The story book of the fields

QZe STORY
BOOK OF

THE FIELDS

J -H- FAB RE

£T

The Story-Book of the Fields

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Ice 7

II. The Origin of Soil - - - - u

III. The Stem 17

IV. Combustion 23

V. Carbonic Acid Gas ... 2g

VI. Hollow Trees — The Age of Trees - 35

VII. Respiration ----- 41

VIII. Respiration (continued) - - - 47

IX. The Root - - - 53

X. The Soil 61

XI. Shoots ... - 65

XII. The Soil (continued) 69

XIII. Adventitious Shoots - - - - 75

XIV. Plants and the Atmosphere 81
XV. Bulbs and Suckers - - 87

XVI. Potash and Phosphorus - - 93

XVII. Tubers — Starch - - 99

XVIII. Uses of Starch 103

XIX. Phosphates and Nitrogen - - 107

XX. The Ascent of the Sap - - - 115

XXI. Lime .... - 121

XXII. The Descent of the Sap - - 127

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

XXIII. The Pruning of Trees - - - 131

XXIV. Plaster ------ 135

XXV. Pruning {continued) - - - - 139

XXVI. Production of Fruit - - 143

XXVII. The Use of Lime in Agriculture - 149

XXVIII. Cultivated Plants - - - i55

XXIX. Means of Propagation - - - 161

XXX. The Use of Plaster in Agriculture 167

XXXI. Layering ----- 169

XXXII. Cuttings - - - - 179

XXXIII. Draining - - - - - 187

XXXIV. Grafting - - - 193
XXXV. Grafting (continued) - - 199

XXXVI. Grafting (conclusion) - - 207

XXXVII. Rotation of Crops - - - 213

XXXVIII. Wine - - 221

XXXIX. Rotation of Crops (continued) - 227

XL. Burning the Weeds - - - 233

XLI. The Grain of Wheat - - 237

XLII. Germination 243

XLIII. Animal Helpers - - 251

XLIV. Animal Helpers (continued) - - 259

XLV. Animal Helpers (continued) - - 265

VI

CHAPTER I

Ice

We have all seen a pump, and know some-
thing about its construction. There is a
long leaden pipe which goes down into the
well, and above that a short, thick pipe in
which the piston rises and falls. This large
pipe is the cylinder.

One very frosty morning we find the
cylinder cracked from top to bottom. There
is a hole the length of your finger, and a
lump of ice projecting through it. How
could the cold break this hard iron pipe ?
It was not the cold alone. There was some-
thing in the cylinder : there was water, and
this water was changed into ice, which was
imprisoned between the cylinder and the
piston, unable to rise or fall. Now ice
expands as it forms. It expands to such
an extent that, if it happens to be imprisoned,
it presses here, there and everywhere, and
smashes the obstacle which prevents its

The Story-Book of the Fields

expansion. So the cylinder is cracked be-
cause ice was formed inside it.

I can quote an experiment which will
show the irresistible power of ice when it
forms and expands in a closed space. What
is stronger than a cannon ? It is made of
bronze, a metal almost as impregnable as
iron. It weighs several tons and is more
than a hand-breadth in thickness. A small
bag of gunpowder and a cannon-ball which
you could hardly lift are placed inside. The
gunpowder is ignited, there is an explosion
like a clap of thunder, and the iron cannon-
ball is hurled for a league, and even farther.
So you may judge of the resistance offered
by this terrible machine.

Well, the power of the pressure of ice has
been tried in a cannon. A cannon is filled
with water ; then its mouth is stopped with
a solid plug of iron, screwed in so that it
cannot give way. This cannon is exposed
to the cold during a very severe winter's
day. The water turns to ice, and soon the
gun is cracked from end to end, the ice
projecting through the crack. After this,
how can we be surprised that the cylinder
of a pump should be broken by the pressure
of ice, when a cannon is rent as easily as a

8

Ice

worn-out cloth ? Moreover, this fracture,
caused by the water freezing, is effected
as quietly as possible. There is no ex-
plosion such as you might imagine, no
fragments thrown out. Without any dis-
turbance the metal is rent, and that is all.
If you were astride on the gun you would
have nothing to fear at the time of the
rupture.

It is probable that you will not have the
opportunity of seeing the bursting of a
cannon by ice, but I can suggest another
experiment. Take a bottle, fill it quite full
of water, then cork it with a strong cork
fastened by a string. Expose your bottle
in the open air during a sharp frost. Sooner
or later you will find it in pieces, broken by
the pressure of the ice. Here again there is
no danger. The fragments of the bottle
are not thrown off. They adhere together,
joined by the ice, or else they fall quietly to
the ground.

In the new pump which has replaced the
old one damaged by the cold, there is a tap
quite at the bottom of the cylinder, and
when a hard frost is expected the tap is
turned to let the water escape. This is to
prevent the ice from forming in the cylinder.

The Story -Book of the Fields

Also, as the tap may be forgotten, during
severe cold it is well to cover the cylinder
with rags or straw, to preserve it from contact
with the air and so prevent it from becoming
too cold.

10

CHAPTER II

The Origin of Soil

Soil, or arable ground, is the surface of the
earth worked and stirred by our agricultural
implements, and in which plants are able
to develop their roots. In some places the
rock is bare and completely barren ; in
others the soil is a few inches thick, and
scanty grass will grow, while in others again
it reaches a sufficient depth, and vegetation
succeeds. But nowhere is this soil of un-
limited thickness. At no very great depth
the bare rock of the neighbouring mountains
reappears. How then has this bed of earth
been formed whence all food proceeds — for
the plant, for the animal, and for man ?

Mined every winter — and on high moun-
tains the whole year long— by the ice which
is formed in their smallest fissures, rocks of
all kinds break into tiny fragments, separate
into grains of sand, fall in dust and provide
the powdered mineral matters which are

ii

The Story -Book of the Fields

carried away by the rain and deposited in
the valleys. Broken stones, sand, mud and
soil have, for the most part, no other origin.
The ice by its power of expansion has detached
them from the tops of the mountains, and
the water has swept them away and carried
them further. We can form an idea of the
action of ice, how it crumbles the rocks to
turn them into earth and to enrich the
valleys, by examining the surface of a beaten
road at the time of thaw.

This surface, which was firm under foot
before the frost, is broken up by the thaw
and here and there raised up in little
crumbling clods. With the coming of the
frost the moisture with which the soil was
impregnated became ice which, increasing in
volume and expanding, reduced the surface of
the road to fragments. When the thaw sets
in, these fragments, no longer held together
by the ice, form mud first, and afterwards
dust. It is in an exactly similar way that
the soil has been formed by fragments of
rocks of every kind, reduced to powder by
ice.

But agricultural ground not only contains
powdered mineral matters, it contains also
a compost, provided independently by the

12

The Origin of Soil

decomposition of vegetable substances. To
give you an idea of the causes which from
the remotest times have fertilised the dust of
the rock, we will limit ourselves to the
following example.

Geography has taught you something about
a volcano. It is a mountain, the summit of
which is hollowed out into an immense
excavation forming a funnel. At times in the
vicinity of a volcano the earth quakes ;
formidable noises, like the rolling of thunder,
or the reports of cannon, resound in the
depth of the mountain. The crater throws
up to the sky a tall column of smoke — dark
in the daylight, fiery red at night. Suddenly
the mountain is rent open, and from its
crevices a river of fire, a flow of molten rocks,
pours out. After a time the volcano quiets
down and the source of the terrible stream
dries up. The lava itself is arrested and leaves
off flowing, and after a period which may last
for years, is completely cooled. Now what will
become of this enormous bed of black cavern-
ous stone, like the hearth of a blacksmith's
forge ? What will this sheet of lava produce,
covering a surface of several square miles ?

This desolate, accursed surface seems des-
tined never to be clothed in green. But that

13

The Story-Book of the Fields

is a mistake. After centuries and centuries
a strong growth of oaks, beeches and other
great trees will have succeeded in establishing
themselves. The air, the snow, the rain and,
above all, the frost successively attack the
hard surface of the lava, detach tiny morsels
and gradually produce a little dust at its
expense. On this dust there appear strange
and vigorous growths — those white and
yellow patches, those vegetable crusts called
lichens, which live on the rock. The lichens
adhere to the lava, wear it away still more,
and die, leaving a small amount of compost
consisting of their rotted remains. Now
the mosses appear, which perish in their
turn and augment the quantity of fertilising
matter. Then the ferns come, needing more
nourishment. After these a few tufts of
grass ; then some brambles and poor shrubs ;
so that every year the soil is increased by
fresh fragments of the lava and of the com-
post left by the generations of plants which
have rotted on the spot. Thus in the course
of time a stream of lava is covered by a forest.
The arable ground which we cultivate has
had a similar origin. The barren rocks, hard
as they are, reduced to dust by the combined
action of water, air and cold, have formed

14

The Origin of Soil

its mineral part, while the vegetable genera-
tions succeeding each other, beginning with
the simplest, constitute the soil.

Note how in nature the least of creatures
fulfils its part and, in proportion to its
strength, contributes to the general harmony.
The changes of weather, which crumble the
hardest rock, are not enough to produce the
arable ground ; besides these, vigorous plants
are needed which can live on that ungrateful
surface — those grasses, mosses and lichens,
which wear away the stone. It is by means
of these elementary plants, so poor in appear-
ance and yet so robust, that the dust of the
rocks is enriched with a compost and makes
a soil fit to nourish other more delicate plants.
It is not in cultivated plains that you will
find these close carpets of moss and lichen
bravely wearing away the rock ; it is at the
tops of the mountains that you can see them
at work, encrusted on the firm rock in order
to convert it into arable ground. It is from
these heights that the soil has gradually
descended, swept on by the rain, and has
come to fertilise the valleys. The same work
is always going on. In mountainous regions
the tiniest plants incessantly augment the
quantity of arable ground. The threads of

15

The Story-Book of the Fields

rain-water which furrow these regions take
possession of it and carry it off to the plains.
What a worthy subject of our reflection is
this production of arable ground by these
legions of inferior plants, the obscure labourers
indefatigably stripping the rock ! What im-
mense results obtained by the simplest
means !

16

CHAPTER III

The Stem

The stem is the common support of the
different parts of the plant which, if it is only
to last one year, is called annual or herbaceous.
Such is the case of the potato, parsnip or
parsley, and of all those plants which from
their weak substance are called herbs. If
destined to last for a greater or less number
of years, being formed of strong wood, the
growth is called ligneous, as in the case of trees.
Let us cut very neatly through some
ligneous stem — for instance, the stem of an
oak. We shall perceive three parts — in the
centre the pith, very slightly developed ;
round the pith the wood ; and lastly the bark
outside. With a little attention you will
recognise that the wood consists of concentric
layers, outlined on the section of the stem
by a series of circles, which have the pith
for a common centre. These layers are called
ligneous zones, or annual layers, because one

17 j$

The Story -Book of the Fields

of them is formed every year. During the
warm weather a special fluid is produced by
the whole tree ; this is the sap, the liquid
food of the plant. This liquid passes
between the wood and the bark, and in its
course gradually becomes on one side a layer
of wood moulded on the exterior of that of
the preceding year, and on the other a thin
sheet of bark, in addition to that which is
already formed.

Thus in every year, for the bark as well as
the wood, a fresh growth takes place. But
the added growth is deposited on the two
sides in an opposite direction ; on the out-
side for the wood, on the inside for the bark.
The wood, clothed in successive years by a
new ligneous layer, grows old at the centre
and young again on the surface ; the bark,
being lined each year by a fresh sheet, grows
old on the outside and young on the inside.
The former buries its worn-out and dead
layers in the interior of the trunk, the latter
casts outside its old growths, which crack
and fall away in rough scales. The wearing-
out proceeds simultaneously on the surface
and at the centre of the tree, but, at the
limit of the wood and the bark, life is always
at work with new growths.

I*

The Stem

Here are some experimental proofs of
this annual formation of a ligneous layer.
A strip of bark is removed from a tree and
a thin sheet of metal is fixed on the bare wood.
The bark is replaced and firmly fastened, so
that the wound may heal. Ten years pass
away and we return and remove the bark
in the same place. The metal sheet can no
longer be seen, and to find it we must dig
into the thickness of the wood. Now, if we
count the ligneous layers removed before we
reach the sheet of metal, we shall find exactly
ten, the same as the number of years which
have expired.

We know of a number of observations of
the same kind as the following one. Some
foresters cut down a beech, with the date
1750 carved on its trunk. The same inscrip-
tion was found in the interior of the wood, and
to reach it they had to go through fifty-five
layers showing nothing whatever. Now, by
adding fifty-five to 1750, we get the very year
in which the tree was cut down, 1805. The
inscription carved on the trunk in 1750 had
penetrated the bark and reached what was then
the exterior layer of wood. Since then fifty-
five years had passed and fresh layers, exactly
the same in number, had covered the first.

:9

The Story-Book of the Fields

So a tree is composed of a succession of
ligneous sheaths covering each other. The
stem or trunk contains them all, the branches
more or fewer, according to their age. Each
is produced by the growth of one year. The
ligneous sheath of the present year occupies
the exterior of the stem, immediately under
the bark : those of past years occupy the
interior and are nearer the centre, according
to their date. The layers of future years
will, one by one, be superposed on their elders,
and the present surface layer will, in its turn,
be imprisoned in the thickness of the trunk.

Of all these ligneous layers of different
ages, the most necessary now is that of the
surface. Its destruction would involve the
death of the tree ; for it is by its means that
the nourishing juices of the earth reach the
shoots, the leaves and the young twigs. In
their turn, when they occupied the surface,
the interior layers acted the same part with
regard to the contemporary shoots ; but now
that these shoots have become branches, the
lower layers only play a subordinate part, or
are even absolutely useless. Those nearest to
the surface are still capable of some work and
assist the layer of the year by bringing the
juices of the earth to the branches. As for

ao

The Stem

those approaching the centre, they have lost
their activity for ever. Their wood is
hardened, dried up, encrusted with dead
matter. In their old age these interior layers
are useless for the work of vegetation. At
most by the support of their strong wood
they add to the solidity of the edifice. The
activity of the tree thus decreases from the
surface to the centre. On the surface there
are youth, vigour and work ; in the centre,
old age, decay and rest.

ai

CHAPTER IV

Combustion

If we throw a shovelful of coal into a stove,
the coal catches fire, reddens, throws out
heat and is consumed. Nothing is left but a
handful of ashes — insignificant compared with
its original weight. What has become ol the
coal ? It is not annihilated ; for nothing in
this world can be annihilated. Just try to
annihilate a grain of sand. You may crush it,
pulverise it, but you will never reduce it to
nothing. And the cleverest men, with means
at their disposal more various and powerful
than ours, would be equally incapable. In
spite of every effort the grain of sand will still
exist, in some fashion or other. Nothing and
chance, the two big words that we employ on
every occasion, are really quite meaningless.
Everything obeys laws ; everything is in-
destructible.

The coal when consumed is not annihilated
at all. It no longer exists in the stove in

23

The Story-Book of the Fields

black visible lumps, but it exists in the air as
an invisible substance. In order to make
this clearer let us consider sugar. This is
white, hard, and crackles when bitten. We
will put a little of it in water. The sugar
melts, is dispersed in the water, and at once is
neither white, hard, nor does it crackle when
bitten. It is even invisible to the keenest
sight. But this invisible sugar exists all the
same. One proof of this is that it has im-
parted the taste of sugar to the water. Besides,
when the water has gone, being evaporated
on a plate in the sun, the sugar remains and
reappears as it was at first. This instance
will prove that a substance without ceasing to
be the same, may change from colour to
colourless, from tangible to intangible, from
visible to invisible.

Well, coal when burning acts in the same
way. It is dissolved in the air and becomes
invisible. That which is not really coal, being
indissoluble, remains on the hearth and forms
the ashes. All the coal disappears, dissolved
in the air and seems to be annihilated because
we can no longer see it. This dissolution is
accompanied by heat and is called combustion.

What do we do if we want to encourage the
fire ? We turn the air on to the fuel with

24

Combustion

bellows. The fire revives and increases at
every puff. The coal, at first dark red,
becomes bright red and then glowing white.
The air has brought new life to the heart of
the fire. What do we do on the other hand
to prevent the fuel from being consumed too
quickly ? We cover it with ashes and thus
preserve it from contact with the air. Under
the layer of ashes the coal remains red, but
is not consumed. So the fire on the hearth is
only kept up by the constant arrival of air.
The quicker and more lavish the dissolution,
the higher the degree to which the heat is raised.
The dissolution which is effected in our
fires in a violent manner, with the production
of great heat, is not the only way in which
coal, or carbon, is consumed. A piece of
wood exposed to the weather turns brown
after a time, gradually falls to pieces and at
last drops into dust. Now, this destruction
of wood can be compared at every point with
that which takes place in a stove. It is still
combustion, but so slow that the heat thrown
out is almost or completely imperceptible.
The rotting wood gradually dissolves its
carbon into the air, which carries it away in
an invisible condition ; and as a consequence
of these incessant losses, the trunk of a tree

25

The Story -Book of the Fields

ends by being reduced to some spadefuls of
earth, just as the coal of our stoves is reduced
to a few cinders. The same result occurs in
all decomposition of animal or vegetable
matter. Everything that rots is consumed,
that is to say it is dissolved slowly into the air.

It is easy to explain why the heat which
results from combustion caused by rotting is
not generally perceptible. Let us suppose
that a log will take a year to be consumed by
rotting, and that a similar log will take one
hour to burn in a fire. In both cases heat will
be produced. Only, in the rotting wood,
this heat will be produced very slowly and
very little at a time, since it has to take a
whole year : so it will be imperceptible. As
to the wood burning on the hearth, the pro-
duction of heat will be fierce and quick,
seeing that it is only to last for one hour.
Consequently this heat will be keenly per-
ceptible. However, if the amount of rotten-
ness is large, the heat produced may be per-
ceived. In a manure heap the temperature
is raised to a high degree ; in a damp hay-
stack it may even cause fire.

Therefore, although the process is really the
same, it is well to distinguish between quick
and slow combustion, in order to recognise

26

Combustion

different degrees in the way of burning. An
old rotten trunk of a tree, a haystack becom-
ing heated, a log flaming on the hearth, all
show so many different degrees in rapidity of
combustion.

We can derive coal from apples, or meat,
or anything which can rot. We will take
bread first and place a piece on the red hearth.
The bread smokes, turns black and, if we wait
long enough, there will be nothing left but
carbon. That this carbon comes from the
bread is evident, and as we can only give what
we have, the bread which gives the carbon
must have had it originally, but concealed,
hidden among other things which prevented
us from seeing it. These other things are
gone, driven away by the heat, and now the
carbon, stripped of its surroundings, appears
black and crackling as its real self. Similarly
the apple which you put to bake in the oven,
would end by turning into a lump of coal.
Flesh, submitted to the prolonged action of
fire, becomes coal, as shown by those cutlets
forgotten in the pan. Enough ! the result
would always be the same. Everything
which forms a part of the plant or the animal
contains coal or carbon, and by decaying
dissolves this carbon in the air.

27

CHAPTER V

Carbonic Acid Gas

By dissolving sugar or salt, water acquires
a different taste — the taste of sugar or salt.
Similarly, by dissolving carbon the air receives
new properties and takes the name of carbonic
acid gas. All subtle, and generally invisible,
substances such as air, are called gases. Air
is a gas, and after having dissolved carbon it
remains a gas. As for the word carbonic, it
comes from carbon, the scientific name for
coal.

