THE FLOWER HAS MANY SERVANTS
It was about a week after this that little Prue was picking some sweet-pease for the table when Davy came along with the Chief Gardener.
"The servants are busy this morning," said the Chief Gardener.
"Do you mean me?" asked little Prue. "I am trying to pick some flowers, but there are so many bees around that I'm afraid."
"Those are the servants I mean. I do not think they will hurt you if you are careful. They are only collecting their wages, and working at the same time."
Davy and Prue looked close.
"What do you mean by their working?" asked Davy. "Do you mean for the flower, or for themselves?"
"For both. Watch this bee. You see, he pushes open the flower for honey, but to get it he has to cover his legs with the pollen from the anthers, which are placed down in this little lower part called a keel, just where his legs and body will be covered. Then he comes out and goes to another flower and carries this pollen, and really rubs it on the stigma there as he crawls in and out, and takes more pollen, and so goes on from one to another—a real servant, doing a real duty and getting his pay as he goes."
"But he doesn't have to do it. The pollen would fall on the stigma anyway, wouldn't it?"
"It might with the sweet-pea, but even if it did, the pollen from the same flower is not as good as the pollen from another flower from a different plant, and the seed would be poor and the plants would grow weaker every year. There are many insects that act as servants to the flowers, and the wind is one of the servants, too. It shakes the corn-tassel so that the pollen falls on the silk and makes the ear, and it carries the pollen of one stalk to the silk of another—sometimes from one field to another."
"But, of course, the bee doesn't know that he does it," said Prue, who was still very intently watching the little servants of the sweet-pease.
"I am not so certain of that," the Chief Gardener said musingly. "The flower must know, for it dresses in bright colors so that the bee may see it, and offers honey as pay for his work. And if the flower knows, why shouldn't the bee?"
"But don't you think it might all just happen so?" asked Davy.
"I don't think anything in nature just 'happens so,' Davy, and I am sure that the bee's work for the flower doesn't, for there are too many flowers that would have no seed and would die out if it were not for the bees that carry the pollen, and most of these flowers have grown just to fit in every way the especial little bee, or big bee, or insect, that comes to work for them. There are some flowers, like the sweet-pea, that the bee cannot get into without getting pollen on his legs, and there are others that drop it upon his back. Some flowers have stamens that wither before the pistil is ready for the pollen. In such flowers the little servants go from one to the other—from a new flower to an old one—carrying the pollen which would not be of any use in the flower where it grew."
"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