The Leaf-Mill
Nothing can grow without the right kind of food.
Plants cannot use the “plant-food soup,” just as it is taken up by the roots, to make new growth.
The leaves must first turn the liquid food into starch, which is the right kind of food for the plant.
A leaf has been called a leaf-mill, because it has many tiny grinding stones.
These tiny grinding stones are the green grains in the cells which form the leaf. They are called chlor-o-phyll bodies.
The leaf-mill grinding stones are turned by sunshine power. Without sunshine they cannot work.
By the leaf-mill grinding stones, a gas from the air (carbonic acid gas) is mixed with the plant food soup sent up by the plant’s roots, and starch is formed.
While doing the work of manufacturing starch, the leaf-mill throws off into the air another gas, called oxygen. Oxygen is needed by all animals; carbonic acid gas (or carbon dioxide) is needed by all plants whose leaves make starch.
But even the starch must be changed before the plant can use it to make new growth. It must be made into sugar!
So the leaves act as stomachs, and digest the starch they have made for the plant’s use. In them, in some wonderful way, the starch is changed into sugar, and some mineral matter from the humus soup is mixed with the sugar. This combination forms a perfect food, ready for the plant to make into new growth.
“Isn’t it a wonderful story?” asked Bouncing Bet, as she finished speaking.
“It’s the most surprising garden story I’ve yet heard,” declared Mary Frances.
“I’ll never, never think of leaves again as just ‘for shade,’” declared Eleanor. “But I’m glad they do give shade,” she added.
“Trees give a great deal of shade,” said Bet, “because they expose as large a surface of leaves as possible to the sun. On a large tree, nearly half an acre of leaf surface may be in the sunlight at once.”
“And the sunlight turns the grinding-stones of the leaf-mill,” said Mary Frances softly.
“And they make food for the tree,” Eleanor whispered.
“Sometimes a plant does not need for immediate use all the food the leaves have made,” Bet continued, “so it stores it away for future use: sometimes, in roots; sometimes, in leaves; sometimes in other parts of the plant—as in the grains of wheat.”
“I wonder how the storage places look,” said Eleanor.
Bet laughed. “You’ve often seen some of them,” she said. “When you eat turnips and beets, you are eating the food stored in the roots of these plants. When you use onions, you are using food stored in leaves.”
Mary Frances thought the fairy had made a mistake, and Bet seemed to read her thought.
“Oh, no,” she laughed, “I’m not mistaken. You see, the bulb of the onion is made up of the thickened lower ends of the leaves, the top green parts of which have dried off.”
“It is interesting,” she went on, “to see how quickly the plants which have stored food begin to grow when put into the warm place. It is because of this fact that bulbous flowers are the first to bloom in the Spring. They do not have to make food to begin to grow, for their food is ready for use, and just a little warmth and moisture will start them.”
“Oh, I see why crocuses, and hyacinths, and tulips bloom so early,” said Mary Frances.
“Yes,” nodded Bet, “and it is an interesting experiment to make a carrot hanging basket. Cut the top off a large carrot and scoop out a hollow. Fill the hollow with water, and hang the carrot in a warm room. The beautiful green leaves will soon grow, using the material stored in the root for food.” Just at this point, Jack stepped forward.
“I’m sorry,” said he, “to interrupt such an interesting lesson, but as we have so little time, by your leave, Bet, I will commence my story about some of our most peculiar relatives—if the young ladies would enjoy hearing about them.”
[CHAPTER XLIV]
A Wicked Innkeeper
“INDEED, we would enjoy hearing about them,” declared both the girls.
“Before I begin to tell you about our peculiar relatives, some of which kill, some of which steal——”
“Oh!” gasped Eleanor.
“Oh!” muttered Mary Frances.
Just at that moment out of the bushes ran the tiniest, littlest bit of a dog that ever lived.
At first the girls didn’t see him, he was so small.
He ran right to Jack, and put a tiny bit of paper in his hand.
“For pity’s sake, Bet,” Jack exclaimed, “I forgot to send back the magic tree and here’s the Queen’s messenger with a command from Her Majesty! Oh, oh, oh!”
“Will it be all right if he sends it back immediately?” Bet asked of the tiny dog, whose head she was patting.
The dog wagged his tiny tail and stood on his hind legs. Bet bent her ear to his mouth.
“It will be all right,” she said aloud, “if you return it this minute.”
“Attendants!” shouted Jack. “Attendants!”
Out ran the tiny elves.
“Take back the magic tree!” commanded Jack, “and apologize to Her Majesty for keeping it over time.”
He took a little box out of his pocket. Opening it, he shook out a shining powder, and before the girls could see how it came about, the tiny tree just as they first saw it, growing in the little tub, was before them. The elves sprang to its sides. The little dog ran on before; and elves, dog and tree vanished from sight.
“I wouldn’t have had it late for anything!” Jack spoke sadly.
“You were teaching us so kindly,” said Mary Frances; “that was the reason you forgot. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“If you appreciate my lesson so much,” Jack said, smiling, “the Queen won’t mind at all.”
“How glad we are!” cried the girls.
“And now,” Jack went on happily, as Bet danced around; “now, I will begin a story about one cousin—