BY

MRS. WILLIAM STARR DANA
AUTHOR OF “HOW TO KNOW THE WILD FLOWERS”

ILLUSTRATED BY

ALICE JOSEPHINE SMITH

NEW YORK

CINCINNATI

CHICAGO

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY

Copyright, 1896, by
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY.

DANA’S PLANTS.
W. P. 2

PREFACE

A child’s reading book, it seems to me, should secure for the child three things,—practice in the art of reading, amusement, and instruction. Whether my little book is fitted to attain this threefold object, others must decide; but in laying it before the public, let me urge careful attention to a few suggestions.

1. As the book is arranged so as to begin with the opening of the school year and to follow it to its close, the interest of pupils will be increased by reading the different chapters during the seasons to which they refer.

2. The teacher should exercise judgment as to the omission of any chapter or group of chapters which may seem beyond the comprehension of the class. With a little care, such an omission may nearly always be made without injury to the usefulness of the rest of the book.

3. Specimens of the objects described, when these can be found in the locality, should always be on exhibition in the schoolroom. Whenever possible, the children themselves should collect and handle these specimens. If for any reason this collection by the children cannot be accomplished, the teacher should not fail to anticipate the readings, and to provide the objects mentioned.

By the observance of these simple and practicable suggestions, it is believed that, while the children are being trained in the art of reading, their powers of observation and of reasoning will be developed, and that they will be inspired with a lifelong interest in nature. The child’s mind is peculiarly alive to the charm of nature when she is studied in detail, and through her it can be trained to observe accurately and to reason logically.

Through the neglect of nature study, the wits of the country child lose just the sharpening they most need, to say nothing of a stimulus and delight which can ill be spared by one whose mental life is apt to be monotonous.

The wits of the city child may secure in other ways the sharpening so essential to success in life; yet the training afforded by a logical study of plants, and the pleasure which such a study, rightly directed, is sure to yield, are as invaluable to him as to his country cousin.

Experience having proved to my keenest satisfaction that almost invariably children can be interested in stories of plants and their children, to the children of the land I offer this little book, in the earnest hope that its pages may lead at least some few of them to find in life a new joy and a deeper meaning.

The aid derived from many sources in the preparation of “Plants and their Children” is heartily acknowledged; but more especially I wish to extend my thanks to Messrs. Holt & Co. for their courtesy in allowing the reproduction of several cuts from their valuable and interesting publication, “The Natural History of Plants,” translated from the German of Kerner von Marilaun.

CONTENTS

PLANTS AND THEIR CHILDREN

Part I—Fruits and Seeds

IN THE ORCHARD

Is there a nicer place in which to play than an old apple orchard? Once under those favorite trees whose branches sweep the ground, you are quite shut off from the great, troublesome, outside world. And how happy and safe you feel in that green world of your own!—a world just made for children, a world of grass and leaves and birds and flowers, where lessons and grown-up people alike have no part.

In the lightly swinging branches you find prancing horses, and on many a mad ride they carry you. The larger ones are steep paths leading up mountain sides. Great chasms yawn beneath you. Here only the daring, the cool-headed, may hope to be successful and reach the highest points without danger to their bones.

Out here the girls bring their dolls, and play house. Nothing can make a more interesting or a more surprising house than an apple tree, its rooms are so many and of such curious shapes. Then, too, the seats in these rooms are far more comfortable than the chairs used by ordinary people in everyday houses. The doings of the Robin family are overlooked by its windows. One is amazed to see how many fat worms Mother Robin manages to pop down the yawning baby throats, and wonders how baby robins ever live to grow up.

From these windows you watch the first flying lesson; and you laugh to see the little cowards cling to the branch close by, paying little heed to their parents’ noisy indignation. All the same, you wish that you too might suddenly grow a pair of wings, and join the little class, and learn to do the one thing that seems even more delightful than tree climbing.

That you children long to be out of the schoolroom this minute, out in the orchard so full of possibilities, I do not wonder a bit. But as the big people have decided that from now on for some months you must spend much of your time with lesson books, I have a plan to propose.

What do you say to trying to bring something of the outdoor places that we love into the schoolroom, which we do not love as much as we should if lessons were always taught in the right way?

Now let us pretend—and even grown-up people, who can do difficult sums, and answer questions in history and geography better than children, cannot “pretend” one half so well—now let us pretend that we are about to spend the morning in the orchard.

Here we go, out of the schoolroom into the air and sunshine, along the road, up the hill, till we reach the stone wall beyond which lies our orchard.

