ON VARIATION 
Who can forget its feathery seed ball waiting, 
when ripe, for the first youngster, or the first draft 
of air to blow it away on its long sail through the 
air as it distributes its seeds—some on stones, 
perhaps, and some on plowed ground—such a 
multitude of seeds that, though many be lost, some 
will find themselves throwing roots into new soil, 
rearing their heads into new air—starting life in 
a new environment? 
Or we might learn a lesson from one of the 
wild chicories which provides some of its seeds 
with wings to fly, while others it leaves wingless. 
Those seeds without wings fall at the feet of the 
parent plant as if to keep green the old family 
home; while those with wings fly away to start new 
families, under new conditions, where latent traits 
and tendencies—latent elements of weakness or 
strength—may codperate to produce a_ better 
chicory. 
Or from that joy of childhood, the squirting 
cucumber, which, when ripe, fires its seeds, mixed 
up in its milky contents, with such force that they 
are sometimes carried a distance of twelve to 
fifteen feet. 
Or even the sweet pea, or our garden pea, which 
when their seeds have dried, have the ability to 
throw them some distance from the parent plant. 
[97] 