This gas, or air impregnated with carbon,
is an invisible substance, the presence of
which can only be detected by indirect
methods. The following is the simplest of
these methods : We dilute in water a small
quantity of slack lime, the white paste
obtained by masons when they pour water
on to the limestone, in order to make their
mortar. The resulting liquid is as white as
milk and is called whitewash. By means j)f

29

The Story-Book of the Fields

a funnel we filter it through filtering paper.
A colourless and perfectly limpid liquid passes
through the filter. This is water containing
a small quantity of lime in solution. It is
called lime-water. This is all the preparation
necessary to enable us to detect the carbonic
acid gas.

Now we must procure a large glass bottle
with a wide mouth. An ordinary decanter
will do, if the mouth is large enough. To
begin with the bottle is full of air and con-
tains nothing else. We pour in a little lime-
water and shake it so that the lime-water may
reach every part of the bottle. Nothing
happens. The lime-water was clear at its
entrance and remains clear. We conclude
that the air has no effect on the lime-water.

Let us try again. We introduced into the
bottle a lump of burning coal hanging by a
wire. For a time this coal burns, then it turns
paler, and ends by going out. We take it
out. What has happened ? Evidently, from
the fact of combustion, some carbon has been
dissolved in the air of the bottle, which must
now contain carbonic acid gas.

Let us again pour in a few drops of lime-
water and shake it. Now the liquid, which
was originally perfectly clear, is disturbed,

3°

Carbonic Acid Gas

turns very white and, when at rest, deposits
flakes of a white substance. This milky dis-
turbance and these white flakes did not
appear when the air was pure ; if they are
formed now it must be because the contents
of the bottle have changed their nature. The
change is caused by the dissolution of the
carbon in the air : in other words by the
formation of carbonic acid gas. Hencefor-
ward we can recognise this gas by its property
of disturbing and whitening lime-water, and
forming a deposit of white, powderous matter.
This matter contains lime and carbonic acid
gas in combination, being neither the one nor
the other, but a fresh substance called
carbonate of lime, or chalk. The chalk that
we use to write on the black-board is exactly
the same thing — a combination of carbonic
acid gas and lime. But it is not obtained by
the method that we have used ; that would
be too long and too expensive. We find it
ready made in the bosom of the earth, like
clay, sand and so many other things.

The air in which carbon is dissolved will no
longer maintain combustion. This may be
easily shown. We will go back to our wide-
mouthed bottle. If it is full of pure air and
we introduce a bit of lighted candle hanging

The Story -Bo ok of the Fields

by a wire, this candle will go on burning as
usual. But let us first place in the bottle a
red-hot coal and wait a few minutes to give
time for the carbon to be dissolved in the air ;
then withdraw the coal and replace it by a
lighted candle. This will burn dim and go
out. However carefully we introduce it we
shall not be able to make it burn inside the
bottle until the gaseous contents are renewed
and replaced by pure air.

Air impregnated by dissolved carbon is
deadly for man. If this formidable gas is
breathed to any extent, the mind grows dull,
numbness ensues, strength departs and, with-
out timely help, death will follow. We have
heard of unfortunate people who, voluntarily
or accidentally, have been killed or, as it is
called, asphyxiated, by a charcoal stove
lighted in a close room. The air impregnated
with dissolved carbon is the cause of this
lamentable result. It produces first violent
headache and general discomfort ; then the
loss of feeling, giddiness, nausea and extreme
weakness. If this condition is prolonged life
is in danger.

You will see to what danger carbon exposes
us, when the products of combustion do not
pass out by a chimney but are scattered in

33

Carbonic Acid Gas

the room that we occupy — especially if the
latter is small or very close. In such a room
we should never trust a charcoal stove.
Whether it is well alight or half out, covered
with ashes or uncovered, this charcoal gives
out a deadly gas, the more to be feared
because it is neither seen nor felt, nor even
suspected. Death may ensue before the
danger is perceived. It is also very unwise
to close the chimney of a bedroom fire, in
order to keep up a gentle warmth in the
night. As the chimney no longer gives an
outlet to the products of combustion, the
latter are dispersed in the room. If the room
is small and without any opening to renew
the air, a small chafing-dish will be enough
to give a headache, or even to cause a serious
accident.

33

CHAPTER VI

Hollow Trees— The Age of Trees

The ligneous zones are divided into two
parts. The first is central, from which life
has more or less withdrawn, the other exterior,
which contains life in a greater or less degree.
The former is of a dark colour ; the latter is
whitish. The former is known as wood, or
good wood ; the latter as sapwood. In the
sapwood the wood is pale, soft and impreg-
nated with juices : this is living wood. In the
centre it is highly coloured, hard and dried
up : this is wood all but dead.

Old age is far from perfection. Why, then,
are these interior layers called good? They
should be called imperfect. No doubt the
hard wood is imperfect as regards the tree
which it no longer feeds, but it is perfect for
the service that we require. For our furniture
we need wood with close structure, fine grain
and rich colour. None of these qualities
exist in the sapwood : they are only found

35

The Story-Book of the Fields

in the centre. Ebony, so hard and so black ;
and mahogany, reddish and fine in texture,
come from two foreign trees, the sapwood
of which is soft and white. Sandalwood and
logwood, which provide colouring matter for
dyes, are covered with colourless sapwood.
The wood, the hardness of which has been
compared to iron, and which on that account
is called iron-wood, is the wood of a tree the
sapwood of which is in no way remarkable.
We know the difference of hardness and
colour between the wood and sapwood
of the oak, the walnut, or the pear-tree.
The sapwood can never be used as wood
for dyeing or for cabinet-work. It has
to be removed by the axe to lay bare
the wood, in which the colouring matter
and the close texture are only to be
found.

The wood begins its career as sapwood, and
this sapwood is destined to gradually become
wood as it grows older and is covered by
fresh layers. Colour and hardness proceed
from the centre to the circumference, while
new soft and white layers are formed on
the outside. In some trees the trans-
formation from sapwood into wood is very
incomplete ; the wood decaying without

36

Hollow Trees — The Age of Trees

becoming hard. These are called white
woods, among which are the poplar and
the willow. The white woods are poor
in quality, having no firmness and wearing
out quickly.

When they have reached a great age
some trees, especially those the wood of
which does not become hard, often have a
hollow trunk. Sooner or later the interior
layers, consumed by decay, are mingled with
the earth, and the trunk ends by becoming
hollow, though this does not prevent it from
bearing a vigorous crown of branches. There
is nothing stranger, at first sight, than old
willows, gnawed by the larvrt of insects,
excavated by decay, disembowelled by years,
and, in spite of so much destruction, covered
by a vigorous growth. Within they are
decaying corpses ; outside they enjoy the
fullness of life. This singularity is explained,
if we reflect that the central la3^ers are of no
use to the fortune of the tree. As old relics
of departed generations, they can be wasted
by decay ; the rest of the tree will not suffer
as long as the exterior is preserved, for it is
there only that the life abides. Being
destroyed in its central portion by the attacks
of time, and rejuvenated every year by new

37

The Story -Book of the Fields

generations of shoots, the tree passes through
centuries without danger of death — at once
old and young, dead and alive.

Since a ligneous layer is formed every year,
we need only count the number of these
layers to arrive at the age of the tree. So,
when a tree is cut across and we count one
hundred and fifty layers, it means that the
tree is one hundred and fifty years old. Let
us look at the transom section of some young
oak. From the pith to the bark there are
six layers, so the oak is six years old. For
any other tree the same calculation would
hold good : so many layers, so many years.

You see, therefore, that it is very easy to
ascertain the age of a tree that has been cut
down, by merely counting the number of
ligneous layers in the trunk. We can also
do this while the tree remains standing, by
comparing half the diameter of the trunk with
the average diameter of an annual layer,
which is found by cutting down and examin-
ing a large branch. It is interesting to find
out the limit of age that may be reached by
trees. The results furnished by such observa-
tions will by far surpass our expectation.
We will confine ourselves to a small number
of examples of this curious subject.

38

Hollow Trees — The Age of Trees

The cemetery of Allouville, in Normandy,
is shaded by one of the oldest oaks in France.
The dust of the dead, into which its roots
project, appears to have imparted exceptional
vigour. Its trunk measures ten yards in
circumference at the level of the ground. A
hermit's cell, surmounted by a small belfry,
rises in the midst of the huge mass of branches.
The base of the trunk, which is partly hollow,
has since 1696 been arranged as a chapel,
dedicated to Our Lady of Peace. The most
exalted persons have considered it an honour
to pray in this rustic sanctuary, and to
meditate for a short time under the shade of
the old tree, which has witnessed the open-
ing and closing of so many graves. From its
dimensions an age of nine hundred years is
attributed to this oak. The acorn which
gave birth to it must have germinated in the
year 1000. Nowadays the ancient oak bears
its enormous branches easily, and every spring
is covered with vigorous foliage. Honoured
by men, wasted by lightning, it follows the
course of years with, perhaps, before it a
future as long as its past.

After the oak of Allouville we will recall
some others, also comrades of the dead ;
for it is in these abodes of rest, where the

39

The Story -Book of the Fields

sacredness of the spot protects them from
the assaults of man, that trees live to a great
age. Two yew-trees situated in the cemetery
of La Haie de Routot, in the Department of
Eure, deserve special attention. In 1832
they still shaded with their dark foliage the
whole of the burying-ground and part of the
church, when an exceptionally violent wind
blew down some of their branches. Yet,
despite this mutilation, they both remain
majestic in their old age. Their trunks,
which are quite hollow, are each nine yards
in circumference. Their age is supposed to
be fourteen hundred years.

40

CHAPTER VII

Respiration

First among the most imperative needs to
which we are subject are those of eating and
drinking. There is, however, one need to
which hunger and thirst, however insistent,
must give way, a need ever recurring and
never satisfied, felt incessantly whether awake
or asleep, by night and by day, at every
hour, at every moment. This is the need
of air.

Air is so necessary to life that we cannot
regulate our use of it, as we do that of food
and drink, so as to protect ourselves from
the fatal consequences which the slightest
neglect would entail, It is without our
knowledge, independently of our will, that the
air penetrates into our bodies, to play its
wonderful part. Above all we live on air,
ordinary food being only of secondary import-
ance. The need of food is only experienced
at fairly long intervals ; the need of air is

4i

The Story-Book of the Fields

felt incessantly, always imperious and in-
exorable.

Let us try for a moment to prevent the air
from entering our body by closing its passage
through the nose and mouth. It is impossible
to endure it, we are stifled and feel that we
should certainly perish if this condition were
at all prolonged. This will convince us of
the necessity of air for life. All animals
from the least to the greatest are in the same
case ; above all, they live on air. Those that
live in water — fishes and others — are no
exception to the rule. They can only live
in water into which air passes and is dissolved.

In physics we have a striking experiment
with regard to this subject. An animal —
a bird, for instance — is placed under a bell
glass, and then the air is withdrawn by means
of a special pump called an air pump. As the
air disappears, being drawn out by the pump,
the bird totters, struggles in terrible distress
and falls down in a dying condition. If we
are slow in restoring the air to the bell the
poor little thing will certainly die : nothing
can restore it to life. But if the air is restored
in time its action will revive the bird. In
the same way a lighted candle placed under
the bell will be at once extinguished if the air

42

Respiration

is withdrawn. The candle must have air in
order to burn.

We will now consider the reason why air
is so absolutely necessary for the support of
life. Men and animals have a proper tempera-
ture— a heat which does not result from
exterior circumstances but from the mere
fact of life. Our clothes preserve it and
prevent it from dispersing, but they do not
impart it. Moreover, this natural heat re-
mains the same under a blazing sun or in
the frost of winter, in the warmest and in
the coldest climate ; it cannot be decreased
without risk to our lives. How is this bodily
heat preserved always and the same all over,
and how can it be produced except by com-
bustion ? As a matter of fact, permanent
combustion is constantly going on within us ;
respiration supplies it with air, and food with
fuel. To live is to be consumed in the
strictest sense of the word ; and to breathe
is to burn. There is an old figure of speech—
the torch of life. This figure expresses the
reality. Air consumes the torch, air con-
sumes the animal. It causes the torch to
diffuse heat and light ; it causes the animal to
produce heat and motion. Without air the
torch will be extinguished, and without air

43

The Story -Book of the Fields

the animal will die. In this respect the
animal may be compared to a very perfect
machine set in motion by heat. It feeds
and breathes in order to produce heat and
motion ; it eats the fuel in the form of food
and burns it in its body by means of the air
supplied by respiration.

That is why the need of food is felt more
keenly in winter. The body becomes colder
by contact with the cold air outside, so we
must burn more fuel to keep the natural
heat at the same level. A cold temperature
excites the need of eating, and a high tempera-
ture reduces it. The hungry stomachs of
the northern nations need strong meat, fat
or lard ; the tribes of the Sahara are satisfied
with three or four dates in the day, with a
pinch of flour kneaded in the palm of the
hand. Everything which diminishes the
waste of heat also diminishes the need of food.
Sleep, rest, warm garments all assist our
food to keep up the natural heat, and to a
certain extent they take its place. Popular
common-sense repeats this in the saying,
" He who sleeps, dines."

The materials which the air burns within
us are provided by the very substance of our
body, that is to say, by the blood into which

44

Respiration

the digested food is transformed. We say
of someone who puts extreme energy into
his work that he is burning the candle at
both ends. This is another popular saying
which agrees perfectly with our most certain
knowledge of the facts of life. There is not
the least motion, not a limb stirs, without
causing an expenditure of fuel in proportion
to the force exerted, and this fuel is provided
by the blood, which is itself maintained by
food. To walk, to run, to become excited,
to work, to take trouble, is literally to burn
the blood. This is the reason why activity
and hard work excite the need of eating,
and why it is reduced by repose and idleness.

45

CHAPTER VIII

Respiration (continued)

You must not imagine that vital combus-
tion is carried on in the same way as in our
fires, or that there is some kind of stove in
our bodies. Although there is actual com-
bustion there is no fire. Remember the wood
turning to dust and slowly consumed in the
air, and the stack of damp hay becoming
heated till sometimes it catches fire. Vital
combustion is quicker than that of decaying
wood, and slower than that of wood that
burns. Therefore it produces heat, but not
enough to be dangerous, as a hot fire would
be.

When passing through a fire and maintain-
ing its combustion, the air changes its nature.
It dissolves carbon and takes up carbonic
acid gas, which passes out through the
chimney, while pure air constantly comes in
to take its place. Exactly the same thing
happens in the combustion that supports life.

47

The Story-Book of the Fields

The chest acts like bellows which are alter-
nately rilled with air and emptied. These
alternate motions are inspiration and expira-
tion. In the former the pure air enters our
bodies to burn the material for the blood and
to produce heat ; in the latter the air, having
fulfilled its task, is carried off, not in the
same state as when it entered, but impreg-
nated with carbon and unfit to breathe, like
that which escapes from a lighted fire.

The burning fire and the breathing body
both produce carbonic acid gas, by dissolving
their carbon into the air. The breath from
our chest is no different from the breath from
the stove. This may be proved by an experi-
ment. You saw that the presence of car-
bonic acid gas is detected by lime-water. If
this water is disturbed, turns milky and
deposits white flakes, it is a sure sign that the
air is impregnated with carbon. Fill a glass
with completely clear lime-water, then take
some small tube — a reed, for instance, or a
straw — and by means of this tube blow into
the liquid. You will see that the lime-water
will soon be disturbed, will resemble milk,
and produce numerous white flakes. This is
a clear proof that the air coming from the
interior of the body is like that in the bottle

48

Respiration

in which a burning coal was held, and like
that it contains carbonic acid gas.

When once it has been used for respiration,
air, as we have seen, contains a harmful
substance, carbonic acid gas. This air is
henceforth unable to support life. An animal
which had nothing else to breathe would soon
perish. Nor is it able to maintain com-
bustion. This is quite clear, according to
the close resemblance between ordinary com-
bustion and the facts of life. Where the
animal can live, a lighted candle will burn ;
when the animal faints for lack of air, the
candle goes out. To know whether air is fit
to breathe we need only notice whether a
lighted candle will burn or go out.

We will now collect our breath — that air
that has been working within us. This is a
very simple matter, as you will see. I take
a bottle with a wide mouth, fill it full of
water, cover the opening with the palm of
my hand and turn it upside down in a large
earthenware pan, also full of water. I hold
the bottle with one hand, taking care that the
mouth always remains under water. Then
we blow under the bottle with a reed. The
air issuing from the body disturbs the water
and rises in large bubbles through the

49

The Story-Book of the Fields

contents of our vessel, till it reaches the top.
As the breath, or the air, is collected in the
upper part of the bottle, the water being driven
back escapes at the base and flows into the
pan. When the vessel is filled with air we
cover the opening again with the palm of the
hand, and place the bottle on the table with
the mouth at the top. The bottle is full of
our breath. As we see it there is nothing to
show that this air, which has already been
used for respiration, differs in any way from
the air which has not been so used. It is as
transparent and invisible as usual. We might
say that there has been no change. But let
us test it and we shallsee that this air is far
from being the same.

With the help of a wire I let a piece of a
lighted candle down into the bottle. As soon
as the flame passes the mouth, it is immediate-
ly extinguished. It is extinguished as com-
pletely and quickly as if it were immersed
in water. This extinction is not caused by
any clumsy movement. I again immerse the
candle as slowly and carefully as possible.
No use ; as soon as it enters the bottle it goes
out. If we introduce it into a similar bottle
full of pure air the candle will go on burning.
We know, therefore, that when air has once

50

Respiration

been breathed it is no longer able to support
flame or to support life. Since a candle goes
out any animal would perish, after a more or
less prolonged stay.

From this you will understand how care-
fully we must attend to the renewal of air in
our houses, and especially in our bedrooms.
Let us throw open our windows and allow
the pure outside air to pour in. We must
keep far from our dwellings any cause of
corruption which might affect the air — the
chief support of life. In sheepfolds and
stables where numbers of animals are kept,
the free access of air is indispensable to
health ; all the more because the atmosphere
is vitiated both by the breath of the animals
and by inevitable impurities. To sum up —
Air is indispensable to every creature and
everything that can affect its purity must be
avoided with the greatest care.

51

CHAPTER IX

The Root

The stem is the part of the plant that grows
upwards and needs air and light ; the root
grows downwards and requires the earth and
darkness. The extremities of its numerous
subdivisions are in a constant state of
growth, always young and soft, and there-
fore, well adapted for absorbing like a sponge
the liquids with which the ground is saturated.
It is to record this power of absorption that
the extremities of the roots, which are con-
stantly renewed, are called spongioles. The
spongioles come at the end of the rootlets
or final subdivisions of the root.

There are two principal types of the various
forms of the root. Sometimes it consists
of a single growth or tap, which produces
branches as it penetrates deeper into the
ground. This is called a tap root. Some-
times it is a bunch or sheaf of simple or
branched members, which all beginning at

53

The Story -Book of the Fields

the same level are all of equal importance.
This is a fasciculated root.

Generally the development of the root
corresponds with that of the stem. The oak,
the elm, the sycamore, the beech, and all our
large trees, have a strong, deep root to sup-
port their enormous branches and defend
them from the gusts of the wind. But there
are some humble plants, the roots of which
are quite out of proportion to the rest of the
plant— a tap root stronger than that of many
other plants that are more highly developed
in their visible portion. Such are the mallow,
the radish, and the carrot. The lucerne sup-
ports its scanty tuft of foliage by a root which
penetrates to a depth of two or three yards.