Ah! it is good to get into the cool of the dear, friendly trees. And just now, more than ever, they seem friendly to you boys and girls; for they are heavy with apples,—beautiful red and golden apples, that tempt you to clamber up into the green sea of leaves above.

Now let us “pretend” that you have had your fill, and are ready to gather quietly about me on the long grass. But first, please, one of you bring me an apple. Let it be well-grown and rounded, with a rosy, sun-burned cheek; for, as we are to spend some little time with this apple, the more perfect it is in shape, the richer in color, the sounder all the way through, the better. It is good to be as much as possible with things that are beautiful and wholesome and hearty, even though they are only apples.

Fig. 1

Here we have (Fig. [1]) a fine specimen. What do you know, any of you, about this apple? Perhaps this seems a strange question. But when we see something that is fine and beautiful, is it strange that we wish to know its history? If I see a man or a woman who seems to me all that a man or woman should be; if he or she is fine-looking and fine-acting, straight and strong, and beautiful and kind, and brave and generous,—I ask, “Who is he? Where does she come from? What have they done?”

Of course, a fine apple is not so interesting as a fine man or woman, or as a fine boy or girl. Still there is much of interest to learn even about an apple.

None of you seems anxious to tell the apple’s story, so I shall have to start you with some questions.

Do you remember playing in this same orchard last spring?

Yes, you have not forgotten those Saturdays in May. The trees were all pink and white with apple blossoms. The air was sweet with fragrance, and full of the voices of birds, and of bees that were bustling about from flower to flower. No, indeed! you have not forgotten those happy mornings. What is more, you never will. They are among the things that will stay by you, and be a rest and help to you all your lives. I wish there were no child living that might not carry with him always the memory of May days in an apple orchard.

How has it come about, do you suppose, that these trees which in May were covered with flowers are now heavy with apples?

Can any of you children answer this riddle? How have these great apples managed to take the place of the delicate apple blossoms?

There are some children who keep their eyes open, and really see what is going on about them, instead of acting as if they were quite blind; and perhaps some such child will say, “Oh, yes! I know how it happened. I have seen it all,” and will be able to tell the whole story at once.

I should like very much to meet that boy or girl, and I should like to take a country walk with him or her; for there are so few children, or grown people either, who use both their eyes to see with, and the brain which lies back of their eyes to think and question with, that it is a rare treat to meet and to go about with one of them.

But I should be almost as much pleased to meet the child who says, “Well, I know that first the blossoms come. Early in May they make the orchard so nice to play in. But in a few days they begin to fall. Their little white leaves come dropping down like snowflakes; and soon after, if you climb out along the branches and look close, where there was a blossom before, you find now a little green thing something like a knob (Fig. [2]). This tiny knob keeps growing bigger and bigger, and then you see that it is a baby apple. As the weeks go by, the little apple grows into a big one; and at last the green begins to fade away, and the red and yellow to come. One day you find the great grown apple all ripe, and ready to eat. But I never could see just what made it come like that, such a big, heavy apple from such a little flower, and I always wondered about it.”

Fig. 2

Now, if we wonder about the things we see, we are on the right road. The child who first “sees” what is happening around him, and then “wonders” and asks questions, is sure to be good company to other people and to himself. (And as one spends more time with himself than with any one else, he is lucky if he finds himself a pleasant companion.) Such a child has not lost the use of his eyes, as so many of us seem to have done. And when the little brain is full of questions, it bids fair to become a big brain, which may answer some day the questions the world is asking.

Before I tell you just how the big apple managed to take the place of the pretty, delicate flower, let us take a good look at this flower.

But in September apple flowers are not to be had for the asking. Not one is to be found on all these trees. So just now we must use the picture instead. And when May comes, your teacher will bring you a branch bearing the beautiful blossoms; or, better still, perhaps she will take you out into the orchard itself, and you can go over this chapter again with the lovely living flowers before you.

Fig. 3

Now, as you look at this picture of the apple flower (Fig. [3]), you see a circle made up of five pretty leaves. Sometimes these are white; again they are pink. And in the center what do you see? Why, there you see a quantity of odd-looking little things whose names you do not know. They look somewhat like small, rather crooked pins; for on the tips of most of them are objects which remind you of the head of a pin.

If you were looking at a real flower, you would see that these pin heads were little boxes filled with a yellow dust which comes off upon one’s fingers; and so for the present we will call them “dust boxes.”

But besides these pins—later we shall learn their real names—besides these pins with dust boxes, we find some others which are without any such boxes. The shape of these reminds us a little of the pegs or pins we use in the game of tenpins. If we looked at them very closely, we should see that there were five of them, but that these five were joined below into one piece.

