A COMMON WILD FLOWER 

 AND ITS LEGENDS 



By Maud Going. 



HE flowers renowned in song and story are generally the 



common things willing to live in anybody's garden, or 

 to take care of themselves in uncultivated ground. Some of 

 them are downright weeds, which, for untold generations, have 

 dogged the footsteps of man, and, being often in his sight, 

 have found place in his thoughts also. Few plants, for instance, 

 have been more celebrated in folk lore than the red-berried 

 elder which may be seen on any rocky hillside in the more 

 northern United States or in eastern Canada. 



Even before its leaves unfold we can recognize this elder 

 by its big, round, purple foliage buds. They get through the 

 winter with what seems the scant protection of four, or at most, 

 six purple scales, as smooth within as without. The red- 

 berried elder provides no downy coverings such as protect the 

 buds of many northern shrubs. Its baby leaves have, so to say,, 

 neither furs nor flannels. 



In May the purple scales separate and free a quartette of 

 compound leaves and a pear-shaped cluster of small greenish 

 blossoms. The scent of these flowers is not altogether pleasing- 

 to human nostrils, but it is enticing to flies. These little visitors, 

 are almost necessary to the forming of the fruit. The five 

 small stamens stick out five different ways, like the rays of a 

 star, so that it is scarcely possible for pollen to reach the pistil 

 without the help of winged insects. But with their aid, plenty 

 of fruit forms. 



