“Now,” said Mrs. Edson, taking hold of the buttercup again, “you see here, at the top of each stamen, the slight enlargement that I mentioned. It looks like a kind of knob, and it really is a hard, hollow sack, or bag, containing a fine yellow powder, which is called pollen. Is that plain so far, dearie?”

“Pollen, yes, mamma! And do you wish me to remember that name too?”

“Yes, it is very necessary that you should do so. You will soon learn why. Now look again at the green ovary. That is also hollow, and contains seeds or eggs, as I said before. In plants we 35 call them seeds and in animals eggs. And it is these seeds that grow into the baby plants. But they cannot grow alone, without help. With a certain kind of help they can and do grow, and what do you suppose that help is?”

Elsie gazed earnestly at her mother, trying to think it out. But she was compelled to shake her head after all.

“I can’t imagine,” she said.

“Nothing but that some of the pollen shall be mixed with them,” said her mother.

“Oh, I see, I see!” Elsie cried delightedly. “That is why the stamens with the pollen in them are right over the ovaries.”

“Yes, dear, you have guessed it. The ripe pollen, falling into the ripe ovary, would fertilize the seeds. And with 36 some plants, the earlier and simpler kinds, this is just what happens. But here you can see that the ovary is not ripe. It is hard and green. When it is ripe its color is yellow. But the pollen is ripe now, you can see it all over the anthers, as the knobs or sacks are called. If the pollen should fall upon the ovary now it would roll off without entering, and would be wasted. Now what do you suppose happens?”

“The—the—”

Elsie hesitated, looking with very bright eyes at her mother, almost sure enough to go on, but not quite. It seemed so peculiar, the thought that had come to her, and she did not see just how it could be.

“You were going to say the bee, weren’t you?” her mother smiled. 37

“Oh yes—and would that have been right?” Elsie cried in delight.

“Yes, that would have been exactly right. If we had been near enough to examine the bee’s motions closely we should have seen that he alighted on the ovary, and then began to turn here and there in order to get at the honey at the base of each petal. As he did so he brushed off some of the pollen, for he was right in amongst the stamens, and this powdery pollen stuck to his fuzzy body and he carried it away with him.”

“But if he carried it away how could it get into the flower’s ovary?” Elsie asked, puzzled.

“It did not get into this flower’s ovary,” her mother answered. “Nature did not intend that it should, and that is why the bee is introduced. For the 38 other buttercup that he flew to, or some other one that he would visit afterward, would have its ovary ripe, and when he alighted on it in search of honey some of the pollen would be brushed off his body right into this ovary that was all ready to receive it.”

“Oh! But what would happen then? The little baby buttercups would begin to grow right away, mamma?”

“Yes, the ovary would close up and the seeds would begin to grow, very slowly. They would keep on growing until they were ripe and then they would burst their covering and fall out on the ground. Those of them that were fortunate enough to become embedded in the soil, so that they would not freeze in the winter, would come out in the spring as little plants, which would soon bring 39 forth buttercups. That is the way with the wild flowers. But with the cultivated ones, like cucumbers, apples, beans, and the like, all of those that are valuable for eating, we are careful to save the seeds and plant them where they will be safe. Instead of leaving them to chance we make a garden and plant them in it where they will be snug and warm.”

“And wouldn’t the seeds grow, or the little plants come up, if the bee hadn’t gone to the flowers, mamma?”

“No, darling, it is the bee, or some other insect, or the birds, that marry all the bright-colored plants in this way, as the wind marries the soberhued ones. Without these we should have no vegetation.”

“But, mamma, marry! Why do you say they marry? I thought only men and women married.” 40

“The marriage that takes place between men and women, dear, is only a repetition of the marriage of plants. Its object is the same—to reproduce the race. Plants began to marry long, long before men and women ever came on earth and have been doing it ever since, fortunately for us, because if they should give up the practice we should have to follow suit. The earth would go back to the barren state in which it was before life came to it.”

“It seems so strange,” said Elsie. “Why, I never heard of anything so funny! A bee, just a little bee, and without him—”

“Funny is scarcely the word,” Mrs. Edson smiled, “but it is certainly wonderful. The pumpkin, the bean, the pear, the squash, the orange, all the fruits 41 and vegetables that we eat, and which the animals eat, must be fertilized in order to reproduce their kind, and all the fertilizing is done either by the wind, which blows the pollen from one plant to another, or by birds and insects. But this is only a small part of the secret I have to tell you, just the beginning. There are many more wonderful things to come than I have told you yet, but I think this is enough for the first time. You would better think over what you have heard until tomorrow, when I will tell you the next step, which is about the animals. There are four things in this lesson that you must remember:

“First, every male plant has at least one stamen, which bears pollen.

“Second, every female plant has one ovary which contains seeds. 42

“Third, the seeds in the ovary must be fertilized by the pollen in the stamens in order to be able to grow and bear children.

“Fourth, flowers are fertilized by birds, insects and the wind.

“Do you think you can remember all that, darling?”

“Oh, yes, mamma, I’m sure I can!” said Elsie. She thought a moment and then added: “It was very nice of that bumble-bee to mistake my nose for a flower, I’m sure, for it was almost as if he should say, ‘Doesn’t she look sweet—there must be honey there!’ But I guess he didn’t think I was very sweet when I almost scared him to death, poor fellow!”