Now suppose we take the apple blossom and pull off all its pretty white flower leaves, and all the pins with dust boxes, what will be left?

Fig. 4

This picture (Fig. [4]) shows you just what is left. You see what looks like a little cup or vase. The upper part of this is cut into five pieces, which are rolled back. In the picture one of these pieces is almost out of sight. In the real blossom these pieces look like little green leaves. And set into this cup is the lower, united part of those pins which have no dust boxes on top.

I fancy that you are better acquainted with the apple blossom than ever before, never mind how many mornings you may have spent in the sweet-smelling, pink and white orchard. You know just what goes to make up each separate flower, for all the many hundreds of blossoms are made on the one plan.

And only now are you ready to hear what happened to make the apple take the place of the blossom.

THE STORY OF THE BEE

This is what happened. And it is a true story.

One morning last May a bee set out among the flowers on a honey hunt.

Perhaps it would be more true to say that the bee set out to hunt for the sweet stuff of which honey is made; for while this sweet stuff is still in the flower cup it is not honey, any more than the wheat growing in the field is bread. The wheat becomes bread later, after it has been cut and gathered and threshed and ground, and brought into the kitchen and there changed into bread; and the sweet stuff becomes honey only after the bees have carried it home and worked it.

As the bee left home this particular morning, it made up its mind that it would devote itself to the apple blossoms; for did you know that when a bee goes flower visiting, usually it gives all its attention to one kind of flower till it has finished that special round of visits?

So off the bee flew; and in a few moments it saw hundreds of little pink and white handkerchiefs waving at it from the apple orchard.

What do you suppose these were, these gay little handkerchiefs? They were the flower leaves of the apple blossoms. I call them handkerchiefs, because, just as boys and girls sometimes wave their handkerchiefs when they wish to signal other boys and girls, so the apple tree uses its gay flower leaves to attract the attention of the bee, and persuade it to visit the flowers. Of course, really, they are not handkerchiefs at all. They would hardly be large enough for any but fairy noses, would they?

When the bee saw so many bright handkerchiefs waving it welcome, along it hurried; for it knew this was a signal that material for honey making was at hand. Another minute, and it had settled upon a freshly opened flower, and was eagerly stealing the precious sweet.

You children know, that, when you are given permission to go to the closet for a piece of candy or cake, you are not apt to set about it very gently. You are in too much of a hurry for that. Often you come very near knocking everything over, in your haste to get hold of what you want.

And bees are quite as greedy as any boy or girl could be. So our friend dived right into the pretty flower, brushing rudely against the little dust boxes. These, being full to overflowing with golden dust, spilled their contents, and powdered the bee quite yellow.

Having made sure that nothing more was to be found just there, off flew the dusty bee to the next blossom. Into this it pushed its way, and in so doing struck those pins which have no dust boxes; and upon their broad, flat tips fell some of the yellow dust grains with which its body was powdered.

Now there began to happen a strange thing.

But before I tell you more, I must stop one moment to remind you that these pins without dust boxes are joined below into one piece, and that this piece is set deep into the green cup which holds the rest of the flower (see Fig. [4]); and I must tell you, that, if you should cut open this cup, you would find a number of little round objects looking like tiny green eggs.

The strange thing that began to happen was this:—

Soon after the yellow dust from the bee fell upon the flat tips of the pins without dust boxes, the little green objects deep within the green cup became full of life, and began to get larger. And not only this: the green cup also seemed to feel this new life; for it too grew bigger and bigger, and juicier and juicier, until it became the fine juicy apple we have before us this morning.

So now you understand a little of what happened to make the great apple take the place of the delicate blossom.

THE APPLE’S TREASURES

If we lift our apple by its stem, it hangs in the same position as when growing on the tree (Fig. [5]).

But the blossom whose place in the world is taken by this apple held its little head proudly in the air. So let us put the apple in the same position, and see what is left of the flower from which it has come (Fig. [6]).

Fig. 5

We see the apple stem, which last May was the flower stem. This has grown thick and strong enough to hold the apple fast to the tree till it ripens and is ready to drop.

The upper part of the stem you cannot see, because the apple has swelled downwards all about it, or upwards we should say, if it were still on the tree.

Fig. 6

On the top of the apple, in a little hollow, we see some crumpled things which look like tiny withered leaves.

You remember that when the bee left the yellow dust in the apple blossom, the green cup began to grow big and juicy, and to turn into the apple. And these little crumpled things are all that is left of the five green leaves into which the upper part of the cup was divided. These little leaves have been out in all kinds of weather for many weeks, so no wonder they look rather mussy and forlorn.

