NOVEMBER

half of an appleTHE APPLE IS A CALYX. THE PISTIL IS THE CORE INSIDE OF IT

half of an apple

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 isone 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."

raspberry and blackberryA 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.

raspberry and blackberry

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 thelittle 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

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 ourtable. 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 arelittle 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."

seed and sets of an onionTHE SEED AND SETS OF THE ONION

seed and sets of an onion

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."

"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."

"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."

Itwas 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 longslender 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."

black raspberry vineA BLACK RASPBERRY VINE PREPARING TO SPREAD

black raspberry vine

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 theChief 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.

slips"WHAT ARE STUCK-INS?—OH, SLIPS!"

slips

"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 aroot, 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

Thanksgivingbrought the usual good dinner, and upon the table and the sideboard there weremany 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 becausethe 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.

grazing sheepTHE WOOL THAT GROWS ON THE SHEEP'S BACK IS THERE BECAUSE THE SHEEP FEEDS ON THE GREEN GRASS IN SUMMER

grazing sheep

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 havevegetable 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 notfor 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 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, hadtiny 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.

They decided to have different things this year. Instead of scarlet runners to climb on the sides of his window, Davy had decided to have melon vines. His cantaloupes had not done very well in the garden, for the reason that the pumpkin had sent its long tendrils across the cantaloupe bed, and the pollen had been carried from the flowers of one to the other by the busy bees, and this caused all his cantaloupes to have a flavor of pumpkin. Davy had eaten them, though, and even little Prue had said they were not soverybad, and had really eaten nearly all of one piece. Now, Davy was going to have two cantaloupe vines, and let them climbon each side of his window, and see if he couldn't raise some melons that folks would be glad to get a piece of.

In the middle of his window he was going to have an eggplant, which he very much wanted to try, and in the little pots at the sides, there were to be a peanut, which he wanted to try, too, and a special little red pepper which had looked very nice in the seed-catalogue. Then there were two little pots, one holding a small turnip and the other a radish, which Davy wanted to see bloom and go to seed.

So, you see, Davy's garden was going to be quite different this year, and Prue's was different, too. For Prue did not have morning-glories to climb, this winter. Not because she did not like them, but because she wanted her window, like Davy's, to be different from the window of the winter before. She had a cypress vine planted this year, on one side, and a moon vine on the other. And in the center of her window, she was to have a cosmos flower,with a fuchsia and a hyacinth and a tulip at the sides, and one of her precious pinks brought in from the summer garden. Of course, the tulip and the hyacinth were to grow from little bulbs, while the fuchsia was a small plant which she had bought at the greenhouse. And in this way both the windows were to be very different from the winter before, and many newthings were to be learned in seeing the seeds and the bulbs and the roots sprout and grow and bloom.

Japanese fern-ballA JAPANESE FERN-BALL

Japanese fern-ball

A JAPANESE FERN-BALL

And there was one thing more which was to be different, for Prue and Davy had put their money together and bought a Japanese fern-ball to hang between the windows, and a hook to hang it on. The ball they soaked in warm water, as the directions had said, and then hung it on the hook. As often as it seemed dry they soaked it again, and one day it was sending out little green points, and soon, even before the rest of their window-garden was fairly started, there were feathery little fern leaves all over the ball, and before Christmas it was very beautiful indeed.

Decemberwas not a very bright month for Davy and Prue. Very little snow fell, so they could not use their sleds. If it had not been fortheir gardens and their lessons, which took several hours each day, they would have been rather lonely, looking out on brown woods and meadows.

But there was the joy of Christmas coming, and this thought made them happier, as each day brought it nearer. They counted the weeks first, then the days, and at last the hours. And then they had secrets. Secrets from big Prue and the Chief Gardener, and secrets from each other. Sometimes little Prue whispered to big Prue, and did not want Davy to hear. Sometimes Davy whispered to the Chief Gardener, and stopped very quick and began to whistle, if Prue came into the room. Packages began to be brought in after dark, or when everybody else was upstairs, and then, one afternoon—the afternoon of that wonderful eve when stillness and mystery seem to gather on the fields—there was a row of stockings along the mantel, hanging ready for somebody to fill. Santa Claus, of course, must do that, but there werepackages hidden here and there for the good old Saint to find and put where they belonged. And Prue and Davy were in bed almost before dark, because you see the time passes quicker if you are asleep, and the sooner to bed the sooner to sleep. But when big Prue came in to kiss them good-night she told them a story—the old sweet story of the Little Child who was born so long ago, and to whom the first gifts were brought by the wise men. And then she told how that little baby boy in the manger had become a sweet child, with games and playmates like other children, with toys and, perhaps, a little garden of his own, something as they had made during the summer-time. And she told also a little story which, perhaps, is only a story, but it is what it would seem might have happened to the Little Child of Bethlehem.