One agricultural operation of the greatest
interest depends partly on the excessive
development of certain roots. The plant is a
laboratory where the filth of our stables and
poultry-yards is converted into food. At the
pleasure of the cultivator, a load of dung,
by passing through some plant, is trans-
formed into vegetables, fruit, or bread. This
manure is a very precious substance, which
nothing can replace, and which must be
utilised to the last morsel ; for all our food
depends upon it. We will suppose that the

54

The Root

ground, enriched by this manure, has pro-
duced a first harvest of wheat. But the
wheat, with its short delicate roots, has only
benefited by the fertilising qualities of the
superficial layer, and has left those untouched
which have been dissolved by the rain and
transported to a lower depth. It is true that
the plant has fulfilled its duty admirably ; it
has made a clean sweep and converted into
wheat all the manure contained by the soil
within reach of its roots, so that if wheat were
sown again there would be no harvest. The
ground is exhausted on the surface, but there
is still wealth below. Is there anything that
can search the layers underneath and extract
food from them ? It will be neither barley,
oats, nor rye, the small fasciculated roots of
which would find that the wheat had left
them nothing in the top story of the ground.
It will be lucerne, which will plunge its roots,
as thick as a finger, to a depth of one, two,
or three yards, bringing back the manure as
forage which, with the help of the animal
that feeds on it, will turn to flesh for food,
milk, fleece, or at any rate, labour. This
succession of two or three plants, deriving
the greatest advantage from prepared ground,
is called rotation.

55

The Story-Book of the Fields

The deep root which is so advantageous for
utilising the lower layers of the soil may
occasionally become a nuisance. If a tree
has to be transplanted, the long tap root will
cause the operation to be difficult and risky.
There must be a deep excavation to remove
it and also to replant it, and care must be
taken not to injure the root ; for it is the
only one, and if it does not take the plant
will die. It would be better for the tree to
have fasciculated roots, not reaching to a
great depth. It would then be easily re-
moved, and if some roots were destroyed by
the operation there would be enough of them
left whole to ensure success in transplant-
ing.

This result may be obtained ; it is easy
to deprive the tree of its tap root and to give
it, not a regular bunch of equal roots but a
much branched and shallow root, offering all
the advantages of the fasciculated root —
though not its form. In the nurseries where
the young trees spend a few years before
being transplanted, when they are two years
old the principal root, which would become
the tap root, is cut off by the spade, and the
remaining stump branches out horizontally
without increasing its depth. Sometimes

56

The Root

there is a layer of tiles in the soil of the
nursery. The tap root of the shrub lengthens
until it reaches this barrier, but it must then
arrest its downward progress and branch out
laterally.

The root with which we have been con-
cerned is primordial and original ; every
plant possesses it as it leaves the seed — and
it appears as soon as germination begins.
But many plants have other roots which
are developed at different points on the stem
and replace the original root if it should die,
or come to its assistance if it persists. These
play an important part in certain horticul-
tural operations, especially in propagation by
cuttings and layering.

Besides these two operations which are
intended to multiply the plant, the production
of adventitious roots is promoted, with the
object of fixing the plant more firmly in the
ground, or of obtaining a more abundant
harvest. The most effective way of doing
this is to heap up the ground at the base of
the stem. This is called buttressing. The
buried portion is soon covered with roots.
Maize, for instance, if left to itself, has too
weak a root to resist the wind and the rain,
which would lay it flat. The agriculturist

57

The Story-Book of the Fields

buttresses the maize, in order to make it
steadier, and bundles of adventitious roots
are formed in the earth heaped at the base
of the stem, which afford strong support
to the plant.

The stalk of wheat bears shoots on its
lower part, which may either perish, to the
detriment of the harvest, or may be developed
and increase the number of ears. If the
wheat is sown in autumn, a cold and rainy
season, the growth is slow, the stalk remains
short and the different shoots remain very
near each other, almost at the level of the
ground. Favoured by the vicinity of the
damp ground, these shoots give out adven-
titious roots, which feed them directly and
provide them with the abundant nourish-
ment that the ordinary root, from its own
resources, could not have supplied. Thus
stimulated they each develop a stalk which
will afterwards provide an ear. But if the
wheat is sown in spring, the rapid growth in
a mild temperature carries the shoots too
high for them to be able to take root, and the
stem remains single. In the former case
from each grain of wheat sown a bundle of
stalks is grown, producing the same number
of ears ; in the latter the harvest is reduced

58

The Root

to its simplest expression ; a single seed
produces a single stem and a single ear. This
development of the lower shoots is of great
importance, and in order to promote it they
must produce adventitious roots from contact
with the ground.

59

CHAPTER X

The Soil

Four substances, combined in varying pro-
portions, form the soil or arable land : these
are sand or silex, clay, chalk and humus.
Each of these materials by itself would
produce a very poor soil quite unfit for
cultivation ; but in combination with each
other they fulfil the conditions that are re-
quired for fertility. Generally, arable land
contains all four, with one or the other pre-
dominating. The soil takes its name from
its chief component. The terms siliceous
soil, clay, calcareous and humiferous soils,
are used to designate arable ground in which
silex, clay, chalk or humus respectively
predominate.

Sand consists of very small fragments of
a very hard rock, which is sometimes opaque
and sometimes as transparent as glass, and
always easily recognised by its property of
emitting a spark when struck with steel.

61

The Story-Book of the Fields

Flints and white pebbles belong to this class
of stone, which is called silex or quartz.
Sandy lands have little consistency, are very
pervious to water and are easily heated by
the action of the sun, which exposes them to
frequent drought.

The name of granite is given to a rock which
is chiefly composed of silex and which forms
whole mountain chains. The soil formed by
the tiny fragments of this rock is called
granitic soil. It is not favourable to culti-
vation, though chestnuts flourish in it, as well
as certain wild plants which affect this ground.
Chief among these are the heaths and the
red foxglove. The heaths, with their pretty
little pink flowers, will cover the poorest sandy
soil with an endless carpet. The foxglove
is a plant with large leaves, with flowers red
on the outside and spotted with white and
purple within, arranged on a long and splen-
did spike reaching almost to the height of a
man. The flowers are shaped like long bells,
or fingers of gloves ; hence their name of
foxgloves.

The soil formed by the matter cast up by
volcanoes is also siliceous and is called
volcanic soil. It is often extremely fertile.

Valleys traversed by great rivers have a

62

The Soil

sandy soil with a mixture of clay, which is
the most productive and most easily cul-
tivated. Its fertility is increased if it is
inundated by floods; for the river leaves
behind a fertile mud formed of clay and
organic matters carried by the water.

Heath land is a soil composed of fine sand
and humus supplied by the decay of heaths
and other plants. It is also used for the
cultivation of garden flowers.

Clay is an earth which when kneaded with
water turns into a firm and flexible paste,
which can be moulded into any shape. When
perfectly pure it is white. This is kaolin, a
very rare substance used for the manufacture
of porcelain. Plastic clay is oily to the
touch and forms a pliable paste when mixed
with water. It becomes very hard when
baked in the fire and is used for pottery.
Other clays produce a paste which is not
pliable and which readily absorbs fats.
These are used in manufactures to remove
from cloths the oil used in weaving them.
Ochres are clays coloured red or yellow by
rust, which are used in rough painting. Marls
are composed of clay and chalk in varying
proportions. These marls disintegrate, or
fall into powder, under the influence of air

63

The Story -Book of the Fields

and damp. They are used in agriculture for
improving the ground.

Clay soil is entirely different from sand.
It is converted by water into a sticky paste,
which adheres firmly to the plough. When
once wetted it is cold and dries very slowly.
By the spade it is divided into compact clods,
which refuse to crumble when exposed to the
air, and are unfit for sowing. The cultivator
must use every effort to draw off the water
and to break up the earth with the plough
before and during the frost. It is improved
by sand, ashes or lime. Wheat does better
in a clay soil than in any other ground.

Clay lands may be known by their vegeta-
tion. The wild plants that distinguish them
are the coltsfoot and the dwarf elder. The
coltsfoot is so called because of the shape of
its leaves, the outline of which recalls the
print of a horse's foot. They are white under-
neath and the flowers are yellow like small
marigolds. They appear before the leaves
in early spring. The dwarf elder is a kind of
herbaceous elder, rising to half the height of a
man. It has small white flowers which are
succeeded by reddish violet berries.

64

CHAPTER XI

Shoots

If we take a branch of lilac or any other
shrub, in the angle called the axil formed
by each leaf with the branch that bears it, we
find a small rounded body, clothed with brown
scales. This is a shoot or, as it is sometimes
called, an eye.

Shoots are found at fixed points : there is
one at the axil of each leaf and one at the
extremity of the branch. Those which are
placed at the axils of the leaves are axillary
shoots / the one at the end of the branch is a
terminal shoot. They are not all equally
vigorous, the stronger ones being at the
upper end of the branch, and the weaker ones
below. Those sheltered in the axil of the
lower leaves are so small that some attention
is needed to detect them, and without care
these weakly shoots will often waste away
without developing. In a branch of lilac it is

65 E

The Story -Book of the Fields

easy to notice the difference in size between
one shoot and the next.

Whether terminal or axillary, shoots are
divided into two classes. As they develop
some grow long and are covered only with
leaves : these are called leaf shoots and
finally become branches. Others remain
short and only produce flowers, or flowers and
leaves in conjunction. These are flower
shoots or buds. It is very easy to distinguish
them on our fruit trees ; the leaf shoots being
long and pointed, while the flower shoots are
rounded and larger.

All through the summer the shoots are
growing in the axils of the leaves, and acquiring
strength to endure the winter. The cold
weather comes and the leaves fall, but the
shoots keep their place, firmly fixed in a fold
of the bark, just above the scar left by the
fall of the leaf. To resist the onslaught of
cold and damp, which would be fatal, a
winter garment is indispensable. This will
consist on the inside of down and on the out-
side of a strong case of polished scales. If
we examine the shoot of the chestnut we
shall find inside a kind of down swathing the
little tender leaves, and outside a solid
armour of scales arranged as regularly as the

66

Shoots

tiles of a roof, and closely encircling it. More-
over, to prevent the damp from penetrating
each scale is tarred with a resinous gum, which
is now like dried varnish, but which will turn
soft in the spring so as to allow the shoot to
expand. Then the scales, no longer glued
together but quite sticky, separate and the
first leaves unfold lined with a russet down.
Almost all shoots at the time of their effort
in spring show in different degrees this sticki-
ness, which results from the melting of their
resinous coat. We may notice particularly
those of the ash, the alder and especially the
poplar, which allow an abundant yellow,
bitter gum to ooze out when pressed by the
fingers. This gum is diligently collected by
bees who use it to make their propolis, the
cement with which they plaster the fissures
and walls of the hive before constructing the
combs. Despite its modest appearance the
shoot is a masterpiece ; its polish repels the
damp, its scales protect it from the air ; while
its lining of down prevents any access of cold.
The scales are the essential portions of the
shoot's winter coat. These are only small
leaves hardened and tough and modified to
form a means of defence. The subsequent
leaves which form the heart of the shoot are

67

The Story-Book of the Fields

of the ordinary shape. They are all small,
pale and delicate, and arranged with wonder-
ful method so as to occupy the least possible
space and all to be contained in their narrow
cradle, notwithstanding their great number.
We are surprised to find how much a shoot
contains in its scaly case, in a space so small
that we could hardly make it hold a hemp-
seed : there are leaves by the dozen and whole
bunches of flowers. The bunch contained in
a lilac shoot has more than a hundred flowers.
If the different parts of a shoot were removed
one by one and the combination once taken to
pieces, would any fingers have the skill to
reconstruct it ? It is above all the leaves
that lend themselves to a thousand arrange-
ments so as to occupy as little space as
possible. All are in their place in the tiny
dwelling : none are torn or bruised. Within
the shoot they take the shape of cornets,
they roll over one edge or both ; they are
folded lengthways or along their breadth ;
they form a ball, crumple, or are creased like
a fan.

86

CHAPTER XII

Soil (continued)

Chalk is the rock from which lime is obtained.
It is composed of carbonic gas and lime. In
order to obtain the lime the chalk is exposed
to great heat in furnaces by lime burners.
The carbonic gas is disengaged and dispersed
in the air and the lime is left. Common build-
ing stone and ashlar are chalk. In arable
ground chalk is often present in larger or
smaller lumps, but more often it is very fine
dust which cannot be distinguished from other
substances, especially clay. River and spring
water almost always contains a small pro-
portion of chalk in solution. This provides
the stony layer which gradually accumulates
inside water bottles and dims the transparency
of the glass. Some water contains enough to
deposit a mineral crust on the objects over
which it flows, such as mosses and aquatic
plants and to fill up their arteries. The
clearest water, in which absolutely nothing

69

The Story-Book of the Fields

can be seen, holds chalk in solution, invisible
as sugar dissolved in water, so that when we
drink a glass of water, at the same time we
drink a small quantity of stone. Our bodies,
to provide for their growth and strength,
require a considerable amount of stony matter,
which goes to form the solid framework of the
bones. These materials, which are absolutely
necessary, cannot originate from ourselves
but must be derived from our food and drink.
Water provides chalk for us and also for
plants which all contain a greater or less
proportion of this mineral substance.

Calcareous soils are whitish because they
are chiefly composed of chalk. If the pro-
portion of chalk is overwhelming they will be
barren, but fairly productive when this is
combined with clay and specially favourable
to the vine, sainfoin, lucerne and clover.

The characteristic plants of the chalk are
the box, the compact and fine-grained wood
of which is so highly esteemed by turners, and
the dogberry.

Wood, leaves or plants which are exposed
for long to the air and damp undergo a slow
combustion or rot. The result of this decom-
position is a brown substance called humus.
The inside of old hollow willows is converted

70

The Soil

into humus, and also the leaves that fall from
the trees and rot on the ground. The vege-
table generations of to-day are nourished by
the humus formed by the remains of their
predecessors ; and they, in their turn, will
become the soil which will give birth to their
successors. It is thus that plant life is sup-
ported in portions of the earth that are not
cultivated by man. Humus is the natural
manure and where it is formed uninter-
ruptedly the plant life remains vigorous,
transmitting the same substance from one
generation to the next, alternately plant and
soil. But the hay from the meadow is taken
to the hay-loft and the harvest of the corn-
field is stored in the barn ; so that the ground
is deprived of the humus which would be
naturally formed by the corruption of the
hay or wheat. We must therefore restore
to the ground in some way the soil that has
been removed, or it will gradually become
poorer and finally barren. This is done by
supplying it with manure ; for the dung of
animals is a kind of humus, produced by the
work of digestion instead of by natural
corruption.

Humus fulfils a double office. In the first
place it makes the earth lighter, so that it is

71

The Story-Book of the Fields

more easily penetrated by air and water.
Also, by the slow combustion carried on within
it, it constantly gives out a small amount of
carbonic gas which is absorbed by the roots.
Cultivation can only prosper if the ground
contains a sufficient amount of humus. Wheat
requires a proportion of almost 80 per
cent., while rye and oats are satisfied with
20 per cent. In poor, sandy ground, occa-
sionally the whole crop is turned over and
buried so as to be altogether converted into
humus. A meadow or a field of clover is
sometimes treated in this way. When it is
proposed to improve land by this means the
plants that are first cultivated in order to be
buried afterwards must be such as derive the
greater part of their constituents from the
atmosphere as the ground is unable to sup-
port them. Among the plants which satisfy
this condition are buckwheat, clover, lupine,
beans, vetches, lucerne and sainfoin.

Humiferous soils have for their principal
component the brown matter produced by
the decomposition of leaves and other vege-
table remains. The chief of these is turf.
Turf is a blackish, spongy substance, formed
in damp flat ground by an accumulation of
vegetable remains and especially of mosses.

72

The Soil

Turf is used as a fuel. If such soil is to be
used it must first be cleansed by drying and
lightened by weeding and by the addition of
sand and marl. Lime must be supplied to
promote and complete the decomposition of
vegetable matter. Turf lands may be re-
cognised by the sphagnum, a. great moss
which grows with its root under water, and
the cotton grass, bearing tufts as soft to the
touch and as white as the finest silk.

73

CHAPTER XIII

Adventitious Shoots

The shoots which appear in the spring grow
strong in the summer : in the winter they
remain stationary and pass the time in pro-
found sleep. In the spring they wake up
again and lengthen into branches, or open
into flowers. It is evident that these dor-
mant shoots, which have to endure the heat
of summer and the chill of winter, must be
clothed in such a way as not to be scorched
by the sun or injured by the cold. They are
all, therefore, covered with an envelope of
scales, and among such are those of the lilac,
chestnut, pear, apple, cherry, poplar and, in
a word, almost all our native trees.

But though the tree may wait and devote
a whole year to developing its shoots, pro-
tected by their case of scales, there are a
number of plants whose time is limited, as
they only live for one year and are therefore
called annuals. Such are the potato, carrot,

75

The Story-Book of the Fields

pumpkin and many others which must develop
their shoots in haste — in a few months or
a few days. As these have not to live
through the winter they are never covered
with protective scales ; but as soon as they
appear they lengthen, unfold their leaves and
become branches, taking their share in the
common work. Soon in the axil of their
leaves other shoots appear which act in the
same way, at once developing into branches
which produce other shoots in their turn.
This goes on until the winter puts a stop to
this series of branches and kills the whole
plant. Annuals therefore branch quickly,
producing in one year successive generations
of branches, more or fewer according to their
species and their degree of strength. Their
shoots, which have to develop speedily, are
always bare. Long-lived plants on the con-
trary, such as trees, branch slowly : they
have only one generation of branches in each
year and their shoots, which have to live
through the winter, are covered with scales.

Certain plants produce both kinds of shoot,
such as the peach-tree and the vine. At the
end of winter we find the vine with scaly
shoots lined with down, and the branches of
the peach also bearing scaly shoots coated

76

Adventitious Shoots

with varnish. Both are dormant shoots,
having rested through the winter in their case
of down and scales. In the spring, obeying
the common law, they lengthen into branches,
while in the axil of their leaves other shoots
appear which have no protective envelope,
and develop at once. The vine and the
peach thus produce two generations in one
year : the one provided with scaly shoots
that have lived through the winter, and the
other by naked shoots which were only
formed in spring. The branches produced
by the latter give birth to scaly shoots,
which sleep through the winter and repro-
duce the same series of facts in the following
year.

The axillary and terminal shoots belong to
the regular course of events, appearing on
every plant that lives for several years. But
when the plant is in danger, or that acci-
dentally the regular shoots are lacking or
insufficient, others will appear here and
there, even on the root itself, to revive the
sick plant and restore it to prosperity. These
accidental shoots are to the aerial portion
of the plant what the adventitious roots are
to that which is underground, and the peril
of the moment calls them into existence at

77

The Story-Book of the Fields

the threatened point. The edges of the
wound left by the amputation of a branch,
the parts of the stem choked by bandages,
or the bark where it has been injured by
blows, are the spots where they prefer to
appear. They are called adventitious shoots,
and their structure does not differ from that
of those that are normal.

The adventitious shoots are used so as to
obtain valuable results. If young trees are
planted with a convenient space left between
each one and its neighbour, each plant will
grow up with a single stem, and the plantation
will become a forest. But it may be desirable
to replace this single stem by a group of
several, and to effect this the trees are cut
down to the level of the ground. Adventitious
shoots will appear on the edge of the great
wound caused by the amputation, and will
lengthen into so many stems. Each plant,
which would have produced one tree, is con-
verted into a stock with numerous branches,
all of the same age and strength. When the
branches have attained the required size they
are cut down afresh and more shoots are
produced as the wounds are multiplied. Thus
a stock which is constantly amputated and
restored by adventitious shoots produces

78

Adventitious Shoots

more wood than could be obtained from a tree
allowed to grow freely.