It is hard to realize that from the center of this now crumpled bunch grew the pretty apple blossom.

Now where are those tiny round things that were packed away inside the green cup?

Well, as that cup is now this apple, the chances are that they are still hidden safely away within it. So let us take a knife and cut the apple open.

Fig. 7

What do you find in its very heart? If you cut it through crosswise, you find five brown seeds packed as neatly as jewels in their case (Fig. [7]); and if you cut it through lengthwise, you discover only two or three seeds (Fig. [8]).

Probably I need not say to you that these seeds were once the little round things hidden within the green cup.

Fig. 8

Some day I will tell you a great deal more about the wonderful golden dust which turns flowers into apples as easily as Cinderella’s fairy godmother turned rats into ponies, and pumpkins into coaches.

But all this will come later. Just now I want to talk about something else.

WHAT A PLANT LIVES FOR

When you go for a walk in the country, what do you see all about you?

“Cows and horses, and chickens and birds, and trees and flowers,” answers some child.

Yes, all of these things you see. But of the trees and plants you see even more than of the horses and cows and birds. On every side are plants of one kind or another. The fields are full of grass plants. The woods are full of tree plants. Along the roadside are plants of many varieties.

Now, what are all these plants trying to do? “To grow,” comes the answer. To grow big and strong enough to hold their own in the world. That is just what they are trying to do.

Then, too, they are trying to flower.

“But they don’t all have flowers,” objects one voice.

You are right. They do not all have flowers; but you would be surprised to know how many of them do. In fact, all of them except the ferns and mosses, and a few others, some of which you would hardly recognize as plants,—all of them, with these exceptions, flower at some time in their lives.

All the trees have flowers, and all the grasses (Figs. [9], [10]); and all those plants which get so dusty along the roadside, and which you call “weeds,”—each one of these has its own flower. This may be so small and dull-looking that you have never noticed it; and unless you look sharply, perhaps you never will. But all the same, it is a flower.

But there is one especial thing which is really the object of the plant’s life. Now, who can tell me this: what is this object of a plant’s life?

Do you know just what I mean by this question? I doubt it; but I will try to make it clear to you.

Fig. 9

If I see a boy stop his play, get his hat, and start down the street, I know that he has what we call “an object in view.” There is some reason for what he is doing. And if I say to him, “What is the object of your walk?” I mean, “For what are you going down the street?” And if he answers, “I am going to get a pound of tea for my mother,” I know that a pound of tea is the object of his walk.

So when I ask what is the object of a plant’s life, I mean why does a plant send out roots in search of food, and a stem to carry this food upward, and leaves to drink in air and sunshine? What is the object of all this?

A great many people seem to think that the object of all plants with pretty flowers must be to give pleasure. But these people quite forget that hundreds and thousands of flowers live and die far away in the lonely forest, where no human eye ever sees them; that they so lived and died hundreds and thousands of years before there were any men and women, and boys and girls, upon the earth. And so, if they stopped long enough quietly to think about it, they would see for themselves that plants must have some other object in life than to give people pleasure.

Fig. 10

But now let us go back to the tree from which we took this apple, and see if we can find out its special object.

“Why, apples!” some of you exclaim. “Surely the object of an apple tree is to bear apples.”

That is it exactly. An apple tree lives to bear apples.

And now why is an apple such an important thing? Why is it worth so much time and trouble? What is its use?

“It is good to eat,” chime all the children in chorus.

Yes, so it is; but then, you must remember that once upon a time, apple trees, like all other plants and trees, grew in lonely places where there were no boys and girls to eat their fruit. So we must find some other answer.

Think for a moment, and then tell me what you find inside every apple.

“Apple seeds,” one of you replies.

And what is the use of these apple seeds?

“Why, they make new apple trees!”

If this be so, if every apple holds some little seeds from which new apple trees may grow, does it not look as though an apple were useful and important because it yields seeds?

And what is true of the apple tree is true of other plants and trees. The plant lives to bear fruit. The fruit is that part of the plant which holds its seeds; and it is of importance for just this reason, that it holds the seeds from which come new plants.

THE WORLD WITHOUT PLANTS

We have just learned that the fruit is important because it holds the plant’s seeds; and we know that seeds are important because from them come the new plants for another year. Let us stop here one moment, and try to think what would happen if plants should stop having seeds, if there should be no new plants.

