A Little Garden Calendar for Boys and Girls

"And is that really all that the flower's pretty color and sweet smell and delicious honey are for?" asked little Prue, "just to get bees to work for it?"

"No, Prue, I don't think so. I think all the world of nature is harmony, like sweet music, and the flowers with their beauty and sweetness are part of it, but I think that just as we may attract friends and good servants by kindness and offering something in return, so the flowers attract the bees and butterflies, and even a little girl and boy to keep the weeds away. The more a flower depends on an insect to carry its pollen, the gayer or sweeter that flower always is. The orchids, which are almost the finest flowers in the world, seem to be made especially for the insects, and they could not do without them, any more than the insects could do without the flowers."

"And is that what makes some flowers such funny shapes, too?"

"I think it is. The foxglove, and the horse mint, and many others, have curious shapes and forms, just to fit their little helpers, and the milkweed has a funny little saddle-bag which it hangs to the bee's feet, so that he can carry it to another plant. There is another kind of a milkweed which is very cruel, for it attracts small insects by its odor, and when they come they are caught by a sticky substance and held until the weed sucks them down and really eats them, much as we eat our food. So, you see, plants are a good deal like people, just as I told you the other day."

"You said they could sleep, too."

"Yes, your rose-moss closes up every night, shuts its eyes just as you do, and rests. Many flowers close at night, and some even droop their heads quite low, like the bird, which sleeps with its head beneath its wing."

III

A FLOWER MAY REALLY REASON

How beautiful was the September garden! The wild sunflowers were all in bloom like a wall of gold. A bunch of black-eyed Susans at the corner of the house seemed trying to imitate its large cousins, and was just as bright and yellow, too, in a small way. The little Susans had not been planted, but had strayed in out of the field somewhere, perhaps longing to be with people. A row of bright red cockscombs made a crimson line of plumes down one side of a garden-path, and just beyond them Davy's third planting of beans was in full bearing. Prue's pinks and sweet-pease bloomed on and on, and her alyssums and the other sweets became sweeter every day.

"Do you think all these things like to be together?" Prue asked, one afternoon, as they sat looking at them from the shade of the peach-tree.

"I think those that grow well do," said Davy. "They seem to, anyway."

"And they do, Davy," said the Chief Gardener. "A plant that doesn't like a place will not grow in it, and in the woods and fields we only find those plants together which like that particular spot. Down below the hillside yonder you will find golden-rod and several kinds of tall blue and white daisies and grasses that all belong there, and seem very happy together. They would not grow well in the wet woods, and would soon die out, but there are other plants that grow and tangle and are happiest where the ground is damp and the shade overhead. So, you see, there we have another way that plants are like people – they have their proper company, and, perhaps, their societies and friendships. I am sure they have their friendships, for there are certain little plants, and big ones, too, that you will nearly always find together. Violets and spring-beauties and adder-tongues must love each other, I am sure, for you seldom see one without the others, and there are certain vines, like the Virginia creeper and the poison-ivy, that are nearly always together, though why the Virginia creeper should care for the poison-ivy I don't see. Perhaps it doesn't seem poison to the creeper, but only to us."

"It seemed poison enough to me," said Davy, "when I got a dose of it last year. It nearly itched me to death."

"Yes, it is terrible stuff, and little folks, and big ones, too, have to be very careful, for it looks very much like its friend, the creeper, only that its compound leaf is divided into three parts instead of five. You can always tell by that, and you must always beware of the vine with the three-part leaf."

"Do poison-ivy and Virginia creeper belong to the same family?" asked Davy.

"No, though they look so much alike. The poison-ivy belongs to the Sumach family, while the creeper belongs to the Grape family. The families are quite close together, but are separate. Often members of different families are better friends than members of the same family, and that is still another way that plants are like people."

"Do you suppose the poison-ivy knows that it is poison?" asked Prue, who liked to believe that plants were really just like people.

"Perhaps it does. We can never be quite sure how much a plant knows. I told you once how I believed they could feel and hear, and even see. I am almost sure that the dandelion can reason."

Davy looked interested, and the Chief Gardener went on.

