WUte aad Greeniak 



A carpet of these dark, shining, little evergreen leaves, spread 

 at the foot of forest trees, whether sprinkled over in June with 

 pairs of waxy, cream-white, pink-tipped, velvety, lilac-scented 

 flowers that suggest attenuated arbutus blossoms, or with coral- 

 red "berries" in autumn and winter, is surely one of the loveliest 

 sights in the woods. Transplanted to the home garden in closely 

 packed, generousclumps,withplenty of leaf-mould, or, better still, 

 chopped spagnum, about them, they soon spread into thick mats 

 in the rockery, the hardy fernery, or about the roots of rhodo- 

 dendrons and the taller shrubs that permit some sunlight to reach 

 them. No woodland creeper rewards our care with greater luxu- 

 riance of growth. Growmg near our homes, the partridge vine 

 offers an excellent opportunity for study. 



The two flowers at the tip of a branch may grow distinct 

 down to their united ovaries, or their tubes may be partly united, 

 like Siamese twins — a union which in either case accounts for 

 the odd shape of the so-called berry, that shows further traces of 

 consolidation in its "two eyes," the remnants of eight calyx 

 teeth. Experiment proves that when only one of the twin flowers 

 is pollenized by insects (excluded from the other one by a net), fl'uit 

 is rarely set; but when both are, a healthy seeded berry follows. 

 To secure cross-fertilization, the partridge flower, like the bluets 

 (see p. 62), occurs in two different forms on distinct plants, seed 

 from either producing after its kind. In one form the style is low 

 within the tube, and the stamens protrude; in the other form the sta- 

 mens are concealed, and the style, with its four spreading stigmas, 

 is exserted. No single flower matures both its reproductive organs. 

 Short-tongued small bees and flies cannot reach the nectar re- 

 served for the blossom's benefactors because of the hairs inside 

 the tube, which nearly close it; but larger bees and butterflies 

 coming to suck a flower with tall stamens receive pollen on the 

 precise spot on their long tongues that will come in contact with 

 the sljcky stigmas of the long-styled form visited later, and there 

 rub the pollen off. The lobes' velvety surface keeps insect feet 

 from slipping. 



What endless confusion arises through giving the same popu- 

 lar folk names to different species 1 The Bob White, which is called 

 quail in New England or wherever the ruffed grouse is known as 

 partridge, is called partridge in the Middle and Southern States, 

 where the ruffed grouse is known as pheasant. But as both 

 these distributing agents, like most winter rovers, whether bird or 

 beast, are inordinately fond of this tasteless partridge berry, as 

 well as of the spicy fruit of quite another species, the aromatic 

 wintergreen (p. 2^), which shares with it a number of common 

 names, every one may associate whatever bird and berry that 

 best suit him. The delicious little twin-flower, beloved of Lin- 

 naeus, also comes in for a share of lost identity through confusion 

 with the partridge vine. 



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