118 LUTHER BURBANK 



Surrounding this neatly packed nest of eggs 

 with its single upright stalk, and hugging it 

 closely all around, we should see very slender 

 modified leaves, half an inch or so in length, end- 

 ing each in a pointed stalk as large around, 

 perhaps, as a bristle out of a hairbrush, arranged 

 in circular form as if shielding the egg chamber 

 and its central stalk from harmful intruders. 



At the top of the surrounding stalks we should 

 see crosswise bundles, nicely balanced, or beauti- 

 ful slaty gray pollen dust, loosely held in half- 

 burst packages. 



At their base we should find the dianthus 

 honey factory, also the fragrance factory — a 

 group of tiny glands which manufacture a sticky 

 confection that covers the bottom of the flower 

 with its sweetness and fragrance. 



Shall we take one of the egglike seeds from 

 its nest and plant it? We might as well plant a 

 toothpick. 



Shall we take a package of the pollen, and put 

 it into the ground? We might as well sow a 

 pinch of flour. 



But let us combine a grain of that pollen with 

 one of those eggs and ten days in the soil it will 

 show us that we have produced a living, growing 

 thing — a new dianthus plant, with an individ- 

 uality, a personality of its own — an infant dian- 