We all, and especially those of us who are children, carry about with us a little picture gallery of our very own. In this gallery are pictures of things which our real eyes have never seen, yet which we ourselves see quite as plainly as the objects which our eyes rest upon in the outside world. Some of these pictures are very beautiful. They show us things so wonderful and delightful and interesting, that at times we forget all about the real, outside things. Indeed, these pictures often seem to us more real than anything else in the world. And once in a great while we admire them so earnestly that we are able to make them come true; that is, we turn our backs upon them, and work so hard to bring them about, that at last what was only a picture becomes a reality.

Perhaps some of you children can step into this little gallery of your own, and see a picture of the great world as it would be if there should be no new plants.

This picture would show the world some hundreds of years from now; for, although some plants live only a short time, others (and usually these are trees) live hundreds of years.

But in the picture even the last tree has died away. Upon the earth there is not one green, growing thing. The sun beats down upon the bare, brown deserts. It seems to scorch and blister the rocky mountain sides. There are no cool shadows where one can lie on a summer afternoon; no dark, ferny nooks, such as children love, down by the stream. But, after all, that does not matter much, for there are no children to search out such hidden, secret spots.

“No children! Why, what has happened to them?”

Well, if plants should stop having children (for the little young plants that come up each year are just the children of the big, grown-up plants), all other life—the life of all grown people, and of all children, and of all animals—would also come to an end.

Did you ever stop to think of this,—that your very life depended upon these plants and trees? You know that they are pretty to look at, and pleasant to play about; but I doubt if you ever realized before, that to them you owe your life.

Now let us see how this can be. What did you have this morning for breakfast?

Bread and milk? Well, of what is the bread made? Flour? Yes, and the flour is made from the seeds of the wheat. If the wheat stopped having seeds, you would stop having bread made from wheat seeds. That is plain enough.

Then the milk,—where does that come from?

“That comes from the cows, and cows are not plants,” you say.

True, cows are not plants, but what would happen to the cows if there were no plants? Do not cows live in the green meadows, where all day long they munch the grass plants? And would there be any green meadows and all-day banquets, in years to come, if the grass did not first flower, and then seed? So then, no grass, no cows, and you would be without milk as well as without bread for breakfast.

And so it is with all the rest of our food. We live on either plants or animals. If there were no plants, there would be no animals, for animals cannot live without plants.

It is something like the house that Jack built, isn’t it?

“We are the children that drink the milk, that comes from the cows, that eat the grass, that grows from the seeds in the meadow.”

“If there were no seeds, there would be no grass to feed the cows that give us our milk for breakfast.”

And so it is everywhere. Plants give us a kind of food that we must have, and that only they can give. They could get on well enough without animals. Indeed, for a long time they did so, many hundreds of years ago. But animals cannot live without plants.

I think you will now remember why seeds are of such great importance.

HOW THE APPLE SHIELDS ITS YOUNG

Some time ago you noticed that apple seeds were packed away within the apple as neatly as though they were precious jewels in their case.

When we see something done up very carefully, surrounded with cotton wool, laid in a beautiful box, and wrapped about with soft paper, we feel sure that the object of all this care is of value. Even the outside of such a package tells us that something precious lies within.

Fig. 11

But what precious jewels could be laid away more carefully than these apple seeds? And what jewel case could boast a more beautiful outside than this red-cheeked apple (Fig. [11])?

Pass it around. Note its lovely color, its delicate markings, its satin-like skin. For myself, I feel sure that I never have seen a jewel case one half so beautiful.

Then cut it open and see how carefully the soft yet firm apple flesh is packed about the little seeds, keeping them safe from harm (Fig. [12]).

Fig. 12

But perhaps you think that anything so good to eat is not of much use as a protection. It takes you boys and girls about half a minute to swallow such a jewel case as this.

But here comes the interesting part of the story.

When you learn how well able this apple is to defend from harm its precious seeds, I think you will look upon it with new respect, and will own that it is not only a beautiful jewel case, but a safe one.

All seeds need care and wrapping-up till they are ripe; for if they fall to the ground before they are well grown, they will not be able to start new plants.

You know that you can tell whether an apple is ripe by looking at its seeds, for the fruit and its seeds ripen together. When the apple seeds are dark brown, then the apple is ready to be eaten.

But if, in order to find out whether an apple was ripe, you were obliged always to examine its seeds, you might destroy many apples and waste many young seeds before you found what you wished; so, in order to protect its young, the apple must tell you when it is ready to be eaten in some other way than by its seeds.