"You will remember, Davy, how when the dandelions first bloomed they had quite tall stems. Then we mowed the lawn, and when they tried to bloom again the stems were shorter. We mowed again, and the stems grew still shorter, and so they became shorter and shorter each time, until they bloomed flat against the ground, so low that we could not mow them. They were bound to bloom, and they did bloom, and then all at once almost in a day they shot up long pale stems with balls of white-winged seeds that were ready when we mowed again to float away at a touch or a puff, to be ready to sprout and grow another year. The dandelion is bound to spread its seed. By and by it learns that the lawn-mower cannot cut below a certain level. So it blooms below the lawn-mower's cutting-wheel, and then when it is ready to seed, it pops up as high as ever it can, and stands waiting for the mower to come around and help scatter its seed. Perhaps it doesn't really reason, but it does something exactly like it, and there are people in the world who would be happier if they could do the same thing."

And just then big Prue came out into the garden, and they all sat on the bench under the peach-tree, and watched the sun going down, away off over the purple hills. And they thought how the summer was nearly over, and how soon the glory of the little garden would be fading, and how the snow would be sifting down among the withered leaves.

IV

SOME FLOWERS LIVE OFF OTHER FLOWERS AND PLANTS

So summer with its song and its blossom came to an end. Autumn clad in gold and purple came across the land, and the gentle haze of Indian summer lay upon the fields. From the banks of golden-rod below the hill, Prue and Davy filled jars and vases, and one day they brought in great bunches all linked and bound together with something like a tangle of golden thread.

The Chief Gardener was not at home that day, so they brought their discovery to big Prue to explain.

"Why," she said, "that is dodder, or love-vine. It is what is called a parasite, for it has no root in the ground, but lives from the plant it grows on."

Then she showed them where the small, tough little rootlets were really embedded in the stalk of the golden-rod from which it drew its strength and life.

"Oh," said Prue, "that is what Papa meant when he told us once that some flowers lived off other flowers and plants, just as some people live off other people."

Big Prue nodded.

"There are a good many such plants," she said. "The mistletoe we get for Christmas grows on several sorts of trees. Its seed lodges under the bark and sprouts there, just as it would in the ground. Then the wood grows up around the root, and the mistletoe becomes almost a part of the tree. Then there are many kinds of mosses, and the Indian pipe – that white, waxy flower which you found in the woods not long ago, and thought you had found a flowering mushroom. It is a sort of a relation of the mushroom, for it springs from damp, decaying leaves, and has no real root, but it is more of a parasite, for it feeds mainly on roots of living trees and plants. This dodder blooms and drops its seeds to the ground, where they sprout, but as soon as it finds a weed to cling to, the root dies and it lives only on the weed."

"Why do they call it love-vine?" asked little Prue.

Her mother took the long golden tendril and twined it about her slender white finger. Then she told them the story of

V

THE PRINCE AND THE THREAD OF GOLD

"There was once a prince," she began, "who lived in a far country between blue seas. And all the land the prince owned, and a great palace, but he was not happy, because there was a little fisher girl more beautiful than the sunrise, who would not come and dwell in his palace and be his princess.

"When this fisher girl saw the prince coming toward her, she would dance away laughing, like a ripple of sunlight on the water, and there were some who said she was not a real child, but a sea-fairy, for she had been found as a babe by the fisher's wife, cast up on the sand, after a great storm.

"But the prince did not care whether she was a human being or not. He thought only of her, as each day she grew taller and always more beautiful. He went every morning to the fisher's hut to beg that they would give her to him, and this they would have been glad to do had Dodora been willing, but always she laughed and danced away when they spoke of it, and sometimes they did not see her again until evening.

"But one morning, when she was eighteen years old, and they spoke to her, she said, laughing:

"'Tell the prince to tie a knot in the thread of love. If he will tie a knot in the thread of love it will hold me fast,' and again she danced away, while her laugh came as the tinkle of the tide among the pebbles on a still evening.

"So when the prince came that day they told him, and he went away sadly, for he thought she was only playing with him for her amusement.

