SKUNK CABBAGE 209 



the hope that she was harmless and might let me 

 into the secret. 



She started at my "Good morning," but didn't 

 look guilty, though I felt sure she had been pry- 

 ing into other people's business. I saw that in her 

 hand she held a thermometer, and as she returned 

 my greeting she thrust it down into an opening 

 in the snow. "May I look?" I asked, suiting the 

 action to the word without giving her time to 

 deny me. The opening in the snow had not 

 been made by her hand, as I supposed. It was 

 rounded smoothly, and down at the bottom I 

 could distinctly see the top of a skunk cabbage 

 hood. 



How came these air holes? What did the ther- 

 mometer mean? I looked inquiringly at my new 

 acquaintance. She showed me that some of the 

 openings were small, others as much as eight 

 inches across. In no case was the hood of the 

 plant on a level with the surface of the ground. 

 In the smaller ones the cavity was larger at the 

 bottom than at the top, the snow walls forming 

 an arch over the plant. 



While we were talking the thermometer had 

 been busy taking the temperature of one of the 

 skunk cabbage plants. She gently drew it forth 

 and with a quick eye read its record, which she 

 jotted down in her note-book against the date. 

 She then let me look at her notes. We found 

 that the temperature of the plant was in many 

 cases considerably above that of the atmosphere. 

 The largest difference between the two was 4° 



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