How does it do this? Why, it puts off its green coat, and instead wears one of red or yellow; and from being hard to the touch, it becomes soft and yielding when you press it with your fingers. If not picked, then it falls upon the ground in order to show you that it is waiting for you; and when you bite into it, you find it juicy, and pleasant to the taste.

While eating such an apple as this, you can be sure that when you come to the inner part, which holds its seeds, you will find these brown, and ripe, and quite ready to be set free from the case which has held them so carefully all summer.

But how does the apple still further protect its young till they are ready to go out into the world?

Well, stop and think what happened one day last summer when you stole into the orchard and ate a quantity of green apples, the little seeds of which were far too white and young to be sent off by themselves.

In the first place, as soon as you began to climb the tree, had you chosen to stop and listen, you could almost have heard the green skins of those apples calling out to you, “Don’t eat us, we’re not ripe yet!”

And when you felt them with your fingers, they were hard to the touch; and this hardness said to you, “Don’t eat us, we’re not ripe yet!”

But all the same, you ate them; and the sour taste which puckered up your mouth said to you, “Stop eating us, we’re not ripe yet!”

But you did not pay any attention to their warnings; and, though they spared no pains, those apples were not able to save their baby seeds from being wasted by your greediness.

But there was still one thing they could do to prevent your eating many more green apples, and wasting more half-ripe seeds. They could punish you so severely for having disobeyed their warnings, that you would not be likely very soon to do the same thing again.

And this is just what they did.

When feeling so ill and unhappy that summer night from all the unripe fruit you had been eating, perhaps you hardly realized that those apples were crying out to you,—

“You would not listen to us, and so we are punishing you by making you ill and uncomfortable. When you saw how green we were, we were begging you not to eat us till our young seeds were ripe. When you felt how hard we were, we were trying to make you understand that we were not ready for you yet. And, now that you have eaten us in spite of all that we did to save ourselves and our seeds, we are going to make you just as unhappy as we know how. Perhaps next time you will pay some heed to our warnings, and will leave us alone till we are ready to let our young ones go out into the world.”

So after this when I show you an apple, and ask you what you know about it, I fancy you will have quite a story to tell,—a story that begins with one May day in the orchard, when a bee went flower visiting, and ends with the little brown seeds which you let fall upon the ground, when you had finished eating the rosy cheeks and juicy pulp of the apple seed case. And the apple’s story is also the story of many other fruits.

SOME COUSINS OF THE APPLE

The pear (Fig. [13]) is a near cousin of the apple.

But perhaps you did not know that plants and trees had cousins.

As you learn more and more about them, you will begin to feel that in many ways plants are very much like people.

Both the pear and the apple belong to the Rose family. They are cousins to all the garden roses, as well as to the lovely wild rose that you meet so often in summer along the roadside.

Fig. 13

We know some families where the girls and boys look so much alike that we could guess they were brothers and sisters, even if we did not know that they all lived in the one house and had the one family name. If we look carefully at the plants we meet, at their leaves and flowers and fruits, and even at their stems and roots, often we may guess rightly which ones belong to the same family.

If we place side by side an apple blossom and a pear blossom, we see that they are very like each other. Both have the green outside cup which above is cut into five little green leaves. Both have five white or pinkish flower leaves. Both have a good many pins with dust boxes, and from two to five of those pins without dust boxes.

If we place side by side a pear and an apple, we see in both cases that it is the green cup, grown big and juicy and ripe, which forms the delicious fruit.

If we cut these two fruits open lengthwise, we can see just how the pins without dust boxes are set into the green cup; and we can see that the lower, united part of these pins makes a little box which holds the seeds.

In the picture (Fig. [14]) the shading shows you where this seedbox ends, and the green cup, or what once was the green cup, begins. This is rather hard to understand, I know; but your teacher can make it clear to you with a real pear.

So it ought to surprise you no longer to learn that the apple and the pear are cousins.

Fig. 14

Now, I want you to look at the picture at the head of this chapter. This is the wild rose, the flower from which the great Rose family takes its name.

This rose is a much larger flower than either the apple or the pear blossom. Its flower leaves are deep pink. These bright flower leaves make gay handkerchiefs for signaling when the rose plant wishes to attract the attention of the bees.

But there are five of them, just as there are in the apple and the pear blossom; and there are the pins with dust boxes,—so many of them, in the rose, that it would take some time to count them all. And in the center are the pins which have seedboxes below; for these pins in the rose are quite separate one from another, and each one has its own little seedbox.

Fig. 15

So, though different in some ways, in others the flower of the rose is very much like those of the apple and the pear.

