LUTHER BURBANK 
that its top extends upward in the form of a single 
tiny stalk. 
Surrounding this neatly packed nest of gera- 
nium eggs with its single upright stalk, and 
hugging it closely all around, we should see ten 
modified leaves, a quarter of an inch or so in 
length, ending, each, in a pointed stalk as big 
around, perhaps, as a bristle out of a hair brush; 
ten such leaves in two rows—as if shielding the 
egg chamber and its central stalk from harmful 
intruders. 
At the tops of the ten surrounding stalks, we 
should see the crosswise bundles, nicely balanced, 
of beautiful golden-orange pollen dust, loosely 
held in half-burst packages. 
And at their base, we should find the syrup 
factory of the geranium—a group of tiny glands 
which manufacture a sticky confection that covers 
the bottom of the flower with its sweetness. 
Shall we take one of the egg-like seeds from its 
nest and plant it? We might as well plant a 
toothpick. 
Shall we take a package of the pollen, and 
put it in the ground? We might as well sow a 
thimbleful of flour. 
But let us combine one of those eggs with a 
grain of that pollen, and three days in the soil will 
show us that we have produced a living, growing 
[68] 