"But that night, as he walked alone in the moonlight by the shore, he suddenly saw on the sand in front of him a radiant fairy, spinning on a silver spinning-wheel a wonderful thread of gold. Without daring to breathe he stood and looked at her, and then he saw that it was from the rays of moonlight that she was spinning the thread. All at once she rose and came to where he was standing.

"'Here is the thread of love,' she said to him, and then she showed him how to tie the true lover's knot in it. 'With this you may win our Dodora,' the fairy added, and then suddenly like a breath of perfume she was gone, leaving the thread of gold in the prince's hands.

"And all that night the prince tied and retied the true lover's knot, as the fairy had showed him, and next morning he hurried with it to the fisherman's cottage where Dodora lived. And when Dodora saw him coming, she did not dance away as she had always done before, but went forward to meet him, and took his hand. Then suddenly she snatched the golden thread from him and ran, with the prince after her. She ran fast, but he was about to overtake her, when Dodora dropped the knot into the weeds, and then all at once she stopped, for the wonderful thread had suddenly become a great tangle of gold that held Dodora fast, and she could not get away. So the prince overtook her, and led her to his palace, where they lived happily for a long time. And the thread of love grew as a wonderful vine that had no root in the earth, but twined about the weeds and spread over the country in many places. Some called it Dodora, after the princess, and this was changed at last to 'dodder' by those who did not know. Others called it golden thread, and still others called it love-vine, and tied true lover's knots in it which they threw over their shoulders on moonlight nights. If these knots grew they won their sweethearts. They did not always grow, but about the palace of the prince the vine flourished in a golden mass, and the prince, never forgetting the wonderful night when it had been spun for him out of moonbeams, let it grow through all the world, to become the golden thread of love."

OCTOBER

I

SEEDS ARE MADE TO BE PLANTED

OCTOBER brought seedtime in the little garden. Many seeds had ripened during the summer, and Prue had already gathered some of the tiny black flakes from the opened pods of her precious pinks, and Davy had saved some seed pease. But October was the real harvest-time. The children took a lot of white envelopes, and upon them Davy printed the names of all the seeds they expected to gather. Into these envelopes they put carefully the different little black and brown and white seeds after they had picked and blown the husks all away, so, as Davy said, they would look just like seeds bought at the store.

And some of the seeds were big flat beans, or little long round beans; and some, like the sweet-pease, were very round, like shot; and some, like the cockscomb seeds, were tiny and shiny and black and so slippery that Prue lost more than she got in her envelope, though she got enough, for there is such a lot of seed on a cockscomb. Some seeds were in funny little pods that snapped when you touched them, and sent the little black or brown shot flying in every direction, like a charge out of a bomb, and these had to be gathered very carefully. Then there were seeds with little wings, made to help them to fly, and there were seeds with little claws made to catch and hold on, so they would be carried and planted in many places. But these were mostly weed seeds, and were only gathered because they clung to the children's clothes, and stuck so fast that it was hard to pick them off.

"You see," said the Chief Gardener, who was watching them, "everything has a way of taking care of itself. Just as I told you about the dandelion, the plants have something which is very much like reason, or instinct, to guide them. These zinnia seeds do not have the little prongs, because the zinnia does not need them. It is a garden flower, and the seed will be taken care of. But those brown two-pronged little things you are picking off your coat-sleeve came from its very near relation, the Spanish needle, which is a weed, and must look out for its own planting. Those wild sunflowers turn top-side down, and the little yellow birds that peck and chirp about them all day are scattering the seed so thickly that next spring the garden will be covered with the young plants. The big tame sunflower doesn't take care of itself nearly so well. Of course, you remember how the dandelion seeds go drifting on the wind, while the thistle-down that goes floating by is carrying seed to some farmer's field, or fence corner. Then there are the maple seeds, which have two wings, or keys, as they are called, and there are many of these key seeds that are tossed here and there when the wind blows. The wind and the birds are the servants that sow the wild seeds, just as the bees and butterflies helped to make them."

"But there are some thistles," said little Prue, "that are not blown by the wind. They have stickery balls, and I make baskets out of them."

