The Importance of Cultivating
Now, I am going to tell you why cultivating is so important in regard to moisture.
If the soil is all soft and fine and loose, the rain can easily run down through it to the roots.
If it were hard, the water would run off to lower ground. That’s easily understood.
But immediately after the rain, when the sun comes out and the wind blows, the surface of the soil begins to dry.
Then the sun “coaxes” and “pulls” the water up, up, up, to the surface it has dried, something like the way you pull the juice of an orange up through a stick of lemon candy. Now let me ask you—could you pull much orange juice through the stick of candy if the stick of candy were crumbled or broken apart at the top? No, you could not.
Neither can the sun pull the moisture up through the tiny little tubes in the soil if we break those little tubes and crumble the tops into dust. No, you need not look for these tubes, Mary Frances; they are too tiny for you to see, but they act very much like blotting paper to bring the under moisture up to the surface, and unless they are broken and crumbled, the deep earth moisture goes sailing off into the air to meet the sun, as fast as if it ran out of a little spigot running it off, and the poor plant baby dries up for want of deep moisture near its roots.
How shall we break these tubes (the sun’s lemon candy stick)?
Yes, that’s right, Mary Frances!
By Cultivation.
“Jiminy! what a long lesson!” exclaimed Billy, wiping his forehead, “What’re you going to do for me, Mary Frances, for all this wonderful instruction?”
“I’ll give a dinner in your honor, Professor, and let you invite whom you please.”
“On one condition,” said Billy, “that every thing we have will come out of your garden!”
“Agreed!”
“To-morrow we begin real work and put into practice some of these remarkable lectures,” added Billy earnestly.
“Oh, how glad I am!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “Billy, it seems too wonderful! My, I’m glad Mother and Father sent you away to school, though I did miss you terribly, but you learned such a lot that it makes up for it.”
“Augh! Mary Frances, you make a fellow feel queer, I wasn’t such a perfect little angel in school.”
“Oh, certainly not, certainly not, Billy,” laughed Mary Frances, “that’s the wonder of it—to think a bad boy like you could learn so much, that’s the puzzle to me.”
“Humm!” said Billy to himself as he looked after Mary Frances’ fleeting figure, “It’s lucky for that girl that I’m a scout.”
[CHAPTER XVII]
Names of Parts of Flowers
THE children worked in the garden early and late for days, and if the grown-ups in the big house suspected they were gardening, they did not hint that they thought of such a thing.
Billy spaded, and Mary Frances planted, and Feather Flop looked on from a distance whenever Billy was anywhere to be seen.
One day, Mary Frances met him as she came to the compost heap, where she was going to throw some weeds and grass cuttings.
“Why, Feather Flop,” she exclaimed, “I haven’t seen you for ever-so-long! Where have you been?”
“I’ve been—I’ve been—watching,” said Feather Flop, “and when I’ve thought I dared, I’ve weeded your garden; yes, I have. Haven’t you noticed how few weeds there were?” he asked anxiously.
“I have, Feather Flop, indeed I have; only the other day I said to Billy, ‘I almost could imagine someone had been “cultivating” the garden this morning.’”
“That was the morning I got up before daylight, and went out there and scratched, and scratched, where I felt sure I would not disturb anything which ought not to be disturbed,” said Feather Flop, delighted.
“My,” said Mary Frances, “how perfectly dear of you, Feather Flop; I can’t begin to tell you the wonderful fairy-story-feeling I have, to know that all the time that Billy and I are studying and working, you are so interested and kind, so anxious to help me!”
“Oh, yes, dear Miss,” sighed the happy rooster; “but I certainly do wish I could do more and be with you oftener.”
“Never mind, Feather Flop,” said the little girl. “Some day when Billy goes to town, we’ll spend the whole day together.”
“Good!” cried Feather Flop, delighted. “Good! and now, please let me show you where I found so many cutworms.”
Mary Frances and he walked over to the garden.
“Right there,” explained Feather Flop, going toward the tomato plants and pointing with his wing: “right down there. About twenty, I guess there were, and I had some difficulty——”
“Get out of that garden, will you, Feather Flop!” roared Billy, coming with a stick. “Say, Mary Frances, why don’t you chase that old good-for-nothing rooster off? If he doesn’t look out——”
“Oh, Billy,” cried Mary Frances. “Oh, Billy, you ought—he was—he has eaten a lot of cutworms. I know he has! You don’t understand!”
“I don’t understand! Well, I guess I don’t! Get out of here, you old busybody of a rooster!” said Billy.
Mary Frances felt so sorry about the rooster she couldn’t have helped crying, and out came her handkerchief.
“Oh, Billy,” she sobbed, “he’s so interested—in the—garden.”
“I should say he is!” said Billy. “I should say so! But whatever can be the matter with you, gets me! For pity’s sake, dry up those tears. I was going to give you the next lesson.”
At that Mary Frances dried her eyes.
“Oh, were you, Billy—will you?” She was delighted.
“Yes,” said Billy, “if you’ll stop weeping. The next lesson is a real one in Botany, or the study of flowers and plants; and since I’ve found these few buttercups, which I pressed in my collection of dried flowers, if you wish, I shall begin—
GARDEN LESSON No. 5
Names of Parts of Flowers
Not all flowers have every part. The buttercup (or better, the single geranium) is an excellent flower to study to show the various parts.
To learn the name of each part, our teacher told us—
The Story of Little Buttercup
Little Buttercup has on a yellow collar.
Her collar is called a cô-rŏl-lá.
Her corolla collar is made of five scallops; each scallop is called a pĕt´-al.
The petal scallops of Little Buttercup’s collar corolla are held in place about her neck in a little green cup-shaped holder.
