THE JEWEL-WEED'S LITTLE GAME 87 



No rightly constituted prowler in brooks and 

 rills can resist lingering among the jewel-weeds, 

 admiring the flowers and the cunning seed-pods. 

 Some of the pods may still be found even after 

 the frost has stripped off all the leaves and the 

 browning stems lie prone upon the forest floor, 



I am watching a certain tiny ravine which 

 descends at a sharp angle from the main road to 

 the bed of Fall Brook. In early winter it sadly 

 needs the white mantle of snow which later covers its 

 disreputable sides. Remnants of scrap tin, broken 

 china, tomato cans, brickbats and other evidences 

 of civilization make this place hideous. Slowly 

 but surely the jewel-weed 

 is making its way up the 

 hill. The moist rich earth 

 is there, and the dense 

 shade which the plant re- 

 quires. This year I see 

 that the colony has come 

 up several feet higher, 

 and one plant has climbed 

 nearly to the top. Last 

 spring the ground down 

 there was a perfect carpet 

 of living, shining green. Seedling jewel-weeds they 

 were, hiding the ugliness of the littered bank. 

 The seedling itself is a pretty tender green thing. 

 The number of them gives undeniable evidence 

 of the skill and persistency with which last year's 

 plants played their little game. 



SEEDLING JEWEL-WEEDS 