Untouched by the axe, the poplar rises
as a majestic obelisk of foliage. The willow,
which is such an unpleasing object by the
side of our ditches, with its ugly capital
bristling with divergent rods, is in its natural
condition an exceptionally beautiful tree
with flexible branches and delicate foliage.
As ornamental trees they have nothing to
gain by man's interference with their way of
growth. But alas ! the useful and the
beautiful do not always coincide, and if we
wish these trees to produce plenty of brush-
wood and faggots, the decapitation, periodi-
cally repeated, changes them into pollards,
seamed with scars and disfigured by
wounds, but resisting the mutilation by
adventitious shoots, replacing in greater
abundance the branches of which they have
been deprived.

Before we finish with these adventitious
shoots which multiply when the plant is
poorest, and resist destruction until it is
completely exhausted, we will recall the
weeds which it is so hard to expel from our
gardens if we limit our efforts to raking the
ground. We have exerted ourselves in

79

The Story-Book of the Fields

tidying our walks, and everything has disap-
peared ; the ground is clear — at any rate we
think so. It is a mistake : in a few days
the weeds have reappeared more flourishing
than ever, and the reason for this is evident.
By raking we have cut down all the stalks,
and the wounds have produced adventitious
shoots, so that instead of destroying the
weeds we have multiplied them. The only
way to clear the ground is to pull them up.
That makes an end of everything.

80

CHAPTER XIV

Plants and the Atmosphere

The carbonic gas produced by the breath of
the human race annually is equal to that
produced by the consumption of eighty-five
millions of tons of coal. This amount of coal
would form a mountain one mile in circum-
ference at the base, and between four and five
hundred yards in height. This is the amount
of fuel required to maintain the natural heat
of man. We eat this mountain of carbon
among us in our food, and at the end of the
year, having dispersed it in the air in puffs
of carbonic gas, we proceed at once to attack
another. Think how many mountains of
carbon the human rare has breathed into the
atmosphere since the beginning of the world.
We must also reckon the animals, both of
land and sea, which must use up a goodly
mountain of fuel ; for they are far more
numerous than ourselves, occupying the whole
of the globe— continents and oceans. All

81 F

The Story-Book of the Fields

this carbon to support life ! And all this
passes into the air as a poisonous gas, of which
a few breaths would kill you at once.

And this is not all. Fermenting matters,
such as the juice of the vintage, or the dough
of bread, and substances which are consumed
by rotting, such as manure, produce carbonic
acid gas. With a very moderate amount of
manure an acre of cultivated ground will give
out daily one hundred cubic yards of carbonic
acid gas.

The wood, charcoal and coal which we con-
sume in our houses, and in the great industrial
furnaces, also supply the air with noxious
gas. Only think of the amount of carbonic
acid gas poured into the atmosphere by a
furnace where the coal is thrown in by cart-
loads. Think of the volcanoes, those gigantic
natural chimneys, which in one eruption emit
amounts of gas compared to which those
which we have mentioned are of no account.
It is quite evident that the atmosphere is
constantly receiving torrents of carbonic acid
gas which defy all computation. And yet
animals have nothing to fear, now or in the
future ; for the atmosphere while constantly
poisoned is also constantly purified.
And who is the providential cleanser

82

Plants and the Atmosphere

responsible for the purity of the air ? It is
the plant which, by feeding on carbonic gas,
prevents us from perishing, and with it
prepares the bread by which we live. This
fatal gas, which is produced by all decaying
matter, is the special food of the plant.
The blade of grass develops its life from the
spoils of death.

The leaf is riddled by an infinite number of
very small holes, encircled by two lips that
give them the appearance of a half-open
mouth. These are called stomata. More
than a million of them may be counted on
one leaf of the lime, for they are so small that
they cannot be seen without a microscope.
It is by means of these openings that the
plant inhales, not the pure air that we inhale,
but the poisonous gas which is fatal to the
animal but wholesome for itself. By its
millions of stomata it breathes in the carbonic
acid gas contained in the atmosphere : it
draws it into the substance of its leaves, and
there, in the sunlight, a wonderful process
is effected. Stimulated by the light, the
leaves analyse the fatal gas and strip it of its
carbon. They restore the consumed carbon,
they undo the work of combustion and
separate the carbon from the air with which

83

The Story-Book of the Fields

it is combined — in a word, they decompose
the carbonic acid gas.

You must not think that it is an easy thing
to restore to their primitive condition two
substances which have been combined by
fire, and to bring back something, which has
been burnt, to its original state. Scientific
men would need all the ingenious methods
and all the powerful drugs at their command
to deprive the carbonic gas of its carbon.
This work, which would require all the
resources of the man of science, is easily
accomplished by the leaves without effort,
instantaneously, but always on condition of
having the assistance of the sun.

But if the sunlight is lacking the plant
has no effect on the carbonic gas, which is
its chief food. Then it languishes and starves.
It stretches upward as if to seek the light of
which it has been deprived, its leaves and
stalk turn pale and lose their green colour,
and at last it dies. This sickly condition,
caused by privation of light, is called etiolation.
It is promoted in horticulture in order to
obtain more tender garden stuff, and to
diminish or get rid of the strong and un-
pleasant flavour of some vegetables. The
lettuce is tied round with a reed, so that the

84

Plants and the Atmosphere

heart, deprived of the sunlight, may become
tender and white. Celery and cardoons,
the flavour of which would be unendurable
without this treatment of darkness, are
partly buried. If we cover the grass with
a tile, or hide a plant under a flower-pot,
after a few days without light we shall And
their leaves sickly and yellow.

On the contrary, when the plant receives
the rays of the sun directly, the carbonic
acid gas is decomposed at once ; the carbon
and the air separate, and each resumes its
original qualities. When deprived of its
carbon the air becomes that which it was
before entering into combination with it :
it is pure air, able to support fire and life.
In this state it is restored to the atmosphere
by the stomata, and serves again for com-
bustion and respiration. As a fatal gas it
entered the leaf, as a life-giving gas it leaves
it. It will return some day with a fresh
load of carbon, will deposit it in the plant
and then, purified at once, will resume its
aerial journey. The swarm comes and goes
from the hive to the fields and from the fields
to the hive, light and eager for booty ; or
else loaded with honey and returning to the
combs with burdened flight. Thus the air

85

The Story -Book of the Fields

reaches the leaves with a load of carbon,
taken from the body of an animal, from a
lighted cinder, or from putrefying matter ;
it gives this up to the plant and starts again
for a fresh harvest.

It is in this way that the atmosphere
remains healthy, in spite of the immense
torrents of carbonic gas that are uninter-
ruptedly poured into it. The plant feeds
on the fatal gas. Under the influence of the
sunlight it decomposes it into carbon, which
it retains for its own substance, and into air
for breathing, which it restores to the atmo-
sphere. Wood, sugar, starch, flour, gum,
resin, oil, and everything else provided by
plants, come from carbon combined with
other substances. Thus the animal and the
plant provide mutual support ; the animal
produces carbonic gas which feeds the plant,
and the plant turns this noxious gas into
breathable air and food. In a double way
our life depends on the plants, for they
purify the atmosphere and provide our food.

86

CHAPTER XV

Bulbs and Suckers

When they have attained a certain degree
of strength the shoots of some plants leave
the parent stalk : they emigrate, are detached
from the stalk and take root in the ground
to derive their food thence. Now it is
evident that a shoot which is intended to
develop independently, by its own strength,
cannot be organised in the same way as
one which is never to leave its nursing branch.
To suffice for its first need, as long as the
roots which are to feed it have not entered
the ground, it must have a store of provisions.
Every shoot that emigrates carries its food
with it.

A pretty little lily from the mountains is
cultivated in our gardens ; it has orange
flowers and is called the bulbiferous lily.
The shoots which are to live through the
winter and develop in the following spring
are situated at the axil of the leaves. They

87

The Story -Book of the Fields

are covered with succulent, thick, tender,
fleshy scales, lit both to feed and protect
them, which make them quite plump. To-
wards the end of the summer they leave the
parent plant ; at the least wind they fall off
and are scattered on the ground, henceforth
left to their own resources. If the season is
damp many of them, while still situated in
the axil of the leaves, send out one or two
little roots, which hang in the air as if trying
to reach the ground. At the beginning of
October, all the shoots will have fallen, and
then the parent stalk dies. The wind and
the autumn rains soon cover them with dead
leaves and soil. Beneath this shelter they
are swollen through the winter by the juices
of their scales, and gradually plunge their
roots into the ground, so that in the spring
each one is displaying its first green leaf, in
order to continue its evolution and so become
a plant similar to the original lily.

The shoots with fleshy scales, intended to
develop alone, independently of the parent
stalk, are called suckers. No agricultural
plant would provide us with so striking an
example of the migration of shoots as the
bulbiferous lily, but we have in our kitchen
gardens the garlic, which behaves in almost

88

Bulbs and Suckers

the same way. Take a whole head of garlic.
Outside we shall find, to begin with, white
dry coverings. Remove these and under-
neath we shall find large shoots, which are
easily separated from each other. Then
there are more white coverings, followed
by more shoots, so that the whole head
is a bundle of intercalated shoots and
coverings.

These coverings are the dried remains of
former leaves, white in their underground
portion, still in existence, and green in their
aerial part which is now lacking. Shoots
were formed in the axil of these leaves,
following the general rule ; only as they were
intended to develop independently they have
stored food in the substance of their scales,
which is the cause of their unusual size. If
we split one of them lengthways we shall find
beneath the tough sheath an enormous fleshy
mass, forming almost the whole of the shoot.
This is the store of food. With such a pro-
vision the shoot is quite independent. In-
deed, for propagating garlic gardeners do
not make use of the seed, which would be a
lengthy process. They make use of the
shoots, planting separately the suckers of
which the heads are composed. Each of

89

The Story-Book of the Fields

these, after being fed by its store of pro-
vision, produces roots and leaves and becomes
a complete head of garlic.

From the sucker to the bulb, from the
garlic to the onion, there is but a short step.
If we cut through an onion from top to
bottom, we shall find that it consists of a
succession of fleshy scales firmly fixed one
into the other. In the centre of these suc-
culent scales, which are only leaves trans-
formed into a supply of food, there are other
leaves of the normal shape and green colour.
So an onion is also a shoot fitted for an inde-
pendent existence by means of the conversion
of its exterior leaves into fleshy scales.

We must all have noticed that the onion
when hanging on the wall for use in the
kitchen is awakened by the heat of the room
in winter, and from the heart of its brown
scales sends out a fine green growth which
appears to protest against the severity of the
season and recall the joyous time of spring.
As it develops the fleshy scales wrinkle, turn
soft and flabby and finally rot in order to
supply it with food. Sooner or later, when
the provision is exhausted, the growth will
die unless it is planted. This is a striking
example of a shoot developing independently

90

Bulbs and Suckers

by means of its store of food. The leek is also
a bulb of a very slender shape. Like the
onion it is formed by a series of leaves fitted
one over the other. The lily, tulip and
hyacinth are among the ornamental plants
winch grow from bulbs.

91

CHAPTER XVI

Potash and Phosphorus

If we burn any plant the first effect of the
heat is to show the carbon of which it was
composed, in combination with other sub-
stances. As the combustion continues the
carbon is absorbed in the air as carbonic acid
gas, and an earthy matter remains which we
call ash. There are then two substances,
carbon and ash, which form part of every
plant, without exception. The plant has not
produced them independently : it did not
derive them from nothing ; for nothing can
come from nothing. Therefore, it must have
received them from some source. We know
the origin of the carbon. The greater part of
it comes from the atmosphere, whence the
leaves draw the carbonic acid gas, decom-
posing it in the sunlight, retaining the carbon
and rejecting the purified air. Thus] the
vegetation of the whole world finds its chief
food in the atmosphere — a store which is

93

The Story-Book of the Fields

inexhaustible and always equally abundant,
because the breath of animals, corruption and
combustion pour into it incessantly as much
carbonic gas as all the plants can consume.
In order to maintain the fertility of his fields
the agriculturist need not trouble himself
about carbon. The crops will find in the air
the carbonic gas that they need without his
intervention. There remains the ash, a mix-
ture of several substances, the most important
of which we will now consider.

If we boil a few handfuls of ashes with
water in a pot for a short time and then allow
the mixture to cool, the ashes will fall to the
bottom and the liquid will become clear. We
shall find that this liquid has a peculiar smell
like that from the wash-tub in the laundry,
and also a sharp, almost a burning taste.
This smell of the wash-tub and this sharp
taste were not present in the water originally,
but proceed from the ashes which have given
up certain substances to the water.

It follows from this that in the ashes there
are at least two substances of different nature.
The most abundant of these does not melt in
water, and collects at the bottom in an earthy
layer, while the other, which is only a very
small portion of the whole, is easily dissolved

94

Potash and Phosphorus

in water, to which it imparts its properties,
especially the smell and the sharp taste.

If we wish to isolate the latter we shall
find no difficulty. We need only put the
clear liquid in a vessel on the fire and heat it
until none of the water is left. A very small
quantity of a whitish substance will remain,
looking something like pounded salt. In
spite of its appearance it is not kitchen salt —
far from it : we should discover this quickly
from its taste, which is unendurable. It is
called potash. This is the one among all the
components of the ashes that is most necessary
to vegetation. Every tree, shrub and plant,
to the least blade of grass, contains a certain
amount of it, more or less according to its
species, and must therefore find it in the
ground if it is to prosper. But in plants
potash does not exist in the same condition
as we find it after the action of fire and the
reduction to ashes. In them it is combined
with other substances, which deprive it of its
burning and sharp taste. In the same way
the carbon, when combined with other
matters, is no longer black and hard.

What else is there in the ashes ? We may
learn from a short story. In 1669 there lived
in Hamburg, a town in Germany, an old

95

The Story-Book of the Fields

scientist who was seeking for the means of
converting metals of little value into gold.
With worn-out iron, old rusty nails and dis-
,^'carded saucepans, he was hoping to make
gold. But he did not succeed, nor could he
succeed, because the thing is impossible. No
metal can ever be changed into another. But
after all, one evening he did see something
shining in his phials. It was not gold but
something far more useful. It was phosphorus,
which now gives us fire. We need not laugh
at Brandt ; for by his search for the im-
possible he made a most important discovery.
It is to him that we owe the match — that
precious source of light and fire, so easily and
so quickly used.

If we examine a match we shall find that
there are two substances on the inflammable
end ; sulphur next the wood and something
else over the sulphur. This other substance
is phosphorus, coloured blue, red or brown,
according to the fancy of the manufacturer.
Phosphorus itself is yellowish, and transparent
as wax. Its name signifies light-bearer. When
it is rubbed lightly with the fingers in the
dark it gives out a white light, and at the
same time a smell of garlic is noticed, which
is the smell of phosphorus. This substance is

96

Potash and Phosphorus

highly inflammable. If it is heated ever so
little, or rubbed against anything hard, it
takes fire. Hence its use in the manufacture
of matches.

Phosphorus is a horribly poisonous sub-
stance. By dissolving a small quantity of
phosphorus in grease, a poison is obtained,
which is used for killing rats and mice.
Some crusts of bread are spread with this
composition and put down in the places
frequented by these animals. Any of them
who taste it die at once. You will under-
stand that we have to be very careful with
matches on account of their poisonous pro-
perty, as their contact with food might entail
the most serious consequences.

97 «

CHAPTER XVII

Tubers— Starch

There are some shoots which are destined
to an independent existence, which do not
store up food or thicken their scales before
separating from the parent plant, but the
branch itself is responsible for their support.
When the branch is to be the future food of
the shoots that it bears, instead of coming
into the air, where it would be covered with
leaves and flowers, it remains underground,
with only the remains of scales instead of
leaves. It grows corpulent and so shapeless
that it is no longer called a branch, and
receives the name of tuber. As soon as the
provision is sufficient the tuber is detached
from the parent plant, and henceforth the
shoots that it bears find in it abundant food
for an independent existence. A tuber is an
underground branch, swollen with alimentary
matter, with poor scales instead of leaves and
covered with shoots that it has to feed.

99

The Story-Book of the Fields

Let us now consider a potato. What do
we see on its surface ? Certain depressions
or eyes, which are so many shoots ; for these
eyes will develop into branches if the potato
is placed in favourable conditions. On old
potatoes, in the after season, we see them
becoming growths, which only need a little
sunshine to turn green and develop into stalks.

This property is made use of in propagating
the plant. For this purpose we do not sow
seeds, which would not result in a harvest
for some years, but tubers, which produce
abundantly in the same season. Or, better
still, the potato is divided into quarters, when
each portion that is buried provides a fresh
plant — supposing of course that it contains
at least one eye : otherwise it will decay
without producing anything.

Moreover, there are very small scales on the
eyes, which are leaves adapted to an under-
ground existence — leaves in the same degree
as the tough scales of an ordinary shoot.
The potato then is a branch, since it possesses
leaves and shoots. By earthing up the plant,
that is by heaping up the earth about it, the
young branches thus buried are converted
into potatoes ; and in dark and rainy seasons
we occasionally see some of the ordinary

ioo

Tubers — Starch

branches thickening in the open air, swelling
up and becoming more or less perfect potatoes.

Many other plants produce similar under-
ground branches. Among these is the
Jerusalem artichoke, the tubers of which
have their shoots arranged in pairs, just like
the leaves and shoots on the stem.

The potato feeds its shoots with a floury
substance called starch ; the same substance
which makes it so valuable a food for our-
selves. We profit by the provision made by
the plant for its offspring. Starch is com-
posed of innumerable tiny grains, contained
in the very small cavities with which the flesh
of the tuber is completely riddled. These
cavities are called cells. They are very small
receptacles formed of a fine membrane and
completely closed. They are filled with
grains of starch and pressed closely together,
making up the fleshy substance of the potato.
But these cells are so minute that we could
see nothing of them in the potato, however
closely we inspected it : a microscope would
be needed for their discovery. They are so
fine that in a fragment of potato the size of a
pin's head there is room for dozens and
dozens of them. In a potato of average size
there would be many millions.

IOI

The Story-Book of the Fields

To separate the starch from the potato, it
is only necessary to tear open the cells and
to set the grains free. The potato is reduced
to pulp with a grater. The pulp is placed on
a cloth over a large glass, and sprinkled with
water. The grains are carried through the
fabric by the water, while the remains of the
cells, which are not fine enough to pass, are
left behind.

Now we shall have a glass of water, with a
number of satiny white points falling like
snow and collecting at the bottom. When
the deposit is complete and the water is
thrown away, a powdery, splendid, white
substance remains, which cracks in the fingers
like fine sand, and which is the starch of the
potato. The grains that compose it are so
fine that it would take from one hundred and
fifty to two hundred of them to equal the size
of a pin's head. But these tiny grains are
very complicated ; for each of them is com-
posed of a great number of leaflets fitted one
over the other. If we boil the starch in a
little water, the leaflets will open out and
separate, and the whole wall turn into a sticky
jelly, exceeding in volume by far the starch
that has been used.

102

CHAPTER XVIII

Uses of Starch

Starch is the alimentary provision of plants.
Wherever there are shoots which are to
develop independently, wherever there is a
germ, there is also a quantity of starch
which serves as an abundant store. It is
found in tubers, suckers, bulbs, grains, and
fleshy roots. As these shoots and germs
develop through the process of vegetation, the
starch becomes a kind of sugar, which is
soluble in water, and is able to penetrate the
young plant and serve for its food.

