wenger] CLOVER 329 



where it terminates in a miniature young seed pod or ovary. The 

 remaining stamen follows the lead of the pistil and fastens itself 

 at the base of the nectary. All these are held within a dainty five 

 pointed green calyx. 



Wise little blossom! How well you seemed to know that Miss 

 Bumblebee must pull open your keel-like pocket in her hurried, 

 clumsy efforts to reach the feast prepared for her ! And then you 

 played a trick upon your visitor by dusting her with pollen as she 

 brushed against your stamens when departing ! Your sister seems 

 just as wide awake as you, for she shed her pollen a little earlier 

 than you, and immediately set to work to prepare her stigma for a 

 future visitor. She still has nectar with which to tempt, and will 

 claim some pollen upon her waiting sticky stigma as a reward. 

 Bobby and I know that the powdery gold will find its way down 

 the slender tube of the style to the ovary and that there it will help 

 the seed to grow. We know, too, that the bee will carry home some 

 of your gift to the family there. A wonderful secret partnership, 

 bringing joy to you both — a life-preserver for the coming genera- 

 tions of bees and clover ! 



Bobby discovered that the reason the blooms at the lower side 

 turn brown before their sisters occupying higher seats, is because 

 they wish to signal to the bees that their services are no longer 

 needed. 



Nearby we found one head more elongated and shaggy, with 

 bonnets of brown, or none at all, for the wind must have carried 

 some of them away. In each, well protected by each remaining 

 calyx, which had also donned brown to replace her former dress of 

 delicate green, lay the ripening seed. A large family indeed, 

 grouped together on that one stalk each member holding within 

 itself the possibility of perpetuating its kind with its own peculiar 

 characteristics. 



As we pulled up a fine specimen for my collection, Bobby noticed 

 many tiny swellings on the roots. At first he thought they were 

 particles of soil and tried to shake them free, but they clung 

 tenaciously. Immediately his eyes shone with the light of interest 

 that characterizes a boy of his type, and I could read these ques- 

 tions, "What are they? What are they doing there?" 



We walked along slowly as I told him the wonderful story of the 

 bacteria living in those queer little rounded nodules, — that they are 