This holder is called a cā’-lŷx, or cup.
The calyx cup has five pointed scallops.
Each scallop is called a sĕp´-ăl.
Little Buttercup wears not only a beautiful yellow collar corolla made of shiny yellow petals, held in place by the green sepals of the calyx cup, but she has a lovely necklace of fringe close about her neck.
Each thread of fringe is a stā´-men.
Each stamen is made of a thread called a fĭl´-ă-mĕnt, and on the end of each filament dangles a little bead, called an ăn´-thẽr.
Proud little Buttercup not only wears all of these beautiful things, but she uses powder!
On each anther bead Little Buttercup carries some yellow powder.
This powder is called pŏl´-len.
She must be very proud when she gets all dressed up in the lovely Spring days in her best finery—a shiny corolla collar, made of yellow petals, held in a calyx cup, made of green sepals, and a stamen fringe necklace, powdered with pollen!
Oh, yes, she wears a lovely dress of green lacey leaves. The leaf is made strong, just as children are, by a bone, a leaf-bone or a mid-rib.
All other flowers dress in a similar way, but not every flower has as many beautiful things to wear as has little Buttercup.
When you see flowers after this, look for the lovely corolla, calyx, stamens, and other parts of the flower, which you have learned to know through Little Buttercup.
There is another part to a buttercup, called the pis-til, but I shall tell you about that part of flowers in the next lesson, in just the way our teacher told us.
“Oh,” cried Mary Frances, as Billy finished, “What a delightful lesson! Never again will buttercups seem the same. Although I always loved them, they will be so much more interesting after this.”
[CHAPTER XVIII]
Good Mrs. Bee
“GETTING tired?” asked Billy as Mary Frances finished planting the last of her radish seeds.
“Not so very,” answered Mary Frances, “but I would like to take a little rest,” sitting down on the garden bench. “Doesn’t everything look lovely—the beds all laid out, and neat as biscuits in a baking pan!”
“It is some garden, believe me!” agreed Billy, wiping his brow. “I guess I’ll stop for a few minutes, too,” throwing himself down at the foot of the tree.
“Oh, Billy, you oughtn’t to lie there on the ground,” chided Mary Frances; “you’ll take your death of cold.”
“Ha! Ha!” roared Billy, getting up. “Yes, Grandmother, certainly, your darling grandchild understands your kind admonition and obeys,” taking a seat beside Mary Frances, who made room for him.
“Oh, Billy, don’t tease,” she begged. “Please don’t! I’ve enjoyed my Garden Lessons so much, and you’ve been so kind——”
“Say, Mary Frances, if you want me to go away, just keep on praising me, will you,” interrupted Billy.
“All right,” said Mary Frances, “I’ll stop, but I’ve gone over and over in my mind the lesson about the seed babies. It all seems so wonderful to me. Do you know, Billy, I’ve often wondered how the little seed babies are made. Where does their mother get them?”
“Well,” began Billy, “I guess I can explain.”
“Oh,” shrieked Mary Frances suddenly. “Oh, Billy, excuse me, please, but that bee nearly dashed in my face.”
“It’s not after you, Mary Frances,” laughed Billy. “That’s good Mrs. Bee looking for honey. And she’ll have hard work to find it to-day, I’m thinking. Still, I saw a few very early blossoms out on the shrubs at the end of the garden.”
“I saw them, too, Billy. Isn’t it lovely that we have such beautiful things to enjoy.”
“That’s what Mrs. Bee thinks, too,” said Billy; “and in fact, the flowers are made beautiful, not for us especially, but to attract the bees and moths and butterflies.”
“But I can’t imagine why,” said Mary Frances; “the bees only steal honey from them.”
“Only steal honey!” exclaimed Billy. “But then, I used to think so myself, Mary Frances, until about a year ago, when I learned better. You see, the bees do every bit as much for the flowers as the flowers do for the bees.”
“Oh, do they? That’s wonderful, Billy. Please tell me about it?”
“If you’ll move over far enough on this bench to let me be comfortable,” growled Billy.
“Oh, certainly, certainly; excuse me.” Mary Frances almost fell off the end. “Oh, say, Billy, let’s go over under the trees and I’ll swing in the hammock, and you can take the bench.”
“All right,” said Billy, following Mary Frances.
“Now,” suggested Mary Frances, settling herself in the hammock, “I know you feel just like telling me the whole story.”
“All right,” agreed Billy, “and I have a surprise for you—I just caught that honey bee you saw. Here, in my cap.”
“Oh, let’s see it, Billy,” Mary Frances put out her hand.
“Take care!” warned Billy. “I guess you forget how a bee stings. Go get a large-mouth bottle and I’ll slip it in.”
Billy gently slipped the bee into the large bottle Mary Frances brought.
“Notice, Mary Frances, how furry its little body is.”
“Why, it’s covered with yellow!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “I thought bees were rather dark in color.”
“Yes,” said Billy, “yes, this bee is quite dark in color; the yellow you see is pollen powder.”
“Oh, off the anther bead!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “It’s off the anther bead of some flower!”
“Guessed right that time,” said Billy. “That’s what it is, all right. I wish I could tell you the whole story of the bee and of fertilization the way Miss Gardener told us in class.”
“Won’t you try to remember, Billy; won’t you try?” begged Mary Frances.
[CHAPTER XIX]
The Story of Fertilization
“WELL, as nearly as I can remember,” began Billy, “Miss Gardener said she had been studying very hard on the formation of parts of flowers, and the story of fertilization. It was pretty dry stuff, too, as it was taught when she was young; but the way she told it was so interesting that I took notes which will help me in telling you about