By certain processes man is able to effect
this same change of starch into a sweet
substance. The most simple of these is the
employment of heat, which always takes
part in the preparation of floury foods. For
instance, a raw potato is uneatable ; but
boiled in water, or baked under the ashes,
it is excellent. What, then, has happened ?
Part of the starch has been converted into

103

The Story -Book of the Fields

sugar by the heat, and the tuber has become
a sweet, floury paste. The same thing applies
to the chestnut. When raw it is not good
for much, although it is sometimes eaten ;
but when baked it deserves all praise and is
another instance of the conversion of starch
into sugar by means of heat. Beans and peas,
as hard as bullets when dry and without any
pleasant taste, are distinctly sweet as soon as the
boiling water has affected their starch. And
all our floury foods undergo the same change.

In order to convert starch into sugar,
industry makes use of a more powerful means
than heat alone. It is boiled in water, with
the addition of a small quantity of sulphuric
acid or oil of vitriol, and under the influence
of this powerful liquid the starch becomes a
sweet syrup. Of course, as soon as it is
formed the syrup is purified from the oil of
vitriol which has helped to produce it.

The sugar obtained in this way is a soft,
sticky substance, almost as sweet as hone3<T,
but very different from ordinary sugar. It
is called glucose, and confectioners make
great use of it. When we eat a sugar-plum,
it is generally starch and glucose. Many of
the pastrycook's or confectioner's dainties,
which seem to be sweetened with ordinary

104

Uses of Starch

sugar, really owe their sweet taste to glucose,
which is much cheaper. The potato plays
many parts besides that of a table vegetable.

And this is not all ; for starch sugar is
exactly the same as that of ripe grapes.
With potato flour, water, and a few drops of
oil of vitriol, the manufacturer, with his
enormous boilers, obtains the same sweet
substance that the grape produces in its
berries in the sunlight. Now grape sugar
becomes alcohol by fermentation, and starch
sugar must experience a similar change. In
northern countries, where the climate does not
admit of the culture of the vine, alcoholic drinks
are prepared with starch converted into sugar.
Because of their origin these drinks are called
potato brandy, but all seeds and roots that
abound in starch may be used for a like purpose.

Beer results from a similar conversion.
Barley is made to germinate by keeping it
rather damp in a gentle heat. During the
process of germination the starch is converted
to glucose in order to feed the new growth.
When the little plant begins to break through,
the grain is dried and reduced to flour.
When this is diluted in water it provides
a sweet liquid which, by fermenting, acquires
alcohol and finally becomes beer.

CHAPTER XIX

Phosphates and Nitrogen

Phosphorus, that terrible poison, is found
abundantly in the bodies of all animals,
especially in the bones from which all that is
now used is derived. It exists in meat, in
milk and in cheese, in plants — above all, in
cereals — so that it is contained in flour and
bread. But we need feel no alarm ; we shall
not die poisoned like the rats that eat the
phosphorated crusts.

When two or more substances are com-
bined, they lose their original properties,
and the combination possesses other pro-
perties altogether different from these.
Thus carbon, when combined with the air
that we breathe, becomes an invisible, subtle
and unbreathable gas ; and lime, which has a
burning taste, in combination with carbonic
acid gas, becomes chalk, which is quite taste-
less. And substances of which the least
amount is fatal may, when combined with

107

The Story-Book of the Fields

others, become harmless and even form part
of our food. This is the case with phosphorus.
We will try to discover what it is that is
combined with phosphorus, so that it is no
longer poisonous and forms part of our meat
and flour.

When phosphorus is burnt a thick white
smoke is produced, as you may see by burning
a few matches. This white smoke, under the
influence of the least damp, turns into a
liquid with an extremely sharp taste, which
is called phosphoric acid. Since this sub-
stance results from the combustion of the
phosphorus, in the same way as carbonic
acid gas does from the combustion of carbon,
it ought to contain, and does contain, the
air that is required by all burning matter.
This phosphoric acid is no longer inflammable,
however much it is heated ; for, being itself
the result of combustion, it cannot be burnt
again. But although there is no risk of
burning by phosphoric acid, it is neverthe-
less dangerous on account of its extreme
sharpness, by which it easily eats away flesh.
This formidable substance, when associated
with lime, loses all its noxious qualities and
becomes white and perfectly tasteless, losing
its poison altogether. It is then called

108

Phosphates and Nitrogen

phosphate of lime. This combination of burnt
phosphorus and lime forms the greater part
of the mineral substance of bones. If we
put a bone on the fire the grease and juices
with which it is saturated will burn, and
the bone will remain light, friable, and
perfectly white. This bone which has been
burnt in the fire consists almost entirely of
phosphate of lime. Containing the most
inflammable of substances— phosphorus— it
is itself absolutely uninflammable ; while
partly composed of a deadly poison, it is
perfectly harmless ; and while holding in
combination matter with a horribly sharp
taste, it is itself quite tasteless. It is in this
combination, as an inoffensive phosphate,
that phosphorus exists in meat, milk, the
grain of cereals, flour and bread.

A cow will provide about fifteen gallons
of milk in a week, containing one pound of
phosphate. This phosphate comes from the
hay, which derived it from the ground. But
as the ground only holds a moderate quantity,
of which it is constantly deprived by the hay,
in time it will be exhausted, and the milk will
become less plentiful and inferior. Two and
a half pounds of bones (which contain about
the same amount of phosphate as the fifteen

109

The Story-Book of the Fields

gallons of milk), reduced to powder and
spread over the pasture, will compensate for
the weekly loss in phosphate drawn from the
ground by the cow's production of milk.
Such is the advantage derived from the use
of powdered bones on exhausted pastures.

Phosphoric acid, in combination with other
substances, is found in all agricultural
produce, so that the phosphate contained
in bones has a remarkable effect on our
harvests. A harvest has been doubled, as
if by enchantment, by the use of powdered
bones. One pound of this powder will con-
tain the phosphoric acid needed for the
production of one hundred pounds of wheat.
In spite of their powerful effect, the use of
bones in agriculture must always be limited,
because there are not enough of them, and
because they are largely used for other
purposes. Fortunately, in some places phos-
phate of lime is found in the form of stones
called nodules or coprolites. These precious
stones are carefully collected and reduced to
powder in a mill, and so that the substance
shall be more soluble in the dampness of the
soil, and consequently more effective for the
nutrition of plants, it is sprinkled with a
highly corrosive liquid, called sulphuric acid,

no

Phosphates and Nitrogen

or oil of vitriol. In this way the super-
phosphate of lime is obtained, which is pro-
vided for agriculture by the manufacturer
as a most effective manure, especially for
cereals.

Some time ago we were asking what could
be contained in the ashes of a burnt plant,
and we found potash. Since every plant
must have phosphate, if it is to flourish, we
must find this in its ashes, since it is in-
destructible by heat. After the combustion
of any plant, of a truss of hay, or a handful
of grain, scientific experiment will always
find the combination of phosphorus. It will
also be found in the ashes of lime, in the rust
of iron, in the silex of pebbles, and many
other substances.

In order to complete this difficult but
important subject of the nutrition of plants,
something must be said about ammonia.
Ammonia is an invisible gas, extremely soluble
in water. In combination with other sub-
stances ammonia loses its overpowering smell,
and forms different compounds, which are
among the most effective manures. These
compounds provide one of the components
of plants, called nitrogen. When isolated,
nitrogen is a gas without smell or colour. In

in

The Story-Book of the Fields

this condition it forms four-fifths of the
common air that we breathe. The other
fifth consists of a second gas called oxygen,
also without colour or smell. Oxygen only
is able to support respiration and combustion.
It is that alone which acts upon us so as to
consume the material of our blood and to
produce natural heat. That alone in com-
bustion dissolves carbon, phosphorus, sulphur
and other substances, producing a compound
which we call carbonic acid gas, when it is
derived from carbon, or phosphoric acid if it
comes from phosphorus. In a word, all the
properties that we have hitherto considered
as belonging to the air, really are properties
of oxygen. As for nitrogen, it plays no
part in the atmosphere, except to modify
the excessive energy of oxygen.

Nitrogen is necessary for all plants. It is
needed by the wheat to form the grain in its
ear ; by the pea, the bean and the lentil, to
fill their pods ; by the grass of the pasture
and by the hay of the meadow, to prepare
the food which the sheep will convert to
meat, and the cow to milk. We ourselves
need phosphorus, since it enters into the
composition of our bones ; still more do we
need carbon, which is the chief fuel for the

112

Phosphates and Nitrogen

support of vital heat. But we could not eat
the carbon as the charcoal-burner produces
it in the forest, or the phosphorus as it exists
in the match. The former would be a
horrible mouthful, and the latter a fatal
poison. They must be prepared in a suitable
manner, as we find them in bread, in milk,
in meat, fruit and vegetables. In a like way
the plants require nitrogen, not as it exists
in the air but in combination with other
substances, of which the most important
are the compounds of ammonia.

To sum up. In the nutrition of plants
there are four prominent substances. First
of all there is carbonic acid gas, which pro-
vides the carbon — the most abundant of all,
but about which we need not concern our-
selves, because the plants take it from the
atmosphere, to which it is constantly supplied.
There are also potash, phosphoric acid and
nitrogen, which the roo^s extract from the
ground in combination with other matters.
These are the substances which are removed
with the harvest, and which must be restored
to the earth if it is to remain fertile. This
is the office of manure, without which the
soil would be exhausted and would cease to
produce.

113 h

CHAPTER XX

The Ascent of the Sap

We will now inquire how the plant is fed
by the substances, the most important of
which we have been studying. The substance
of any plant is not compact and uniform,
without intervening spaces. On the contrary,
if we examine it with the microscope we shall
see an infinite number of very small cavities
called cells. They are receptacles without
any opening, sometimes round or oval, more
often of no regular shape, and angular by
reason of their mutual pressure. Their walls
are composed of a very fine membrane. In
the pith of the elder, which is riddled like a
sponge, there are cells large enough to be seen
without a microscope. Other cavities are
long, pointed at both ends and swelling out
in the middle, like a spindle. These are
called fibres. Others are channels of uni-
formly equal thickness, and long enough to
extend from the roots to the highest leaves.

"5

The Story -Book of the Fields

These are called vessels. If we examine
attentively the transverse section of a dry
branch of a vine, we shall see a number of
openings into which it might be possible to
introduce a horsehair. These are the open-
ings of so many interrupted vessels. Every-
thing in the plant, absolutely everything —
the root, the stem, wood, bark, leaves,
flowers, fruit, seeds — everything is formed
by a collection of cells, fibres and vessels.

Having said this, we will examine the root
of the plant. In its younger portions, at
the extremity of its most delicate branches, it
is composed of new cells, which are tender
and well adapted for absorbing the dampness
of the ground. These extremities are called
spongioses, and fill up just as sponges would.
When this is accomplished, we find channels
prepared to carry the fluid to the top of the
plant ; and these are the vessels which maj-
be compared to the pipes that carry the water
of our fountains. But wliile in the fountain
the water flows by reason of its own weight,
passing from the higher to the lower portion,
this is not the case with the fluid absorbed
by the roots, which travels from the bottom
to the top. What, then, is the force that
causes it to rise ?

116

The Ascent of the Sap

This force resides in the shoots, or rather
in the leaves. Every leaf is the seat of
vigorous evaporation, the object of which is
to eject from the plant the large amount of
water which has been needed to dissolve
in the ground the precious nutritive sub-
stances that have been absorbed, and to
transport them to the foliage. This evapora-
tion gives rise to a vacuum in the cells that
have ejected the water, which is at once filled
up from the neighbouring cells, which in
their turn receive the contents of the inferior
layers. A similar process goes on from cell
to cell, from fibre to fibre, from vessel to
vessel, at points farther and farther from
the evaporating surface, until it reaches the
extremities of the radicles, which by their
constant absorption replace the fluid that is
lost. It resembles the action of our pumps,
where the piston leaves a vacuum behind it,
immediately filled by the water in the pipe,
which receives it from the well. This fluid
that rises in every plant, being absorbed by
the spongioles of the radicles, and set in
motion by the evaporation of the leaves, is
called risifig sap or raw sap. It is said to
be rising because it proceeds from the bottom
to the top, from the roots to the branches ;

117

The Story-Book of the Fields

it is raw because it has not yet had the
preparation that is to turn it into the liquid
food of the plant. Hence we learn that the
rising sap is transported first of all to those
parts where the shoots are numerous and the
foliage abundant, and prefers the extremities of
the branches, where evaporation is most active.
We know that the exterior wood is the
youngest : it consists of cells, fibres and
vessels, the cavities of which are unconfined,
and whose walls are permeable. The in-
terior wood is older : its cells, fibres and
vessels are encrusted, obstructed, worn out
and useless. So the fluid makes its way
where circulation is possible, and no longer
penetrates where it is unable to pass. The
ascent of the sap occurs in the superficial and
recently formed layers. If a tree is cut
down at the season of the activity of the sap,
the outside layers will be damp, while the
inner wood is perfectly dry. In herbaceous
plants the ascent takes place throughout the
stem. This ascent stops in the winter because
of the absence of leaves, and acquires remark-
able activity at the return of spring. If
fruit trees have their branches lopped at this
season, they are said to bleed, for the ascending
fluid pours out through the openings of the

118

The Ascent of the Sap

severed vessels. This bleeding is seen
abundantly in the vine.

Now what should we expect to find in this
fluid pouring either from the vine or from a
fruit tree ? Many things, no doubt ; for
this fluid is the principal substance from
which all that the plant contains is to be
derived. Well, we should be mistaken : the
rising sap is scarcely anything but pure water.
It is with great difficulty that science has
succeeded in determining some substances in
solution, because their amount is so small.
The most frequent among these substances
are compounds of potash and lime and of
carbonic acid gas, traces of phosphates and
of nitrogenous or ammoniacal compounds.
The fluid from which the plant is to derive its
food is a very thin broth, composed of an
enormous quantity of water and a very small
amount of matter in solution. But these
scanty materials are the only portion utilised
by the plant, and the water that collected
them from the ground, and then transported
them from the roots to the leaves ; the water
which makes up almost the whole of the rising
sap, leaves the plant as soon as the journey is
accomplished, and returns as vapour to the at-
mosphere, whence it originallydescended as rain .

119

CHAPTER XXI

Lime

To make the mortar which is used in building
construction, masons make use of lime.
Stones, which look as if they were burnt, are
placed in a kind of basin surrounded by sand,
and water is poured over them. In a short
time the heap grows hot and burning, cracks
and falls into dust, while absorbing the water,
which disappears, being taken up by the
material, or evaporated by the heat. More
water is added till the whole is reduced to a
paste, which is mixed with sand, and the
result is mortar.

Lime is derived from a very common
substance called chalk or, in scientific
phraseology, carbonate of lime. The process
is very simple. It consists in heating the
stone in kilns constructed in the open air, in
the vicinity of the places providing the fuel
and the chalk, in order to avoid the expense
of transport for a substance which must

121

The Story-Book of the Fields

remain cheap. The lime kiln is about
eighteen feet in height and is lined with bricks
able to endure the fire. There is an opening
at the base through which the lime can be
withdrawn when it is sufficiently baked. In
order to fill the kiln a rough arch is built with
large pieces of chalk above the hearth on
which the fuel is to burn, and over this arch
smaller pieces are heaped up until the building
is full. The fuel is either wood, brushwood,
turf or coal. When the baking is completed
the work stops, and the lime is removed by
breaking down the arch that supports the
whole. The whole heap collapses and falls
to the opening at the base, where it is
extracted.

Another method, which is the oldest and is
still used in many places, consists in arrang-
ing the fuel and the chalk in alternate layers
in the kiln. The whole rests on a layer of
wood, which is lighted first, and when the
fire has spread through the mass, the open-
ing at the top is covered with sods of grass
so that the baking may be slower and more
regular.

Nothing can be more simple than the pro-
duction of lime. We will now consider the
effect on the chalk from the heat of the

122

Lime

furnace, and how it turns into lime by
passing through the fire. Chalk contains two
different substances : lime in the first place,
and also a gas, carbonic acid gas, which is as
invisible and impalpable as air itself. The
name carbonate of lime, which is given to
chalk, denotes this combination exactly. As
it is extracted from the ground the chalk
holds the two components in close associa-
tion, forming one substance, and not pos-
sessing the properties which they have when
separated. Heat destroys this association and
the lime remains in the kiln, while the carbonic
acid gas is dispersed in the atmosphere
with the smoke of the fuel. Having lost the
gas, the lime, the properties of which are no
longer concealed by the presence of another
matter, remains as it is needed by the mason
for his mortar.

So the action of the fire consists in decom-
posing the chalk and expelling the carbonic
acid gas which is associated with it ; and the
process in the kiln is only the separation of
the gas and the lime. We will now consider
the mortar. When it is sprinkled with water
the lime becomes very hot, cracks and falls
into fine dust like flour. The heat evolved
arises from the violence with which the two

123

The Story-Book of the Fields

substances combine. Before absorbing the
water the lime is called quick-lime ; after-
wards, when reduced to powder, it has the
name of slaked lime. This slaked lime is
made into a paste with water, well mixed and
kneaded with sand. It is now mortar. This
is the mortar that is inserted between layers
of stone to bind them together and to
strengthen the building.

There is another observation which will
explain the part played by the mortar. If we
examine the water that has covered the
slaked lime for some dajrs we shall see a thin
transparent skin, like ice, floating on the
surface. This small solid crust is a substance
similar to that from which the lime was ex-
tracted ; it is chalk, or carbonate of lime.
You have been told that two things are
required for the formation of such a sub-
stance, viz., lime and carbonic acid gas.
The lime is provided by the water, which must
hold it in solution, as it covers a thick layer
of the material, while the carbonic acid gas
comes from the air, where it is always present
in a small proportion. So the lime is able to
absorb slowly the small amount of carbonic
acid gas in the atmosphere and to resume its
former condition as chalk.

124

Lime

A similar process takes place in the mortar.
The lime takes back from the atmosphere the
gas which was lost through the heat of the
kiln, and gradually becomes chalk. It is
mixed with sand in order to separate it and
thus to enable it more easily to absorb the
air that is required for its conversion into
chalk. When the mortar is completely
restored to the condition of chalk, the courses
of a building are so firmly connected that it is
sometimes easier to break the stones than to
remove them.

Fat lime or pure lime, in contact with water,
becomes very hot, increases considerably in
volume and forms a strong adhesive mortar.
Greystone lime does not heat readily, cracks
slowly and scarcely increases in volume.
The former is derived from almost pure chalk ;
and may be mixed with much sand, when
it provides abundant mortar : the latter
comes from chalk containing various foreign
matters, takes up less sand and produces less
mortar. Both harden in the air by absorbing
carbonic acid gas which converts them into
chalk.

There is a third variety of lime, hydraulic
lime, which possesses the valuable property of
hardening under water. It comes from chalk

125

The Story-Book of the Fields

that contains a certain portion of clay.
Hydraulic mortar is used for the masonry of
bridges, canals, cisterns, foundations, cellars
and all buildings carried out under water or in
damp ground.

126

CHAPTER XXII

The Descent of the Sap

The rising sap in a fluid made up of a large
amount of water and a very small proportion
of nutritive substances in solution, which are
absorbed from the ground by the roots and
conveyed to the leaves by the sap-wood. It
is not as yet a fluid capable of feeding the
plant, and assumes this character after
reaching the leaves by a double process. In
the first place, being dispersed among the
leaves, which collectively provide a great
surface for evaporation, it gives out its excess
of water as steam and concentrates its service-
able materials. Then, under the influence of
the sunlight and through the action of the
green matter in the leaves, it experiences
changes which completely alter its nature.