"Once," she said, "when he was playing he grew very tired and thirsty, and his playmate was very thirsty, too. So Jesus ran to the well for a cup of water, and hurried back with itwithout stopping to drink. But his playmate was greedy, for he seized the cup and drank it all, except a few drops at the bottom. Then he gave the empty cup to Jesus, who took it and let the last few drops fall on the grass, when suddenly from where they fell there flowed a little clear stream of water, with lilies-of-the-valley blooming along its banks."

"Please sing the verse about the story of old," said Davy, when she had finished.

So his mother sang:

"I think, when I read that sweet story of old,How Jesus was here among men,How he called little children as lambs to his fold,I should like to have been with them then."

"I think, when I read that sweet story of old,

How Jesus was here among men,

How he called little children as lambs to his fold,

I should like to have been with them then."

And it was only a moment longer that the Christmas Saint had to wait on the sand-man, for presently the door closed softly on the singer. Davy and Prue had entered the fair garden of sleep.

III

I cannottell you all the wonders of that Christmas. I can only tell you that the presents which the little family had bought for one another were all in their proper places next morning, and that there were ever so many things that nobody but Santa Claus could possibly have brought. There was a Christmas tree, for one thing, the kind of a tree that nobody but Santa Claus ever raises, or brings, and there was everything upon it and about it that a little boy and girl could want, unless they wanted a great deal more than a little boy and girl ought to have, at one time.

But the very finest Christmas gift of all was a splendid great big snow-storm, which had begun in the night and was still going on, as fast and as thick as the big, soft, fleecy flakes could fall. Every few minutes the children left the beautifultree to look at the beautiful snow. They could hardly wait until breakfast was over, and the Chief Gardener had made a photograph of the tree with them in it, before they wanted to rush out with their sleds.

All at once Davy called Prue to the window.

"Look," he said, "some of these flakes on the window-sash are like little white flowers!"

Then every one came to see, and, sure enough, some of the snowflakes that had fallen next to the glass were wonderfully shaped, and did look like tiny blossoms. The Chief Gardener got a magnifying-glass and they looked at them through it, when they saw how really beautiful they were.

"I have heard them called 'the flowers of winter,'" said big Prue. "There is a little story about how the flowers complained that they must all die when cold weather came, and never see the winter. So then their spirits were allowed to come back as snowflakes."

Christmas treeTHE KIND OF A TREE THAT NOBODY BUT SANTA CLAUS EVER RAISES

Christmas tree

THE KIND OF A TREE THAT NOBODY BUT SANTA CLAUS EVER RAISES

That was a glorious Christmas. All day thesnow came down outside, and all day the big fire blazed and the Christmas tree gleamed and shimmered and sparkled inside. And then, inthe afternoon, there was a Christmas dinner which was quite as good as any of the rest of the things, even to the snow. And after the dinner was over, and they sat around the fire, the Chief Gardener said:

"We have had a happy year. I know it has been happy, for the time has gone so fast. It seems not more than a few weeks ago that we were keeping last Christmas, and almost no time at all since Prue and Davy started their first little gardens in the window. Yet, a week from to-day, and that will be a year ago, too. Now, I have a plan. It was Prue who made me think of it. She said something not long ago that I made into a little verse, about annuals, biennials, and perennials. Then Prue made one, too, about herbs and shrubs and trees. Now I propose that we each make some rhymes for New Year's day to celebrate the starting of the window-garden, and also the little garden which Prue and Davy had outside. The rhymes must tell something that has been learned during theyear, and they must be short, and easy to remember. Of course, we won't expect very much, but Prue has done so well, that I am sure the rest of us can do something, too."

"I never made any rhymes," said Davy.

"I'll help you," said Prue. "It's just as easy."

So they all agreed, and during the holidays, when the children were not busy with their sleds or books or gardens, they were making rhymes.

Andthese are the rhymes that were read and recited after dinner on New Year's day, just a year after the first little window-garden was started. I shall not tell you whose they were.

Of course, you will all remember little Prue's:

"The kinds of plants are these,Herbs and shrubs, and trees,"

"The kinds of plants are these,

Herbs and shrubs, and trees,"

and the Chief Gardener's:

"The annuals we plant each spring—They perish in the fall;Biennials die the second year,Perennials not at all,"

"The annuals we plant each spring—

They perish in the fall;

Biennials die the second year,

Perennials not at all,"

but the writers of the others you will have to guess.

THE PLANTThe parts of every plant are three—The root, and stem, and leaf they be.The flowers are only leaves more fair,Which nature makes, to bloom and bear.

THE PLANT

The parts of every plant are three—The root, and stem, and leaf they be.The flowers are only leaves more fair,Which nature makes, to bloom and bear.

The parts of every plant are three—

The root, and stem, and leaf they be.

The flowers are only leaves more fair,

Which nature makes, to bloom and bear.

THE ROOTMost roots are hidden in the ground,As they shouldalwaysbe, by rights,But some in other plants are found,And these belong to parasites.

THE ROOT

Most roots are hidden in the ground,As they shouldalwaysbe, by rights,But some in other plants are found,And these belong to parasites.

Most roots are hidden in the ground,

As they shouldalwaysbe, by rights,

But some in other plants are found,

And these belong to parasites.