In this picture (Fig. [15]) you see its fruit. This is called the “rose hip.” When ripe, it turns bright red. In late summer you see the rosebushes covered with these pretty hips. At times this fruit does not look altogether unlike a tiny apple or pear; but if we cut it open lengthwise, we see that its inside arrangements are quite different.

Fig. 16

The lower parts of the pins without dust boxes do not grow into one piece with the green cup (now the red cup), as in the apple and the pear. Instead, this cup (Fig. [16]) is hollow. To its inner sides are fastened the little seedboxes, as you will see if you look carefully at the picture. This hollow case with its separate seedboxes shows you that the rose plant is not so closely related to the pear and the apple trees as these trees are to each other.

UNEATABLE FRUITS

Perhaps one day you bit into the fruit of the rose, and found it sour and unpleasant to the taste. You may have forgotten that not long ago you learned a new meaning for the word “fruit.” Possibly you still fancy that a fruit must be something good to eat. So many people have this idea, that once more I wish to make clear to you that the fruit is the seed-holding part of the plant.

Whether this part is good to eat or not, makes no difference as to its being a fruit.

The apple is a fruit, you remember, not because it is good to eat, but because it holds the seeds of the apple tree.

And for this same reason the pear is a fruit. It is the case in which is laid the seedbox of the pear tree. This case, when ripe, happens to be juicy and delicious; but it would be quite as much a fruit if it were dry and hard, and without taste.

And so the rose hip is a fruit, because it is the case which holds the little seedboxes of the rose flower.

What is the fruit of the milkweed?

All country children know the milkweed plant, with its big bright leaves, and bunches of pink or red or purple flowers (Fig. [17]). And you know the puffy pods that later split open, letting out a mass of brown, silky-tailed seeds. There! I have given the answer to my own question; for if the plant’s fruit is the seed-holding part, then the milkweed’s fruit must be this pod stuffed full of beautiful, fairy-like seeds.

Fig. 17

Fig. 18

Then you know the burdock (Fig. [18]) which grows along the country road. But perhaps you do not know that the fruit of this is the prickly burr which hooks itself to your clothes on your way to school. This burr (Fig. [19]) is the case which holds the little seeds of the burdock, and so it must be its fruit.

Fig. 19

Fig. 20

The fruit of the dandelion is the silvery puffball (Fig. [20]) or “clock,” by blowing at which you try to tell the time of day. If you pull off one of the feathery objects which go to make up the puffball, at its lower end you see a little dandelion seedbox (Fig. [21]).

And these fall days, along the roadsides and in the woods, everywhere you see fruits which you will hardly know as such unless you keep in mind the true meaning of the word.

Many of these I am sure you would not care to eat. The burr from the burdock would not make a pleasant mouthful. Neither would you like to breakfast on a milkweed pod. And a quantity of dandelion puffballs would hardly add to the enjoyment of your supper.

Fig. 21

If you should tell your mother you had brought her some fruit, and should show her a basket of burrs and pods, she would think you were only joking, and perhaps a little foolish; and I dare say she would be greatly surprised to find you were using the word quite rightly.

MORE COUSINS OF THE APPLE

Fig. 22

The apple has three cousins, all of whom are very much alike. These cousins are the cherry, the plum, and the peach (Figs. [22], [23], [24]). All three belong to the Rose family.

Have you ever noticed the great family likeness between these three fruits?

Look at them in the pictures. To be sure, they are of different sizes, but they are almost alike in shape.

And if you should cut them open lengthwise, right through the stony center, all three would look much like the next picture, which is taken from a peach (Fig. [25]). All these fruits have the soft outer part which you find so pleasant to the taste.

Fig. 23

Fig. 24

Within this, in all of them, is a hard object, which we call the stone or pit; and inside this stone or pit, in each case, lies the seed.

These next pictures show you two views of the flower of the cherry (Figs. [26], [27]).

Here you see a likeness to other members of the Rose family, to the blossoms of the apple and the pear.

Fig. 25

You see that the green cup is cut into five little leaves (in the picture these are turned back and downward). You see also the five white flower leaves, and ever so many of the pins with dust boxes. But you find only one of those pins without dust boxes; and this, as you now know, has a seedbox below.

Fig. 26

Fig. 27

Well, that is all right. The cherry blossom has but one of these pins, and the flowers of the peach and of the plum have only one.

Figure [28] shows you a cherry blossom cut open. Here you see plainly the single pin with a seedbox.

This seedbox with its case is what grows into the cherry. The white flower leaves, and the pins with dust boxes, fall away. In the cherry flower the green cup also disappears, instead of making the best part of the fruit, as it does with the apple and the pear. And the upper part of the seedbox pin withers off; but the seedbox below grows juicy and ripe and red, at least its outer case does.

