LUTHER BURBANK 
selecting, getting one this year which bears a 
podful of seeds for next, with the bees and the 
winds anxious to carry on the work, narrowing 
our lines of heredity down and down and down, 
until finally sonie day—maybe fourteen months 
after the experiment began, or maybe fourteen 
years, we can say: “Here is a plant such as no 
man ever saw before—here is the exact plant 
which we have planned.” 
“But will the seed of this new pink daisy,” 
some one asks, “produce more daisies of this same 
kind of pink?” 
“Of all of the seeds of that daisy,” says Mr. 
Burbank, “there might not be one which repro- 
duced its parent pink. The seeds of that daisy 
sown together in a bed might easily show as great 
a variation as the seeds of the white and the orange 
showed when they were first planted after the 
bees and the winds had done their work. 
“But that need be no discouragement. By 
dividing the roots of the daisy we can, in a single 
season, from a single plant, produce a whole bed 
of plants—each similar to the original plant 
because each, in fact, is a part of the original 
plant. 
“We should, at the start, then, propagate our 
pink daisy by dividing the roots. We should 
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