260 UNDER THE OPEN SKY 



on the hemlocks. Perhaps, if we are wan- 

 dering through New Jersey, Delaware, or 

 southward, a strange green tuft on an other- 

 wise brown tree will catch our eye. 



THE MISTLETOE 



Why will we set our hearts on the degen- 

 erates of life and despise those that are 

 wholesome and hearty? When a plant is 

 really robust and thoroughly able to take 

 care of itself, we turn up our noses at it and 

 call it a weed. Here at Christmas time we 

 hang from our chandeliers sprays of mistle- 

 toe, not only a degenerate, but, what is 

 worse, a parasite, and make it the accom- 

 paniment of our most festive season. 



A strange plant it is, almost an uncanny 

 one. Other green plants work for them- 

 selves, but here is a plant that is just green 

 enough to help itself when it must, and 

 firmly enough rooted in the bark of its host 

 to draw from it a large share of its nourish- 

 ment. For the mistletoe never grows on 

 the ground. Its seeds, when they fall 

 there, come to nothing. Instead, we find 