Fig. 28

By the end of June you take out the long ladder and place it against the cherry tree. Seating yourself on one of its upper rungs, you swallow the outside of the shining little ball we call the cherry, letting the stony seedbox inside drop down upon the ground, where all ripe seeds belong.

The story of the plum and of the peach is almost the same as the story of the cherry. If you understand how the single seedbox of the cherry blossom turns into the cherry fruit, then you understand how the same thing happens with the single seedboxes of the plum and the peach blossom.

You know that in the flowers of the pear and the apple there were several of these pins without dust boxes; and although these were joined below into a single seedbox, this had separate compartments for the many seeds.

But the single seedboxes of the cherry, the plum, and the peach, have but one hollow. Usually in this hollow we find only one seed. So you see that these three fruits make a little group by themselves because of their great likeness to one another.

STILL MORE COUSINS

Fig. 29

Cherries and plums we find growing wild in the woods and fields. While in many ways the wild trees are unlike those we grow in our orchards, yet, if you look closely at their flowers and fruits, you will find they answer generally to the descriptions you have been reading.

Early in May, when the orchard is still gray and dreary, suddenly we notice that the upper branches of the cherry tree look as though a light snow had fallen. It seems as if the lovely blossoms had burst forth in an hour. One’s heart gives a joyful jump. Summer is really coming. The flowers of May promise the fruit of June.

But when we find the blossoms of the wild cherry, it is several weeks later. Some of the little wood flowers have already come and gone. The trees are thick with leaves before we discover the fragrance of its slender, drooping clusters; for, though in other ways these blossoms are almost exactly like those of the cultivated cherry, they are much smaller, and grow differently on the branches.

This same difference in size and manner of growing you will find between the wild and the cultivated fruits. You country children know well the little chokecherries (Fig. [29]) that are so pretty and so plentiful along the lanes. These hang in bunches that remind you somewhat of the clusters of the currant. They are much smaller than the market cherry; yet if you cut one through, you will see that in make-up it is almost exactly like its big sister.

Those of you who live near the sea find wild beach plums (Fig. [30]) growing thickly along the sand hills. These are hardly larger than good-sized grapes; yet if you cut them open, you see that they are really plums.

Fig. 30

In our woods and fields we do not find any wild peaches. The peach was brought to us from far-away Persia. Only in the garden and orchard do we meet its beautiful pink blossoms. To see these growing naturally we must go to their Persian home.

So, while we remember that the cherry, the plum, and the peach belong to one little group because of their likeness to one another, let us not forget that the peach is one of the foreign members of the Rose family.

IN THE WOODS

What do you say this morning to going to the woods rather than to either garden or orchard?

Not that I am ready to take back anything I said at the beginning of this book about the delights of the orchard as a playground. For actual play I know of no better place. An apple tree is as good a horse as it is a house, as good a ship as it is a mountain. Other trees may be taller, finer to look at, more exciting to climb; but they do not know how to fit themselves to the need of the moment as does an apple tree.

But for anything besides play, the woods, the real woods, are even better than the orchard. The truth is, in the woods you have such a good time just living, that you hardly need to play; at least you do if you are made in the right way.

So now we are off for the woods. We have only to cross a field and climb a fence, and we are in the lane which leads where we wish to go.

Through the trees comes a golden light. This is made partly by the sunshine, but mostly by the leaves turned yellow. These yellow leaves mean that summer is over. It is in summer, when we are having our vacation, that the leaves work hardest; for leaves have work to do, as we shall learn later. But now they are taking a rest, and wearing their holiday colors.

Twisting in and out over the rails of the fence are clusters of berries which are very beautiful when you look at them closely. Each berry is an orange-colored case which opens so as to show a scarlet seedbox within (Fig. [31]). A little earlier in the year you could not see this bright-colored seedbox. It is only a short time since the outer case opened and displayed its contents. These are the berries of the bittersweet. Last June you would hardly have noticed its little greenish flowers, and would have been surprised to learn that they could change into such gay fruit.

Fig. 31

Do you see a shrub close by covered with berries? These berries are dark blue. They grow on bright-red stalks. If we wait here long enough, it is likely that we shall see the birds alight upon some upper twig and make their dinner on the dogwood berries; for this is one of the Dogwood family,—the red-stalked dogwood, we call it (Fig. [32]). When its berries turn a very dark blue, then the birds know they are ready to be eaten, just as we know the same thing by the rosy cheeks of the apple.