A HOME IN A WILLOW TREE 147 



of spring which filled the air in spite of the ther- 

 mometer, I sallied forth. It was March, and the 

 willows certainly needed immediate attention. They 

 shone like new gold in the spring sunshine. But 

 what were those strange objects bobbing about at 

 the end of the very highest branch? In fact, 

 almost every branch had a knob at its tip. They 

 were too small for deserted birds' nests and too 

 numerous. I was at a loss to explain their presence. 

 What was my surprise to find on closer examina- 

 tion that they had every appearance of being pine 

 cones! How absurd! Every- 

 body knows that willow trees do 

 not bear seeds in cones, how- 

 ever else they may bear them. 

 Besides, no seeds could be found 

 under the dried scales which 

 formed the body of the cone. 



What could I do but won- 

 der? I had intended to take 

 some of the branches into the 

 house to watch the early pus- 

 sies. Luckily, I bethought me 

 to cut off some of the cone- 

 bearing branches. Otherwise I 

 should not have had this story 

 to tell. 



We all enjoyed the pussies, 

 but they were soon neglected 

 and dried up. There stood the 

 willow twigs, stiff and stark, 

 bearing their queer fruit. 



PINE-CONE WILLOW-GALLS 



