66 Next to the Ground 



pattering down. Still the undergrowth al- 

 ways seems thirsty. The struggle for exist- 

 ence, always sharp among growing things, 

 comes to a fighting finish in August heats, 



The low-growing boughs shut away from 

 sunlight, perish, the thickets grow ragged with 

 fading leaves and dead stems. Nature's law 

 is inexorable. If the root cannot suck up 

 sap and substance for the leaves to shape into 

 new living wood, then it is better the whole 

 plant should die than remain and cumber the 

 ground. The mounting sap is mainly water, 

 faintly tinctured with various elements. The 

 chiefest of them is carbon, in the form of car- 

 bonic acid. This the leaves turn back into 

 oxygen and carbon, keeping the carbon in 

 their own cells, and giving off the oxygen from 

 their under sides. They also give off much 

 water. Even a small plant in vigorous growth 

 soon covers a bell glass set over it with good- 

 sized drops. A tree three feet through at the 

 ground is estimated to send up to its trunk 

 and boughs, in the season of full growth, about 

 five barrels of sap each twenty-four hours. 

 And such is the force of the sending up, that 

 if it were possible suddenly to check the trans- 

 piration through the leaves, trunk and branches 

 would burst. 



Since moist air draws electricity, which is 

 the real rain and climate maker, it is easy to 