Among these processes one of the best
known is the decomposition of the carbonic
acid gas, absorbed from the air by the leaves
and from the ground by the roots. We have

127

The Story-Book of the Fields

seen that this gas, the chief food of the plant,
is made up of carbon combined with oxygen
—that component of the air which is fit for
breathing. Under the influence of the sun-
light the leaves decompose this gas ; the
oxygen is set free, becoming fit for the breath
of animals and for combustion, while the
carbon remains in the plant, and in conjunc-
tion with the materials supplied by the rising
sap, becomes the nourishing fluid, the de-
scending sap, from which the whole substance
of the plant is to be formed. This fluid is
neither wood, nor bark, nor leaf, nor flower,
nor fruit, but forms part of each one of these.
The blood of an animal is neither flesh, nor
bone, nor fleece — yet bone, flesh and fleece
are formed from its substance. The falling
sap is also a fluid adapted for everything ;
it is the material of the fruit and the wood,
the leaves and the flowers, the bark and the
shoots. It is the blood of the plant and
everything in the plant finds therein a pro-
vision for growth and food. What a wonder-
ful and incomprehensible process has been
needed for this purpose ! What activity
and what transformations beyond the reach
of human science are going on in the crowded
ranks of the cells of the apparently quiet

128

The Descent of the Sap

leaves ! Fluids distend the cells, ooze from
one to another, transpire, circulate and
exchange their matter in solution ; vapour
is emitted, gases come and go ; the sunlight
divides some substances and unites others,
and the raw components of the ascending sap
are formed into the material of life.

The perfected sap descends from the leaves
to the twigs, from the twigs to the branches,
from the branches to the stem and thence to
the roots — being distributed in every direction
during its course. It circulates between the
wood and the bark. At the time when it is
most abundant, in spring, it forms a thin
layer of sticky matter between the wood
and the bark, so that the latter is easily
stripped from the branch.

It is perfectly easy to note its downward
progress. If a ring of bark is removed from
a trunk the nourishing fluid will ooze out and
collect on the upper edge of the wound ; but
nothing of the kind is seen on the lower one.
When thus arrested by the interruption of its
regular path, the sap accumulates above the
bare ring and results in an abundant growth
of wood and bark, which is shown in a thick
circular swelling, while the trunk below the
ring retains its original dimensions.

129 1

The Story-Book of the Fields

A tight bandage, by compressing and
obstructing the path of the nourishing fluid,
will produce a similar swelling above the
stoppage. We have seen a shrub fastened
too tightly to the post that was to support it,
choked by its own growth if not released in
time. The stem is gradually swollen above
the fastening, which is finally overgrown and
concealed by the bark. If the whole of the
trunk is not confined, if there is anywhere a
fragment of bark which will afford a passage,
the nourishing juice will adopt this path and
evade the obstacle continuing its progress to
the roots. In this case the tree will still
grow. But if the barrier is absolutely in-
superable, as in the case of a strong bandage,
or the complete removal of a ring of bark, the
sap cannot descend to feed the roots ; and
when these perish the death of the tree will
soon follow.

There is one lesson to be learned from these
remarks on the course of the liquid food in
plants. If we fasten a plant to the post that
is to support it, we must take care not to
make the bandage too tight, or else to loosen
it in good time, as otherwise we may run the
risk of a fatal stoppage in the trunk.

130

CHAPTER XXIII

The Pruning of Trees

A tree exists in the first place for its own
preservation, and only in the second place for
the preservation of the species, effected by
the seeds. This is natural, for its own
existence is a necessary preliminary to the
production of posterity. The tree then lives
in the first place for its own existence, and
does this by producing shoots which turn
into branches covered with leaves. It is by
means of the leaves that the fundamental
process in the life of plants is carried on ; it
is in their substance, in the sunlight, that the
descending sap is prepared, the liquid food,
the blood of the plant. The propagation of
the species comes in the second place. It is
left to the flowering shoots, or to those which
flower and produce fruit, in the centre of
which are the seeds.

Thus, if left to its own devices, a strong
tree in favourable conditions first uses all its

131

The Story-Book of the Fields

sap for shoots ; it produces strong branches
and abundant foliage without any signs of
flowering. Later on, when the branches are
strong and the impulse of growth begins to
slacken, flowering shoots appear, but these
are generally few in number, because the
abundant production of fruit is the cause of
rapid waste. Abundant blossom only comes
at the end of life. A tree never flowers
better than when it is about to die, as if,
anticipating its end, it was trying to leave a
numerous posterity. A strong tree produces
little or no blossom, but a dying tree flowers
abundantly. But it is for the interest of man
that the tree should flower and bear fruit as
quickly and as abundantly as possible : we
do not require the branches that it would
produce without our interference, but the
loads of fruit evoked by our care. Pruning,
or the art of managing fruit trees so as to
obtain abundant fruit, is the result of this
struggle between the natural tendencies of the
tree and our own needs.

If we examine the general principles which
are to guide us in the practice of this art, the
first question that occurs concerns the form
that the branches are to assume. This form,
far from being a matter of indifference, is of

132

The Pruning of Trees

the greatest importance ; for the distribution
of the sap and the sunlight, the chief factors
in the life of the plant, is closely connected
with it. If the tree is allowed to develop
freely and assume its natural form, the sap
coming from the roots, in its natural impulse,
will tend to reach the highest parts, which will
grow vigorously, while the lower portions will
waste and perish for lack of sufficient food.
If the branches do not receive sufficient light,
those in the centre, deprived of the life-giving
rays of the sun, will remain sickly, puny and
more or less etiolated. On the other hand,
the tree must derive all the benefit from the
situation allotted to it in the garden so that
there may be no wasted or unproductive
space.

The form is determined by these conditions.
In the first place it must be symmetrical, so
that there may be an equal distribution of
food, and that some of the branches may not
overflow with sap, while others have none at
all. In the second place it must allow the
sunlight to penetrate to every part in order
to ripen the fruit and to carry out the im-
portant process of the preparation of the sap
in the leaves. In practice three forms have
been selected with the object of attaining

133

The Story-Book of the Fields

these results ; pruning as espalier, as
pyramid, or as cup. When pruned as espalier
the tree extends its branches, symmetrically
arranged, to the right and left against a wall.
The wall serves as a support and a shelter
against the wind ; while it supplies ad-
ditional heat and light to the foliage and
fruit by reflecting the beams of the sun. In
the pyramidal form the branches of the tree
decrease in length regularly from the base to
the top, being sufficiently far apart not to
shut off the light from the centre. The whole
forms a sugar-loaf, or cone, to the heart of
which the sunlight and the air have free
access. This is the form most in accordance
with the natural tendency. The tree in the
cup shape has a certain number of equally
strong branches arranged in a circle round an
empty central space, which thus receives its
share of sunlight without any impediment.

134

CHAPTER XXIV

Plaster

Though less important than lime, plaster is
much used in building, especially for ceilings,
for chimneypieces and for joining bricks. It
is a white powder which is made into a paste
with water, being mixed in small quantities
as it is needed. The worker take a few
handfuls of the powder, which he dilutes in a
little water in his bucket, with the help of his
trowel. He takes the paste, spreads it on his
hand, uses it at once and then prepares some
more. Plaster cannot be mixed beforehand,
because it hardens very quickly, turns solid
and is then of no use. For it to be soft
enough it must be used as soon as it is pre-
pared.

Plaster is made of a stone called gypsum,
which is always of the same nature, but which
varies considerably in appearance according
to the degree of its purity. Sometimes it is
a shapeless, whitish substance, more or less

135

The Story-Book of the Fields

granulated ; sometimes delicately fibrous,
with undulating reflections ; or again trans-
parent as glass and separating into very thin
sheets, exhibiting here and there the splendid
colours of the rainbow. This beautiful trans-
parent gypsum was used by the ancients for
window panes.

The impure gypsum, or shapeless stone, is
used for common plaster, while the purer
kinds provide the finer sort that is intended
for moulding. The plaster stone is very
common, forming whole hills or mountains in
certain places. In order to prepare it for use
a moderate amount of heat is required. For
this purpose a number of small arches are
built up with lumps of gypsum and other
smaller pieces are piled over these. The whole
mass is baked by burning wood and brush-
wood underneath.

Gypsum consists of lime similar to that
contained in chalk, but it is combined with
sulphuric acid, which cannot be expelled by
heat. It also contains water which forms
one-fifth of the whole weight of the stone. It
is only the water that is removed by the heat,
and as soon as it is rid of that, the gypsum
becomes plaster.

But this has a great tendency to absorb

136

Plaster

the water of which it has been deprived by
baking, and thus to resume its original
condition as stone. It is on this property
that the use of plaster depends. When mixed
in the bucket the powder quickly absorbs the
water restored to it, and hardens into a sub-
stance as firm as the gypsum before it was
baked. In the case of lime the change is slow,
but for plaster it is very quick.

When baked the plaster is crushed under
vertical millstones and then passed through
a sieve. The powder must be kept in a very
dry place, for it absorbs the damp very
readily, and will then no longer harden when
mixed with water. It can be easily under-
stood that after being more or less saturated,
the plaster cannot readily absorb the water
which is needed for its conversion into a solid
substance. It cannot combine with the water
when it is required for use. Damp plaster is
quite useless.

Statues, busts, medallions and other orna-
mental objects are prepared from plaster by
moulding. This plaster is made with the
purest gypsum, with those beautiful trans-
parent sheets which have been already men-
tioned. It is baked in ovens like those used
by bakers, and kept from contact with the

137

The Story-Book of the Fields

fuel so as not to spoil its whiteness. The
powder, which resembles fine flour, is diluted
in water and reduced to a clear solution,
which is poured into the moulds. As soon
as the plaster has hardened, the mould, con-
sisting of several pieces, is removed, and the
object which has been moulded is extracted.

J3*

CHAPTER XXV

Pruning (continued)

When the desired form has been obtained it
has to be retained, although the tree will
rebel and attempt to regain the natural
arrangement of its branches. Suppose, for
instance, that a pear tree, pruned as an
espalier, has spoilt its symmetrical plan by
developing more on one side than the other.
How can we restore the equality of the two
portions — how weaken the too vigorous side
and strengthen the feeble one ? There are
several ways in which this may be effected.

We cut off the branches on the strong side
with the shears, only leaving them with a
small number of shoots, that is, we prune
them very short. On the weak side, on the
contrary, we shall leave the branches un-
touched, or prune them very slightly, leaving
the greater number of their buds. What will
be the result of this treatment ? Since
abundant foliage, the workshop where the

139

The Story -Book of the Fields

descending sap is prepared and the pump
which attracts and draws up the sap from the
roots, is the prime cause of a strong growth,
the weak portion, with its numerous shoots
lengthening into leafy growths, will grow, while
the strong part with its few shoots is enfeebled.
Thus the two processes tend to the same
result, the restoration of the desired equality.

The herbaceous extremity of the young
branches on the over-strong side is cut through
with the fingers and thumb nail. This opera-
tion is called nipping. The sap that would
have been expended in lengthening these
branches is diverted from its course and turns
to the weaker growths, which it animates and
revives. If the weaker side needs nipping to
arrest any growth that would interfere with
its symmetry, this is put off as late as possible :
on the strong side it is effected at an early
date. Thus the sap diverted from the strong
side to the sickly one has a whole season to
restore equality.

Instead of cutting with the thumb nail and
nipping the young shoots, they may be wholly
removed while still herbaceous. This removal
is effected at an early date on the strong side,
only leaving those shoots which are indis-
pensable ; but if required on the weaker side

140

Pruning

it is postponed as long as possible. This will
have more effect than the nipping on the
impulse imparted to the weak portion. The
greater the number of branches that are
suppressed the fewer will be the number of
guests for the sap, the excess of which will
help the branches that need strengthening.

The cause that diverts the sap from the
pruned or nipped portion to the part that is
intact, is evidently the greater or less sup-
pression of the foliage. It is the leaves, by
the constant evaporation proceeding on their
surface, that cause the ascent of the fluid
drawn from the ground by the roots. The
more numerous they are at any point the
more abundantly the sap flows towards it ; the
fewer there are the less sap is received. If
we diminish the number of leaves in any part
by nipping or any other method, we also
diminish the supply of sap, which will turn in
other directions, to parts with more leaves,
which will attract it by evaporation. It will
be seen that we may adopt a middle course
between the nipping which partly suppresses
the foliage of a young plant, and the removal
of the shoot, which stops it altogether. This
consists in removing a certain number of
leaves from the over-strong shoots. They

141

The Story-Book of the Fields

must be removed neatly, not tearing them,
but cutting the stalk and leaving the base in
its place.

The most direct path for the progress of the
sap from the roots to the foliage follows the
vertical line from the bottom to the top.
Anything that disturbs this direction inter-
feres with the ascensional force. Thus in
branches with abrupt angles or sharp curves
the impulse of the sap is slackened, as the
speed of a stream is impeded by the uneven-
ness of its bed. Also, in a branch forced to
bend towards the ground the sap can only
progress with difficulty, since its course
towards the end of the branch is effected in a
direction contrary to that which is natural.
The application of this principle is easily seen.
If we wish to moderate an over-strong branch
we shall bend it towards the ground, while if
we have to strengthen one that is weak we
shall draw it up in a vertical direction.

We may also make use of the exhausting
effect of fruit. The more fruit that a branch
bears the weaker it becomes ; for the expendi-
ture of sap in fruit leaves less for the produc-
tion of the foliage which is its strength. So we
shall leave as much fruit as possible on the
stronger side and suppress it on the other.

142

CHAPTER XXVI

Production of Fruit

If we prune a tree very vigorously on one
side and very little on the other, we divert
the sap, which leaves the former side, turning
towards the other which has more shoots and
therefore more leaves. We have seen how
this principle is used to moderate a growth
that is too strong and to animate one that is
too feeble, thus restoring the equilibrium of
the two. But what will happen if the whole
tree is pruned at once ?

We will first consider what takes place in a
single branch. If it is slightly pruned it
retains the majority of its shoots, all of which
it must feed with the sap that it receives,
while if vigorously pruned it will only keep a
few shoots, which, having the same amount
to share amongst them, will receive a more
liberal portion because they are less numerous.
What might have been the food of twelve is
now the portion of two or three. Each one

143

The Story-Book of the Fields

develops more strongly because of this super-
abundance of food. If the whole of the tree
is vigorously pruned, the whole of the sap
absorbed by the roots, having no tendency to
turn in one direction rather than another, is
distributed equally throughout, and the few
shoots that are left by the pruning take on
a growth proportionate to the food of which
they are able to dispose. Vigorous pruning
thus applied to the whole tree has the effect
of strengthening it and of restoring its youth
by substituting new branches for those which
are worn out. So when a tree is exhausted
by abundant production of fruit it is
vigorously pruned for a year in order to
restore its strength.

We will now consider the contrary course
to be followed supposing that we want the
tree to blossom and bear fruit. We shall be
guided by two principles. In the first place,
when the tree is most vigorous it sends out
long branches and thick foliage, but no
flowers — or few. It is only in a weaker con-
dition that it flowers abundantly. Secondly,
the shoot that should have become wood turns
into a flower bud. The flower is really a
branch, which instead of growing and pro-
ducing leaves, has, through lack of strength,

144

Production of Fruit

remained short and contracted and has
exchanged its leaves for flowering organs —
for sepals, petals, stamens and pistils. So
the usual process is to weaken the tree and
the shoots.

In order to weaken the shoots the branches
which are to grow long will be only slightly
pruned. The numerous shoots will each
receive a smaller amount of sap, and some of
them, especially at the base of the branches,
will be too weak to carry on the struggle and
will turn to flower buds, although they would
have grown into wood if their rivals had been
removed.

In order to diminish the vigour of the tree
the herbaceous extremity of the young
branches is pinched off or nipped with the
nail ; or sometimes these branches are twisted
into a curve which impedes the circulation of
the sap. Another method is to break off the
woody branches of the preceding year, either
partly or altogether, leaving the ends hang-
ing. If the tree is not too vigorous, any
one of these methods will cause it to bear
fruit.

If the growth is very strong more energetic
means will be required. The branches are all
bent down to the ground and fixed in that

145 K

The Story-Book of the Fields

position. This abnormal direction is op-
posed to the ascensional course of the sap
and, therefore, affords a scantier supply to
the shoots. This poverty promotes the pro-
duction of fruit. When the result has been
obtained the branches are restored to their
natural position, or else the tree would be
exhausted.

Sometimes the pruning is postponed till the
summer when the young shoots are already
a few inches long. The sap which has been
spent on the production of these shoots,
which are now removed by pruning, is a
serious loss to the tree, which is no longer
able to feed the lower shoots on the branches
and turns them into flower buds.

If none of these methods will induce the
tree to bear fruit there are others more
violent to which we should only resort in the
last extremity. Towards the end of winter,
before the sap begins to rise, a ring is cut
round the base of the trunk, very narrrow,
but deep enough to penetrate the exterior
layers of the wood. We know that the sap
rises through these exterior layers, which are
the youngest and the most easily permeated
by fluids ; so that if we partially arrest its
course a less abundant supply will reach the

J46

Production of Fruit

shoots, and the tree, being weakened, will
begin to produce fruit.

Sometimes the roots, the original sources
of the sap, are approached. The principal
roots are laid bare in the spring and exposed
to the fresh air and the heat of the sun for the
whole summer. Being deprived of the cool-
ness and the dark required for their function,
they supply less food to the tree and this
poverty results in the appearance of flower
buds. A more effective method, but one
which unless used with discretion will ruin the
tree, is to lay bare, mutilate and cut off some
of the roots and then to replace the earth.
This will evidently diminish the supply of sap.
Or if a tree is small enough it may be trans-
planted in the autumn, retaining all its roots,
when the disturbance effected by this change
will cause it to flower in the following year.

147

CHAPTER XXVII

The Use of Lime in Agriculture.

In order to be fertile, besides the organic
matters contained in humus and manure,
the ground must hold chalk, sand and clay.
It may happen that the ground in its natural
condition does not contain enough of these,
or that it may be altogether deficient in one
or other of them. In this case the nature
of the ground must be corrected by the
supply of that which is lacking. So land
which is too sandy is improved by chalk
and clay ; while that which is too strong and
contains too much clay, is improved by sand,
and still more by chalk. The mineral sub-
stances which are added to the ground to
correct its nature also help in the nutrition
of plants, and may therefore be looked upon
as mineral manures.

One of the most valuable of these is lime,
which is not only indispensable for land that
contains no chalk, but is also required for the

149

The Story-Book of the Fields

nutrition of all our cultivated vegetables.
It acts in various ways. In the first place
it attacks vegetable substances vigorously,
decomposes them, and converts them into
humus. A heap of leaves that would take
a long time to rot, if mingled with lime soon
becomes a mass of humus. Hence it is of
great use in fields that contain many weeds,
or in those that have been recently cleared,
or wherever there are old trunks, heaps
of leaves, fragments of wood or heath to be
removed. It will speedily convert all these
herbaceous or woody substances into humus,
enriching the ground to the great advantage
of future harvests.

In the second place, lime will correct and
neutralise the acid nature of some soils.
This property is shown in the following
experiment. If we mix a little lime with
strong vinegar we shall find that the smell
and acid taste will soon disappear. Where-
ever there are rotting plants, leaves, mosses,
reeds, or old trunks of trees, substances with
a bitter taste are produced, otherwise called
acids, the presence of which is injurious to
all cultivation. This is specially the case
in marshy ground, where the excessive acidity
suits the tough growth of reeds and sedges

150

The Use of Lime in Agriculture

that are of no use to us ; but such acidity is
quite unsuitable for the various plants that we
cultivate. Lime, which corrects the acidity,
does wonders in marshy ground and damp
meadows. The need of lime is shown by
the growth of ferns, heath, sedges, reeds,
mosses, or sphagnum.