THE STEMThe stem may be a stalk or vineTo stand erect, or creep, or twine—For frailest plant, or firmest oakThat's ne'er by storm of winter broke.

THE STEM

The stem may be a stalk or vineTo stand erect, or creep, or twine—For frailest plant, or firmest oakThat's ne'er by storm of winter broke.

The stem may be a stalk or vine

To stand erect, or creep, or twine—

For frailest plant, or firmest oak

That's ne'er by storm of winter broke.

THE LEAFA leaf has a stem, and of stipules a pair,Though the stipules are often quite small, or not there.A leaf has a blade, and of ribs one or more;While of veins and of veinlets it has many score.A leaf may be simple, or it may be compound,And a million small pores for its breathing are found.

THE LEAF

A leaf has a stem, and of stipules a pair,Though the stipules are often quite small, or not there.A leaf has a blade, and of ribs one or more;While of veins and of veinlets it has many score.A leaf may be simple, or it may be compound,And a million small pores for its breathing are found.

A leaf has a stem, and of stipules a pair,

Though the stipules are often quite small, or not there.

A leaf has a blade, and of ribs one or more;

While of veins and of veinlets it has many score.

A leaf may be simple, or it may be compound,

And a million small pores for its breathing are found.

THE FLOWERThe blossom has a calyxThat is very often green,And just above the sepalsThe corolla bright is seen.And above the pretty petalsMay be stamens eight or nine—Slender filaments, and anthers,To hold the pollen fine.While in the blossom's centerDoth the sturdy pistil grow,With stigma and with style that leadTo seed-cups just below.

THE FLOWER

The blossom has a calyxThat is very often green,And just above the sepalsThe corolla bright is seen.And above the pretty petalsMay be stamens eight or nine—Slender filaments, and anthers,To hold the pollen fine.While in the blossom's centerDoth the sturdy pistil grow,With stigma and with style that leadTo seed-cups just below.

The blossom has a calyx

That is very often green,

And just above the sepals

The corolla bright is seen.

And above the pretty petals

May be stamens eight or nine—

Slender filaments, and anthers,

To hold the pollen fine.

While in the blossom's center

Doth the sturdy pistil grow,

With stigma and with style that lead

To seed-cups just below.

HOW PLANTS INCREASEFrom seed and from runner, from stolon bent low—From sucker and slip and from layer they grow—From bulb and from bulblet—from tuber and root,They give us the flower and the grain and the fruit.All thanks to the plants for the clothes that we wear—The food that we eat and the home that we share—For the air that we breathe and the fuel we burn—All thanks to the plants, 'tis our only return.

HOW PLANTS INCREASE

From seed and from runner, from stolon bent low—From sucker and slip and from layer they grow—From bulb and from bulblet—from tuber and root,They give us the flower and the grain and the fruit.

From seed and from runner, from stolon bent low—

From sucker and slip and from layer they grow—

From bulb and from bulblet—from tuber and root,

They give us the flower and the grain and the fruit.

All thanks to the plants for the clothes that we wear—The food that we eat and the home that we share—For the air that we breathe and the fuel we burn—All thanks to the plants, 'tis our only return.

All thanks to the plants for the clothes that we wear—

The food that we eat and the home that we share—

For the air that we breathe and the fuel we burn—

All thanks to the plants, 'tis our only return.

Davy rather objected to the last line of these verses. He said that it was some return to take good care of plants, especially in the hot summer-time, when it was ever so much nicer to sit in the shade. So another little rhyme was made, like this:

A plant should have the sun and airAnd water, and the proper care.If it has these, and doesn't die,We'll reap the harvest, by and by.

A plant should have the sun and air

And water, and the proper care.

If it has these, and doesn't die,

We'll reap the harvest, by and by.

Then to end the day they all sang a little song about the snowflakes, that Jack Frost sends out of his gardens of winter-time:

THE SNOWFLAKESJack Frost, he makes the snowflakes,He paints the snowflakes white.He sent them Christmas morningTo make our landscape bright.For in the deepest winterThe world is bleak and bare—Jack Frost, he sends the snowflakesTo make our winter fair.

THE SNOWFLAKES

Jack Frost, he makes the snowflakes,He paints the snowflakes white.He sent them Christmas morningTo make our landscape bright.

Jack Frost, he makes the snowflakes,

He paints the snowflakes white.

He sent them Christmas morning

To make our landscape bright.

For in the deepest winterThe world is bleak and bare—Jack Frost, he sends the snowflakesTo make our winter fair.

For in the deepest winter

The world is bleak and bare—

Jack Frost, he sends the snowflakes

To make our winter fair.

And so ends the story of a year, and of its little gardens. Also of Prue and Davy, whoowned the little gardens, and of her who was called big Prue and of him who was called the Chief Gardener. Other years will bring other gardens, and other summers. Prue and Davy will grow older, and learn more and more with each year that passes. But no year will ever be happier and no gardens ever brighter than those to which we are now saying good-by.

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