THE ROSE OF JERICHO 
the plain with the slightest urging. If the wind is stiff 
and strong and nothing intervenes, it may travel great 
distances. 
As a matter of fact, this plant is still a living thing and 
is looking for a new home. What it wants is a home with 
water in the basement. If it should happen to be blown 
into a region which knows moisture, into a lowland where 
damp soil invites, it is likely to cease its wanderings. 
This is the thing for which it has been looking, and here 
it will settle down. 
The dry roots of the rose of Jericho unfurl themselves. 
They thirstily take hold of the damp soil. They drink 
of its moisture and send it coursing up through the plant. 
Its dry branches come to life. They uncoil themselves, 
cease to be a sphere, and reach out as might those of any 
other plant. They again become delicate green. All 
trace of the hard, dry ball has gone. Yet this is the plant 
pilgrim, apparently lifeless, which but yesterday was 
hurtling before the wind of the desert. 
Ill 