"Those are burs, and they are carried by sheep and cows, and by people. They cling to everything that passes. I have seen a horse's mane so full of them that it had to be cut off. The burdock is a very bad weed, and there ought to be a story about it, but I suppose if there was one, it must have been so unpleasant that it has been forgotten. There are many other weeds almost as bad. There are seeds with all kinds of hooks and claws to grab and stick, and there are many that are carried in the dirt which clings to the feet of animals and men and even birds."

"I should think some weeds would make their seeds look like flower seeds, to fool people."

"Well, that is just about what they do. There are cockle seeds in the wheat, and so nearly the same size that the threshing-machine will not take them out, and there are many little plants in the grass that have seeds so nearly like those of the grass itself that we are obliged to sow them with the grass seed. So, you see, men, too, become servants of the wise, persevering weeds. Certain beans and grains have been carried by water, and have been known to be brought across stretches of the sea to be scattered and planted upon a new shore."

"How many kinds of seeds are there?" asked Davy.

"About as many as plants, Davy."

"I don't mean that. I mean how many principal kinds – like flowers, you know – they are Exogens and Endogens."

"Oh, I see. You mean classes. Well, I suppose we might say two, fleshy and dry. Then we might divide the dry into seeds and nuts, and the fleshy into fruits and vegetables."

Davy and Prue were both thinking.

"I suppose my beans are dry," Davy said at last.

"Yes, of course."

"But we ate them green, and they were not dry then."

"That was before they were ripe. There are a number of things that are fleshy when eaten green, that become pods or hulls when the fruit is really ready to gather. Of course, there are fruits and nuts and vegetables that, like flowers, are hard to put in any class. Take the almond – you would call that a nut, of course."

"I just love almonds," said little Prue.

"And aren't they nuts?" asked Davy.

"Yes, the almond is a nut, but you would hardly call the peach a nut; yet they grow exactly alike, except that the outside of the almond is tough and not fit to eat. The walnut is a nut, too, of course, but the hull is quite fleshy, even after the nut is ripe; and there are certain sorts of foreign plums that have a sweet kernel, so they are really fruit and nut in one. But I think we shall have to go nutting next week, and then we can tell more what we think about them."

"Nutting! Oh, yes, we'll go nutting!" cried little Prue. "And we'll take baskets, and Mamma, and stay all day and bring home just bushels."

"We must take plenty of dinner in the baskets," said Davy, who remembered one time when the dinner had been less than he thought it should be. So then they ran into the house to put away their envelopes of seeds, and to tell the news.

II

THERE ARE BITTER NUTS AND SWEET ONES

How splendid it was in the October woods. Some of the trees were almost bare, some of them were a fine russet brown, and some were all crimson and gold; and the gold was so beautiful against the blue sky that it seemed to Davy and Prue that October, after all, might be the very best month of the year.

There was a brook that wound through the woods. On both sides of it were bottom lands, and here the hickory and walnut and butternut trees grew. Near the hillsides there were groves of hazel with their brown clusters, half opened by the frost, ripe for gathering. Camp was made near the brook, and then all hurried to the nut-trees; the children kicking their feet through the rustling leaves that covered the ground. The Chief Gardener found quite a large section of a young tree which he put on his shoulder for a battering-ram. Then he walked several steps, and butted one end of it against a tall hickory-tree, and down showered the nuts, clattering in the leaves – the hulls bursting and flying in all directions.

Then how the children scrambled and gathered.

"Let's clear the leaves away first, next time," said Davy, "so they will be easier to find."

And this they did, and so they went from tree to tree, gathering hickory-nuts, large and small, and walnuts, butternuts, and chestnuts, and these they emptied into sacks they had brought in the little wagon that was not hitched far away.

By and by, Davy spied a patch of hazel, and each with a basket, Prue and he gathered until they were tired, and it was lunch-time.

How very hungry they were! Is there really anything like nutting to make a little boy and girl hungry? And there was plenty of luncheon, this time. Davy ate until he did not care to get up right away, but was glad to lean back against a tree, and talk, while the Chief Gardener smoked and little Prue and big Prue put away the things, and hulled some of the hazelnuts, which little Prue said seemed to be more hulls than nuts, for there was only about enough to cover the bottom of one basket when they were all hulled.