In the third place, as soon as it is in the
ground, the lime again returns to its original
condition of chalk, but in the form of very
fine powder. This reversion to the con-
dition of chalk is effected by combination
with the carbonic acid gas, which proceeds
from the atmosphere or from the substances
rotting in the ground. In this new form
lime plays an important part, by supplying
the chalk to land where it is deficient, and by
causing the clay to be more easily pene-
trated by air and water.

The distribution of lime to the ground
takes place at the end of summer when the
land is dry. Heaps consisting of four or
five gallons of quicklime are placed at in-
tervals of five yards, and covered with a
little earth. In a short time, through the
dampness of the air, the lime is reduced to a
fine powder. It is then spread evenly with
the shovel, and buried by slight ploughing.

151

The Story -Book of the Fields

The lime must never be buried with the seed ;
for in contact with it the young shoots would
be burned. Nor must the lime be mixed
with the manure before use ; for in that
case there would be an abundant exhala-
tion of ammonia, which is one of the most
powerful agents in vegetation, and which
would thus be utterly wasted. Lime and
manure must always be used separately.

Marshy, clayey or granite soils are those
in which lime produces the greatest effect.
The important results produced by the dis-
tribution of lime, have given rise in many
countries to its manufacture by rapid and
powerful methods, solely with reference to
its use in agriculture. In Mayenne, a dis-
trict of France where a great extent of barren
clay soil has been converted into rich mea-
dows and cornfields of exceptional fertility,
the lime is manufactured in huge kilns,
twelve yards high, renting against the cliff
that provides the chalk, and sometimes the
fuel also.

All animal remains provide excellent man-
ure. Such are old woollen rags, fragments
of leather, scrapings of horn, the dried blood
from slaughter-houses, or flesh unfit for
human food. All these matters are rich in

152

The Use of Lime in Agriculture

nitrogen and phosphates and form a valuable
addition to the manure of the farm. Lime
enables us to use any flesh in the best pos-
sible way.

The carcasses of animals, which through
ignorant carelessness are left to the greedy
appetites of dogs, magpies, and crows, should
be cut up and buried in a mixture of quick-
lime and earth, which will soon decompose
the flesh. In a few months we should have
a trench full of powerful manure, instead
of an unpleasant and useless carcass. The
bones, which are not affected by the lime,
should be burned to make them more friable,
and then reduced to powder. These pow-
dered bones, mixed with the manure pro-
vided by the decomposition of the flesh, will
afford an abundant supply of phosphorus
to the cereals and pasture. Horses and
mules that have been killed, and all the
larger animals that die a natural death,
should be used in this way.

153

CHAPTER XXVIII

Cultivated Plants

There are three methods of propagation
practised in cultivation : these are layering,
by cuttings and by grafting. In order to
appreciate the value of these operations
we must recall the origin of our plants in
common use.

Perhaps you may imagine that the pear
tree has always exerted itself in producing
large fruit with melting flesh with a view to
our food ; that the potato has swollen its
great tubers with floury matter for our
pleasure ; or that the cabbage formed its
compact head of beautiful leaves of its own
accord for our gratification. You may think
that the wheat, the pumpkin, the carrot, the
vine, the beetroot, and so many others, have
taken a keen interest in man and have
always worked for him independently. You
believe that the fruit of the vine is now
similar to that from which Noah drew the

155

The Story-Book of the Fields

juice that intoxicated him ; that wheat,
since it first appeared on the earth, has never
failed to produce an annual harvest ; that
the beetroot and the pumpkin were of the
noble size, which gives them their value,
from the beginning of the world. In a
word it appears to you that the plants that
we use for food were originally found in the
same condition as we have them at present.
It is a mistake ; the wild plant is generally
of little use as food, and only becomes
valuable through our care. It is our part,
by work and cultivation, to profit by its
properties by improving them.

In its native country, on the mountains
of Chili and Peru, the potato that grows wild
is a miserable tuber the size of a nut. Man
receives the poor little savage into his gar-
den, plants it in good ground, nurses and
waters it, and the potato gradually im-
proves. It gains in size and nutritive quali-
ties and at last becomes a floury tuber the
size of our two fists.

On oceanic cliffs, exposed to every wind,
a cabbage grows wild, with a long stalk, a
few raw green leaves, a sharp taste and a
strong smell. It may possibly conceal valu-
able properties despite this unprepossessing

156

Cultivated Plants

appearance. Such an idea must have oc-
curred to the man who, in remote ages,
first admitted the cliff cabbage to his garden.
The idea was justified — the wild cabbage
has been improved by the incessant care
of man ; the stalk became stronger, the
leaves increased in number, and, white and
tender, were fitted into a close head, and the
cabbage that we have to-day is the final
result of this splendid transformation. We
see the starting point of the precious plant
on the rocks of the shore, and the goal in
our gardens. But where are the intermediate
forms that in the course of centuries gradually
brought the species to its present condition ?
These forms were so many steps forward.
It was necessary to preserve them to prevent
them from falling back, to multiply them,
and to keep on attempting further improve-
ment. Who could reckon the expenditure of
labour that has produced the cabbage ?

You may know the wild pear tree. It is
an ugly bush, bristling with fierce thorns.
The pear is a detestable fruit that contracts
the throat and sets the teeth on edge, very
small, bitter, hard and apparently stuffed
with gravel. The man must have been gifted
with rare inspiration who first had faith in

157

The Story-Book of the Fields

the cross-grained shrub, and foresaw, in the
distant future, the mellow pear that we eat
to-day.

In the same way, from the grape of the
original vine, the berries of which were no
larger than those of the elder, man, by the
sweat of his brow, has acquired the juicy
fruit of the vine as we know it to-day. He
has obtained wheat from some poor seed now
unknown, and his vegetables and fruit trees
from a few wretched shrubs and uninviting
herbs. Earth treats us as a harsh step-
mother in order to compel us to work, which
is the supreme law of our existence. It pro-
vides plenteous food for the young birds, but
to us it only offers the berry of the bramble
or the sloe in the hedge. We need not com-
plain, for it is the struggle with want that
creates our superiority.

It is for us by intelligence and labour to
provide for ourselves ; to act on the noble
motto — " Help thyself, and heaven will help
thee."

Man has always sought to discover among
the innumerable species of plants those that
are capable of improvement. The greater
number have remained useless ; but others,
predestinated and created specially for the

158

Cultivated Plants

sake of man, have yielded to our care and,
by cultivation, have acquired properties of
the greatest importance, since they provide
our food. But the improvement obtained is
not so radical that we can rely on its per-
manence if our care is relaxed. The plant
has always a tendency to return to its original
condition. If the gardener leaves the cab-
bage to itself, without manure, water, or
cultivation ; if he allows the seeds to germin-
ate by chance wherever the wind carries
them, the cabbage will soon lose its close
head of white leaves, and resume the loose
green leaves of its wild ancestors. The vine,
deprived of the care of man, will revert to
the wild vine of the hedge, a whole bunch
of which is not equal to one berry of the cul-
tivated grape ; the pear tree on the edge of
the wood will resume its long thorns and
nasty little fruit ; the plum tree and the
cherry will contract their fruit to kernels
covered by a sour skin — in a word, our
orchards will lose their wealth and all their
value to us.

This return to the wild state will take
place despite all our care if we attempt to
reproduce the plant from seed. We may sow
the pips taken from a very good pear, and

159

The Story-Book of the Fields

most of the trees grown from these seeds will
only produce poor or very bad pears. Only
a few will yield the parent pear. If we sow
again with the pips of the second generation
the pears will degenerate further. And if
we proceed with such sowing, always using
the seeds of the last generation, the fruit will
become smaller and smaller, bitter and hard,
till it has become once more the poor pear
of the hedges. One more example. What
flower can be compared to the rose, with its
fine growth, its sweet scent and bright colour ?
If we sow the seeds of this splendid plant its
offspring will be the poor bushes, the simple
wild roses of our hedges. There is nothing
surprising in this ; the noble flower started
as a wild rose, and in the seed it resumes
the features of its race.

Among certain plants, however, the im-
provements resulting from cultivation are
more stable and persist despite the experience
of the seed, but only on the express condi-
tion that care shall never be lacking. All,
if left to themselves and propagated by
seed, will revert to their original condition
after a certain number of generations, during
which the characters impressed upon them
by the intercession of man are gradually lost,

1 60

CHAPTER XXIX

Means of Propagation

How then can we propagate our fruit trees
and decorative plants so that we need not
fear to see them degenerate, since if sown
they will, sooner or later, revert to the
original wild type ? They must be propa-
gated by shoots and not by seeds. We must
transfer the shoots or branches from one
plant to another, which is grafting, or else
directly to the ground, as in layering. These
are invaluable methods which allow us to
fix in the plant the perfection obtained by
long years of work, and to profit by the im-
provements already effected by our fore-
runners, instead of inaugurating a develop-
ment for which a human, life would be in-
sufficient.

The layer, the cutting, and the graft
faithfully reproduce all the characters of the
plant from which they are taken. Such as
were the fruit, flowers and foliage of the

161 l

The Story-Book of the Fields

plant from which the shoots have been
transferred ; such will be the fruit, flowers
and leaves provided by them. Nothing will
be added to the characters that it is desired
to propagate, but nothing will be lacking.
If there are double blooms on the plant
from which the layer, slip, or graft is taken,
so there will be double blooms on the plants
produced by them ; if there is a special
shade of colour it will be matched by exactly
the same colour, and if the fruit is large,
sweet and perfumed, that produced from
the graft, slip or layer will be exactly the
same. The slightest peculiarity that, for
some unknown reason, appears on a plant
raised from seed, sometimes on a single
branch, such as the incised outline of the
leaves or the varied colour of the flowers,
is reproduced with minute fidelity, if the
graft, slip or layer is taken from the affected
branch. In this way horticulture is daily
enriched by double flowers, or new shades
of colour, by fruit remarkable for its
size, its late or early maturity, its mellow
flesh, or stronger scent. If it were not for
the slip and the graft these accidental occur-
rences produced by no evident cause would
disappear at the death of the favoured plant,

162

Means of Propagation

and we should always be seeking for improve-
ments, which would be lost almost as soon
as they were found, because of the lack of
means for fixing them and making them
permanent.

If history had preserved the record, what
long and difficult trials must have been
carried out, in order to derive our cultivated
plants from a few useless wildlings ! Think
of all the happy inspirations that have been
needed in order to select from the vegetable
world the species capable of being modified
for good ; of the patient attempts to subject
them to our cultivation ; of the labour in
improving them from year to year, and of
the trouble in preventing them from de-
generating and in handing them on to us in
their perfect condition — think of all this
and you will recognise that the smallest fruit
or vegetable represents more than the work
of the man who raised it in his garden. It
may represent the accumulated labour of a
hundred generations which were needed to
create the table vegetable from the poor
wild plant. We are living on the fruit and
vegetables created by our ancestors ; on the
labour, the strength and the thought of
the past. If the strength of our arms and

163

The Story-Book of the Fields

our thought can provide for the life of
future generations, our mission will have been
worthily fulfilled.

It was not by chance that the ideas of
layering, taking cuttings and grafting oc-
curred to man, but by thoughtful observa-
tion of natural processes going on around him.
He who first noticed attentively the way in
which the strawberry plant grows and multi-
plies, received the first lesson in layering.
We will consider this curious growth for
ourselves. Certain long thin branches start
from the parent plant of the strawberry and
crawl along the ground. These are called
runners. When they have reached a certain
distance the extremity develops into a small
plant, which takes root in the ground and soon
becomes independent. The new strawberry
plant, as soon as it is strong enough, sends
out long branches which follow the same
course — crawling over the ground, ending in
a bunch of leaves and taking root. After a
number of such growths the parent plant
will be surrounded by young offshoots, settled
in different places, according to the season
and the nature of the ground. At first these
offshoots are connected with the parent plant
by the runners. There is a common life as

164

Means of Propagation

the sap flows from the old plant to the young.
But sooner or later the relation is broken off ;
the runners, having become useless, dry up,
and each growth, properly rooted, becomes a
separate plant. We find here, apart from
human industry, all the incidents of layering :
the artificial operation finds its equivalent,
and no doubt its model, in the natural
process. A long branch bends towards the
ground and is then detached from the parent
stock by the destruction of the runner. In
the same way the gardener buries a long
branch in the ground, waits for it to produce
adventitious roots, and then separates it with
his shears, and this is layering.

165

CHAPTER XXX

The Use of Plaster in Agriculture

Plaster is by no means of the same im-
portance in agriculture as lime, but it has
an excellent effect on clover, sainfoin and
lucerne. It is used in spring by dusting the
young leaves when they are still damp with
the morning dew. Misty and calm weather
is most suitable for this operation. Plaster
also has a good effect on colza, flax, buck-
wheat and tobacco, but it is useless for cereals.
The intelligent husbandman has a further
use for plaster. In every heap of manure
there is slow combustion and fermentation,
producing ammoniacal exhalations, which are
dispersed in the air and absolutely wasted.
These exhalations should be retained in the
manure as far as possible ; for it is the com-
pounds of ammonia that supply nitrogen to
the plants. To prevent this loss plaster is
scattered over the top of the manure ; or
sometimes, as the heap is formed, each layer

167

The Story-Book of the Fields

is dusted with plaster. The plaster absorbs
the ammoniacal vapour, parting with some
of its sulphuric acid and forming a compound
— sulphate of ammonia — which cannot be re-
duced to vapour. The plaster is said to fix
the ammonia ; that is, to prevent it from
dispersing.

With regard to the fertilising effect of
plaster on lucerne, the following experiment
is related. Franklin, one of the greatest men
in the United States of America, knowing the
powerful effect of plaster, tried to spread its
use among his fellow-citizens ; but they,
faithful to their old customs, would not listen
to him. In order to convince them Franklin
sowed plaster in a field of lucerne, beside the
most frequented road in Philadelphia, spread-
ing it over the plants so as to trace out letters
and words. The lucerne grew everywhere,
but much taller, greener and thicker in the
parts that had been plastered, so that the
passers-by could read in the lucerne these
words in gigantic letters — " This was plas-
tered." The ingenious experiment was quite
successful, and plaster was immediately used
in agriculture.

168

CHAPTER XXXI

Layering

Some plants, such as the carnation, throw
out straight, flexible shoots from the base of
their stem, by means of which new plants may
be provided. These branches are fastened
to the ground by bending them into an elbow,
which is buried and fixed with a hook. The
end is made to stand up and is kept in position
by a support. The buried elbow sooner or
later produces adventitious roots, and until
that occurs the parent stock feeds the
branches. As soon as there are a sufficient
number of these roots the branches are cut
and each root, transplanted separately, be-
comes an independent plant. This operation
is called layering.

We will take an instance of the method, the
principle of which has been explained. Sup-
pose that in a vineyard certain stocks have
failed and must be replaced. For this pur-
pose layering will be the most convenient

169

The Story -Book of the Fields

method, and will also give the quickest return.
Near the space to be filled a plant is selected
with a vigorous, long and conveniently
situated shoot. The ground occupied by the
dead stock is thoroughly dug over and the
whole plant with its roots is removed, as the
rotting of these might be injurious to the
new-comer. When the ground has been dug
over a trench is arranged about a foot in
depth and the branch is deposited in it, care
being taken to bend it without breaking or
splitting. The buried portion is covered with
a layer of earth and the trench is filled up with
manure. The end of the branch is drawn up
out of the ground, fastened to a post as a
support, and cut back till it only retains two
shoots. All the shoots on the portion between
the parent stock and the point where the
branch enters the ground are removed, since
they would divert some of the sap. The best
time for practising this operation is the
beginning of winter, because the lengthy
stay of the branch underground while all
plant life is at rest, allows it to grow
more vigorously when the sap returns in
the spring.

What will be the fate of the branch partially
buried in this way ? If it had remained in

170

Layering

the open air it would have produced its fruit.
Why should it not still do this in the condition
in which it has been placed by the vine-
dresser, which in no way affects its connection
with the parent stock ? It is still in unin-
terrupted communication with the plant that
feeds it and receives its share of the rising sap
absorbed by its roots. The shoots that it has
retained will develop leaves, which, in the sun-
light, will transform this raw fluid into
nourishing sap. There is no reason why it
should not yield the same result that it would
have done if it had remained unburied. And,
indeed, the layer does bear fruit the same
year, producing a few bunches if it is well
cared for. However, under the influence of
the cool ground and the stimulant of the
manure, in time the adventitious roots
appear on the buried portion, become
numerous and strong, and the day arrives
when they are able to feed the young plant
without the assistance of the parent. It is in
the third year that the root becomes strong
enough for independent existence. Then
comes the weaning — the nursling is deprived
of its nurse by the knife separating the parent
stock from the layer now that the latter is able
to provide for itself.

171

The Story-Book of the Fields

The vine, with its long shoots so near the
ground, is well adapted for burying the
branches that are to take root, but with most
trees or shrubs the conditions are very
different. Their branches are neither long
nor flexible enough, nor are they sufficiently
near the ground to be placed in the trench.
This difficulty may be overcome in the
simplest fashion. We know that a stem,
cut down to the level of the ground will
develop at the edges of the wound numerous
adventitious shoots that will grow into
branches. These will be exactly the growths
that we need ; for they are long and flexible
and start from the level of the ground. Each
of them, treated as a layer, buried in a trench
where it is fastened by a hook, with its
extremity maintained in a vertical position
by means of a support, will take root sooner
or later, according to its species, and may
then be transplanted as an independent plant.
This method goes by the name of arching, as
the buried branch is bent into the form of an
arch.

The following method dispenses with the
arching, which cannot be practised if the
wood is too brittle. The trunk that is to
provide the layers is cut down in the spring,

172

Layering

and the young growths appear on the edges
of the wound. When they are long enough
but are still in the herbaceous condition,
which is most favourable to the development
of adventitious roots, the parent stock is
buttressed and permeable soft earth is heaped
up round the trunk and the base of its off-
shoots. The heap of earth takes the shape of
a truncated cone, with an excavated hollow
at the top to receive the occasional watering
which will keep it suitably cool. In this
healthy environment the young shoots will
soon produce adventitious roots and in the
following year there will be a number of
rooted plants which may be separated by the
knife. The original stock may be used again
for the same purpose. This is called layering
by circumposition.

If we do not wish to cut down the parent
plant in order to obtain offshoots for layering,
and the branch that we want to take root is
too high to be laid on the ground, the follow-
ing expedient may be adopted. A pot split
lengthways or a leaden cornet is fastened to
a shrub, and the branch to be layered is placed
in the pot or the cornet longitudinally. The
pot is then filled with soil or moss which is
kept damp by frequent watering. Adventitious

*73

The Story-Book of the Fields

roots sooner or later appear in this moist
medium. When these are suitably deve-
loped a gradual weaning begins ; a slight cut
is made below the pot and deepened from day
to day. The object of this is gradually to
accustom the layer to do without the parent
stem and to find its own living. At last the
separation is complete. This gradual wean-
ing is also advantageous for layers that are
buried in the ground and ensures the success
of the operation.

If the wood is tender the adventitious roots
start easily from the buried portion, and the
method that has been described will ensure
the success of the layering. But close woods
are less ready to take root and might remain
for a considerable time in the earth without
doing so. In that case art must intervene,
based on the plant's mode of life. We will
recall the effect of a tight ligature on a stem.
The descending sap collects above this line,
as it can no longer continue its course between
the wood and the bark confined by the string.
It accumulates and forms an excrescence, into
which the plant pours the excess of the
arrested matter. If this is buried in moist
ground adventitious roots will soon appear
and facilitate the downward course of the sap.

