Buds 157 



ness. They are protecting the tender' sleeping 

 things inside the bud from sudden freezing and 

 from dampness. 



We can split the horny wrapping with a needle 

 and take it off so as to lay bare a small soft thing, 

 the bud itself. The parts of this bud are folded 

 together with that saving of space which Nature 

 practices when she does up a parcel, but It is not 

 a difficult task to separate them with the needle 

 so that we can see them all with the pocket lens. 



There are five or six next summer leaves, each 

 quite perfect, with the toothing at Its edges and 

 the branching of Its veins. There is a little stem 

 between each leaf and the one next within the 

 cluster. This stem lengthens In the spring, sep- 

 arating the leaves, so that the bud, left to live out 

 its life, becomes a spray. The inmost leaves of 

 the bud contain the flower cluster, for on the shin- 

 ing willow, leaves and flowers appear together. 



The upper surface of each leaf is thickly clothed 

 with hairs white and glistening as spun glass. 

 They are much longer than the little leaves them- 

 selves, and, felted together as they lie, in the bud 

 they are a warm covering against the cold. The 

 flowers, too, are clothed In ermine, but they are 

 almost too tiny to be seen clearly even with the 

 pocket lens. 



However, the lens will show next spring's flow- 

 ers on another dweller by the brook — the willow 

 that bears the downy, silky pussies — (Glaucous 