"What makes all the nuts have such big, thick hulls, anyway?" she asked, as she tried to pound open a thorny chestnut-bur.

"I think the hulls must be to protect the young nuts from birds and squirrels," answered her mother. "The trees do not like to have them carried off until they are quite ripe, so they hold them very tight and enclose them in a very tough shell, and the shell is very bad-tasting, too. But when the nuts are ripe and sweet they let go of them very easily, just as other seeds are dropped, and the hulls open and the harvest is ready for whoever may come to gather it."

The Chief Gardener picked up a hickory-nut from one of the baskets.

"You see, we are eating flower-pistils all the time," he said.

"Are we? I don't believe I ever thought about that," said Davy.

The Chief Gardener pointed to the little black tip on the top of the nut.

"That was once the stigma," he said. "You see, it is quite like one, even now. Of course, it was soft then, and the pistil below was soft, too. Then as it grew it became harder and harder until the shell formed, and it was really a nut. The calyx hardened, and made the hull. The pistil and the calyx of a flower are the parts that last longest, but the stamens and the corolla are just as useful in their way. They form a separate flower on the nut-trees. We will have to come to the woods next spring when they are in bloom."

"Papa, don't hazelnuts and chestnuts belong to the same family?" asked little Prue, who had some of each in her chubby hands.

"Why, yes, but why did you think so, Prue?"

"Well, you see, they both have those white spots on them, and I thought mebbe it was a kind of family mark."

"Wise little head, Prue. And now what else is there that has the family mark – we might call it the family seal?"

The children were silent a moment, thinking. They were sitting under a big oak tree, and all at once Davy's eye caught something in the leaves, just by his hand.

"This!" he shouted, and held up an acorn.

"Right you are, Davy boy! The nut that stands at the head of the family. Few acorns are fit to be eaten, except by animals, but you see how round and perfect the family seal is, and though the acorn-cup is nothing like the chestnut-bur, or the husk of the hazel, it perhaps would be, if the green acorn itself was not so bitter that it does not need any other protection. The oak is one of the finest and most useful of all trees, and the hazel and chestnut and beech are probably very proud of belonging to the Oak family."

"And how about hickory and walnuts?" asked Davy.

"They are in a family together – the Walnut family. There are three kinds of walnuts – the English walnuts, the butternuts, and these. There are as many as half a dozen kinds of hickory nuts, and some of them are as bitter as the bitterest acorns."

"Pignuts – I know those," said Davy. "They're awful. I tried to eat some last year."

"You gave me one, too," said Prue. "I don't think that was very nice of you."

Davy blushed and grinned, as he recollected the round, puckered face of little Prue, after she had tasted the bitter nut.

"Never mind, Prue; we'll give him a mock-orange some day," said her mother.

"The pecan is a hickory-nut, too," said the Chief Gardener, "a nut that has left all its bitterness in the shell."

"Davy is a pecan-nut," said little Prue. "He's just bad outside."

Then the little party made ready to go home. They had a good way to drive, and it grows chilly on October evenings. How still it seemed to have grown in the woods when they were ready to go. A squirrel scrambled up a hickory-tree, and sat chattering at them as they drove away.

"He is scolding us for carrying off his winter food," said big Prue. "Oh, let's leave him some!" said little Prue, the tender-hearted.

"Pshaw!" said Davy. "There are enough nuts in these woods to feed all the squirrels in the world."

III

THERE ARE MANY THINGS CALLED FRUITS

Truly October was harvest-time in the little garden. The winter apple-tree yielded several bushels of bright red fruit, and Davy's pumpkin-vine had great yellow pumpkins scattered all about. Some of them Davy could hardly lift, and when they were carried into the cellar, on the very last day of the month, they made a real pyramid of gold. Then there were some late tomatoes, too, and peppers, which big Prue made into pickles; also, a last gathering of green corn, besides several ears of ripe corn, for seed, and all the pop-corn – fifty-five ears of it from Davy's little patch.