96 NATURE IN A CITY YARD 



the way, potted it, and sank it in a bed to 

 see if cultivation would improve it. I be- 

 lieve it did, a little. On taking it up, I was 

 surprised to find the interior of the pot 

 lined with tough pale-brown paper, so 

 that when the plant was pulled out it 

 brought this paper with it, a perfect cast 

 of the pot. I was sure I had put nothing 

 into it but earth, and a chip of brick to 

 secure drainage, and this phenomenon puz- 

 zled me. I tore up the wrapping and dis- 

 covered that it was connected by many 

 threads with the roots of the plant. The 

 mystery was solved : the paper was a sheet 

 of rootlets. The pot was small, and so, in 

 their effort to get out and drink, the root- 

 lets had gone up and down the inner side, 

 weaving a fine sheath for the bit of earth 

 in which the cinquefoil had been set. It 

 is an odd fact that some domesticated plants 

 do not flower until they are pot-bound. 



Not all wild flowers submit to care. 

 They get into wrong soils and situations, 

 and plants do not survive misfits so well 

 as men. Few of us are where or what we 

 want to be, and the world is full of round 



