126 LUTHER BURBANK 



companions, and finally told them his story, as his old 

 grandfather had often told it to him and his little prickly 

 companions. 



"I have many relatives in America," he began, "and 

 several in other lands whom I have never seen. Some 

 call us ' prickly pear/ because of our needles and our pear- 

 like fruit; but our real name is Opuntia. Our blooms are 

 either red, yellow, or purple, and, unlike our bodies, they 

 are very frail and beautiful. 



"We had leaves once, as well as you," he informed 

 them, "and were as thornless as Gold Ridge apple over 

 there." 



"Impossible!" came from the plant pupils on every 

 side. 



"Oh, no. I am quite sure it is true, for grandfather 

 told me. When I tell you how it came about that we lost 

 them, you can see for yourselves I am right. 



"See these little leaflets I wear still, where the old true 

 leaves used to be." 



The cactus child was greatly strengthened by the nour- 

 ishing food given him in such liberal quantities, and his 

 spirit was rising. 



"Long, long ago," he went on, "our people were stranded 

 in a place where they had to hustle alone. They tried to 

 help each other, but it seemed no use, and they became 

 helpless and hopeless. The less hardy ones perished. The 

 water gradually dried up as fine sand drifted in and filled 