174

Layering

A small stream of water, uncontrolled, flows
on without making any attempt to overcome
obstacles ; but if we arrest its course the
accumulated water will be able to force its
way through the barrier. This also happens
with the sap. As long as it can travel un-
impeded in its natural course it will not turn
out of its way in spite of the moisture of the
surrounding earth, and unless the weakness of
the wood and bark offers very favourable
conditions it will not waste its energy in
producing roots. But if the natural course
of the sap is arrested it will develop ad-
ventitious roots in order to continue its inter-
rupted progress. The same result is achieved
by removing a ring of bark from the buried
part. The arrested sap forms an excrescence
above the cut in the bark, from which roots
are produced.

Now for the application of these theoretical
principles. If the wood is close and refuses to
submit to the methods of simple layering, the
branch that is to be layered is strangled with
a wire and tightly compressed without break-
ing the bark. The wire must be placed above
a shoot and about the middle of the buried
part. This method of layering is called
wiring.

175

The Story-Book of the Fields

Or else, still in the middle of the portion
underground and just below a shoot, the bark
is cut through all round the branch without
injuring the wood ; a second incision is made
about half an inch below this and the bark
between the two is removed in one piece.
This is called ringing.

Thirdly, and still in the middle of the part
lying in the trench, an oblique incision is
made which penetrates the wood to the pith.
In this way a small tongue is lifted up half as
thick as the branch, which is kept apart by
placing a small stone in the opening. This is
called tonguing. By means of the portion
left whole the branch remains in connec-
tion with the parent plant and receives
its share of raw sap, and from the incised
and raised portion it develops adventitious
roots, because the course of the rising sap is
arrested.

In order to bring into contact with the
moist earth a greater number of wounds able
to produce adventitious roots, the uplifted
piece may be split in two and the two
portions kept apart by a small stone. This
method of double incision is used for trees
which offer the greatest resistance to layer-
ing.

Layering

All these methods, and others derived from
them, have the effect of promoting the
development of adventitious roots by arrest-
ing the progress of the sap at some point
underground.

*77 M

CHAPTER XXXII

Cuttings

A cutting is a branch separated from the
parent plant and placed in conditions suit-
able for the development of adventitious roots.
The branch is placed in the ground in a moist
position where the temperature is mild and
the evaporation will be slow. For delicate
cuttings the shelter of a glass bell is often
necessary so as to keep the surrounding air
sufficiently damp and to prevent the branch
from drying up before it has acquired the roots
to compensate for its loss. As an additional
precaution, if there are many leaves on the
branch most of the lower ones are removed,
in order to diminish the evaporating surface
without affecting the vitality of the plant,
which is strongest at the top. In many cases
this precaution is not required, and for the
vine, willow, or poplar, it suffices to place the
cutting in the ground.

Plants with soft wood full of juice are

179

The Story-Book of the Fields

most easily propagated by cuttings. Such is
the willow, the wood of which is very soft.
With plants the wood of which is close and
hard, the application of this method would be
very difficult or even impossible. It would
inevitably fail if applied to the oak, olive, or
box, and many other plants with a close
texture. Moreover, propagation by cutting
is less certain than by layering. The layer
remains in connection with the parent plant
until it has developed roots, while the cutting,
parted abruptly, has to get through the
difficult time without roots, unaided.

Among fruit-bearing plants there are only
the vine, the currant, the quince and some
varieties of plums and apples that can be
propagated by cuttings. Of forest trees, the
willow and the poplar will easily take root in
this way. A number of decorative species,
herbaceous plants or shrubs, such as the rose,
the jasmine, or honeysuckle, are easily multi-
plied by this method, which is the common
expedient of the florist.

We will consider the simplest case — that
which requires the least precaution. Some
moist ground near water has to be planted
with willows or poplars. At the end of winter
strong branches are cut, as thick as a big

180

Cuttings

walking stick, or a wrist, or even thicker, and
from one to four yards long. The lower
branches are removed, the middle ones are
partly cut away and the upper ones are left
untouched. Lastly, the lower end is pointed
with the hatchet so that it may enter the
ground more easily. The cutting is now
complete and it is only necessary to plunge
the pointed end deeply in the ground and
then to leave it alone. Without further care,
if the ground is suitably moist, adventitious
roots will appear, and each of these roughly
cut posts will become a poplar or a willow.

But other plants do not possess this
tendency to take root, which allows us to
obtain a tree from a post driven in by a club,
and delicate precautions are needed if their
cuttings are to succeed. For instance, there
is the vine, the cuttings of which are the new
branches of the year. These are made into a
sheaf and their lower extremities are soaked
in water for a week or more. Why this long
immersion of the part that is to be put under-
ground ? It is because the outer layer of the
bark is dry and tough, hardly to be pierced
by tender roots, especially if the ground is dry.
This layer is softened by a prolonged stay
under water, and when taken out of the bath

181

The Story-Book of the Fields

the whole of the portion that is to be buried is
slightly scraped, while the part that is to
remain in the open air is left intact. Thus the
outer skin of the bark, which has been
softened by the water, has been removed, and
the obstacle which would hinder the issue of
the roots has been weakened, while the inner
layers, which are the region of the plant's life
work, are left. The small wounds that result
from the scraping, by arresting the sap, pro-
mote the production of roots. When thus
prepared the cuttings are placed in the ground.
Vertical holes are made with a long wooden or
iron dibble in very light ground, so that the
young roots may enter it without difficulty,
and a cutting is placed in each of these holes
at a deptli ol half a yard. Fine earth, well
heaped up, so that it may be equally in con-
tact with the cutting on all sides, completes
the filling up of the hole.

When the plant offers resistance to layering,
the production of adventitious roots is pro-
moted by means of the excrescence formed
by the descending sap, either above a wire or
above the place where a ring of bark has been
removed. The same device may be used for
cuttings. A wire is fastened tightly round
the branch which is to be used as a cutting in

182

Cuttings

the following year, or else a ring of bark is
removed. An excrescence is formed in the
autumn. The branch is then detached and
buried during the winter so that the ex-
crescence may swell and become softer. In
spring it is taken up again and cut back to
only four or five shoots. It is then planted
as an ordinary cutting, when roots will be
developed from the excrescence formed by the
accumulation of the sap.

The advantage given by the excrescence
may be gained without any exertion on our
part. If we pull a twig towards the ground to
break it off from the branch that supports it,
there will be a rent in the angle, and a shield,
or part of the base of the twig, will be de-
tached with it. This shield, when touched up
with the knife to give it a clear section, will
provide all the advantages of the excrescence.
By its abrupt change of direction it arrests
and accumulates the descending sap, and
is thus more fit for the production of
adventitious roots than any other point.

Instead of separating the branch by tearing
off its base, the older branch may be cut
through by the shears, above and below this
base, so that the cutting retains a fragment of
the branch in the shape of a small crozier.

183

The Story-Book of the Fields

With this fragment a kind of natural ex-
crescence, success is more certain than in any
other way.

Finally, we will say something of shoots
used for cuttings, a kind of sowing in which
shoots are used instead of seeds. This, the
most delicate of all methods, is only practised
in exceptional cases. Suppose that we have
only a small number of branches, or perhaps
only one taken from some very rare variety
of vine. We shall wish to obtain the greatest
possible number of cuttings from this one
branch. With this object the branch is
divided into fragments about two inches long,
each of which has a shoot in the middle.
These fragments are cut lengthwise into two
equal parts. The one that bears the shoot
is retained and the other is thrown away.
The fragments thus prepared are laid
horizontally, with the shoot on top, in
excellent soil, the shoot only being left
uncovered. For such sowing to have any
chance of success it will be understood that
special conditions are necessary, which could
not be realised if the operation were per-
formed in open ground. The delicate cuttings
are placed in an earthenware pot or pan and
covered with a bell glass, which secures a

184

Cuttings

moist atmosphere and gentle warmth. As
soon as the roots appear the cuttings are
transplanted to separate pots, where they
remain until they are strong enough to be
planted in the open ground.

185

CHAPTER XXXIII

Draining

At the bottom of a flower-pot there is a hole.
A fragment of earthenware is placed over this
hole, and if the plant is delicate this is covered
with a layer of small stones. When these
preparations are completed the pot is rilled
with earth. What is the use of the hole, the
fragment, and the layer of stones ? Let us
find the answer to this question.

Water is absolutely necessary to plants, for
it is by this means that the different nutritive
substances contained in the earth are dis-
solved, so that they may be absorbed by the
roots. For this purpose the earth entered by
these roots must always contain suitable
moisture, provided either by rain or by water-
ing. But air is no less indispensable. It
purifies the ground and by slow combustion of
the soil gives out a small but constant supply
of carbonic acid gas, which is the food of
vegetable life. Deprived of its life-giving

is7

The Story-Book of the Fields

influence the plant will languish and decay, so
that if vegetation is to flourish the earth must
hold both air and water. But if there is no
hole in the flower-pot, or if this hole is
obstructed, the water will not run out, there
will be no room for the air, and without this
the roots will decay. On the contrary, if
after saturating the earth the water flows out
freely by the hole at the bottom, the damp
earth will be like a sponge, penetrated by the
air throughout, and the plant will flourish.
This is the reason for the fragment of earthen-
ware, which prevents the hole as the bottom
from being filled up, and for the layer of small
stones, which allows the air to circulate freely.
These reasons apply to cultivation on a
large scale as well as to that of a flower in a
pot. After the water has moistened the
ground it must flow away, or else the roots
will decay for lack of air. This is why clay
soil, which retains the water after being
saturated, is bad for cultivation ; while light
soil, composed of sand and clay, which allows
the water to flow away freely, is good. For
the same reason a sandy subsoil is favourable
to vegetation, while a clay subsoil is bad for
it. With a sandy subsoil the conditions are
the same as with a flower-pot open at the

188

Draining

bottom ; while with a clay subsoil they
resemble those of a pot without any opening.
In the former case the superabundant water
flows away and the air comes in ; in the latter
it must remain and the air cannot reach the
roots.

Now we will consider marshy ground. On
account of the stagnant water, either on the
surface or at a slight depth below, nothing
can grow except a few hardy plants, such as
reeds, destined by nature to live in such
situations. Small trenches are dug at a depth
which cannot be reached by the roots ; a layer
of stones is placed at the bottom of these and
they are then filled up with the earth that has
been excavated. These trenches, hidden
underground, slope downwards, and at their
lowest point end in a main channel. The
water with which the ground is saturated
collects in these trenches, flows through the
bed of stones and falls into the main channel,
which carries it to some stream at a distance.
Now our marshy ground resembles the flower-
pot with its hole at the bottom, its frag-
ment of earthenware and its layer of gravel ;
the air can penetrate into it and cause it
to become fertile. This operation is called
draining.

189

The Story-Book of the Fields

When practised in this way draining is a
simple matter ; but it presents a serious
difficulty. Sooner or later the layer of stones
will be filled up by the earth transported by
the water. For this reason the stones are
sometimes replaced by faggots of branches
which are not so easily obstructed ; but a
better result is obtained by channels of
earthenware at the bottom of the trenches.
Sometimes these channels are composed of
tiles similar to those used for roofs, resting
on flat tiles called sleepers. Or again, com-
plete pipes of earthenware are used, loosely
fitted to one another, so that the water may
enter the channel through the joints.

The advantages of draining are not limited
to drawing off the water from ground that is
too damp and to promoting the access of air
to the roots of plants. It also keeps up a
constant moisture in the ground owing to the
water that remains in the drains. When the
base of a heap of sand is immersed in water
the moisture may be seen to rise gradually
until it reaches the top. In the same way in
dry seasons the water in the channels will
penetrate upwards till it reaches the roots,
so that the water which is at certain times
useless or even harmful is held in reserve

190

Draining

and gradually distributed at the right
moment.

Another advantage is to prevent the chilling
of the ground caused by excessive evapora-
tion. While being reduced to vapour the
water chills the objects at the expense of
which the evaporation takes place. On
having a bath we feel cold because the
moisture on our body is evaporated. In the
same way water that is constantly evapor-
ated from the surface of damp ground chills
it and turns it into cold earth ; but if the
water is carried away by draining the evapora-
tion stops and there is no further chill. A
high temperature is always favourable to
vegetation.

Draining is so advantageous that it is not
only practised on damp ground, which, with-
out it would be altogether unproductive, but
also on ordinary arable ground. Whenever
the ground contains too much clay, or even if
the soil is good but the subsoil is clay, the
rain water cannot escape and the earth will
be damp and cold. In course of time, how-
ever, the ground dries up, but the earth which
has not been disintegrated by the action of
air, forms into compact lumps, so that the
roots are alternately first drowned and then

191

The Story -Book of the Fields

imprisoned in hard earth and baked by the
sun. Draining supplies a remedy for these
disadvantages and, therefore, all heavy ground
which retains the rainwater for a long time
before absorbing it *eceives much benefit
from this treatment.

192

CHAPTER XXXIV

Grafting

Grafting is the process of transplanting a
shoot or a branch from its own branch to
another branch, from its own tree to another
tree. The plant which is to be the nourish-
ing support is called the stock, and the shoot
or branch transplanted is the graft.

There is one condition that is absolutely
necessary if this change of support is to
succeed ; the transplanted shoot must find
on its new branch food adapted to its require-
ments— sap similar to its own. This means
that the two plants, the stock and the one
that provides the graft, must belong to the
same species, or at any rate to two that are
very closely allied ; for the similarity of the
sap and its products can only result from
similar organisations. It would be a waste
of time to try to graft the lilac on the rose,
or the rose on the willow ; for these three
species have nothing in common, either in

193 N

The Story-Book of the Fields

leaves, flowers or fruit. An absolute differ-
ence in nutrition must inevitably result from
this difference in structure ; the rose shoot
would starve on a branch of lilac, and the
lilac shoot on the rose. But we can easily
graft the lilac on the lilac, the rose on the
rose, or the vine on the vine. We can even go
further. The peach tree may be made to
support the shoot of an apricot, or the
plum-tree that of a cherry, and vice versa;
for between these pairs of plants there
is a close resemblance that can be easily
recognised. For grafting to succeed the
greatest similarity between the two plants
is required.

The ancients were far from having clear
ideas as to this absolute necessity of similar
organisation. They speak of roses grafted
on holly, with the object of obtaining green
roses ; of vines grafted on the walnut, so as
to produce grapes with huge berries as large
as walnuts. Even in our own time the
question has been seriously discussed of
grafting the vine on a mulberry tree, to give
fresh life to the plants, the roots of which have
been attacked by a louse that lives under-
ground. Such grafts, or any others between
quite dissimilar plants, have never existed

194

Grafting

save in the imagination of those who have
dreamed of them.

We have already seen that, grown from
seed, our fruit-trees do not generally repro-
duce the quality of the fruit from which the
seed was derived. By an invisible tendency
to return to its original condition, the fruit
gradually, in successive generations, loses
the improvements that it has acquired by
cultivation. Thus the pear, after repeated
sowing, would gradually become smaller,
harder and more sour, until it reverted to the
wretched pear of the hedgerow. But this
disadvantage in sowing is compensated for
by a valuable quality. The tree produced
from seed resumes to a certain extent the
hardiness of the wild type. It is immeasur-
ably stronger, healthier and longer-lived
than the perfected tree, the vigour of which
is impaired by the very abundance of
its fruit. The one has the strength, the
other the fine fruit. The two qualities
cannot progress simultaneously. For as
one increases the other must diminish.
These strong plants, produced from seed,
are just those required for grafting. Being
used as stocks they will provide their own
quality of strength, while the graft that

195

The Story-Book of the Fields

is added is responsible for the excellence of
the fruit.

So the seeds of apples and pears are sown,
and the kernels of apricots and peaches, and
on the trees thus obtained, branches are
grafted, taken from pear-trees, apple-trees,
apricot and peach-trees, the fruit of which is
known to be of superior quality. Thus on
the same tree the root and stem of the hardy,
almost wild, kind is allied to the foliage and
flowers of that which is weaker but more
perfect. Any variety of pear-tree can receive
the graft of any pear-tree, or any peach-tree
can receive a graft from any other ; and the
same thing is true for all fruit-trees. This is
called grafting on a free stock. Any wild
pear-tree, cherry or plum-tree growing in
the hedges or woods may be used as a stock.
The splendid rose of our gardens is made to
grow on the common wild rose of the hedge,
whose modest flowers have only five petals,
pale pink and almost scentless. Sometimes
different, but closely allied, species are used.
Thus the pear-tree may be grafted on the
quince, the fruit of which resembles a large
pear ; the apricot may be grafted on the
plum, the peach on the plum, or on the
almond, which resembles the peach by its

196

Grafting

foliage, its early flowering and the structure
of its fruit.

We will notice, as a curiosity, the associa-
tion of several kinds of fruit on the same
plant. By means of grafting the same tree
may bear almonds, apricots, peaches, plums
and cherries simultaneously, because any of
these five species may be grafted on any other
of them. Another may bear at the same
time pears, quinces, medlars, and service
berries. These results are very curious,
though not of any practical interest. It
would be unnecessary to mention them
except for the fact that they afford valuable
information. They show that if by grafting
shoots from another plant are added to a
tree, its growth is not affected by the new-
comers. Whether children of the tree, or
strangers, the shoots develop and bear flowers
or fruit according to their own nature, with-
out copying in any way the habits of their
neighbours. Among the curiosities that have
been obtained by means of such an artificial
association, based on the independence of
the shoots, we may mention a pear-tree on
which every variety of cultivated pear had
been collected by grafting. Whether sour
or sweet, dry or juicy, large or small, green or

197

The Story-Book of the Fields

brightly coloured, round or long, hard or
mellow — all these pears ripened on the same
tree and were reproduced year after year
unaltered, true to the racial character, not
of the supporting tree, but of the different
shoots grafted on to the common stock.

The association of similar plants will not
insure the success of the operation. There
must be abundant contact between the graft
and the stock in their most vital parts, which
are the most capable of uniting. This con-
tact must take place in the interior layers of
the bark, and in the new substances situated
between this and the wood ; for it is in this
region that the life of the plant is most active.
The mature sap descends between the bark
and the wood, where new cells and new fibres
are organised, forming a sheet of bark on
one side and a layer of wood on the other.
It is only in this part that the union between
the graft and stock can be effected.

198

CHAPTER XXXV

Grafting (continued)

There are three principal methods of graft-
ing ; these are side-grafting, grafting of
branches, and grafting of shoots. There are
numerous sub-divisions according to the shape
of the cuts and the treatment of the parts
brought into contact that cannot be mentioned
here. Our discussion must be limited to that
which is essential.

Side-grafting resembles layering, except for
the fact that the plant that is to be used as
the stock takes the place of the earth. In
layering, the formation of adventitious roots
is promoted by burying in the earth a branch
that is still connected with the stem that
feeds it. When, under the influence of the
earth, a sufficient number of roots have been
developed, the branch is gradually weaned
by successive incisions, and finally separated
from the parent plant. In side-grafting the
object is to oblige some branch or twig to

199

The Story-Book of the Fields

take root, not in the earth but in a neigh-
bouring plant, while still connected with the
original stock.

Suppose that there are two trees standing
close together, and that we wish to graft a
branch of one of them on to the other.
Incisions are made lengthways in the parts
that are to be brought into contact of the
same size and penetrating to the pith. These
parts are brought together, care being taken
that the young and active substances, the
internal layers of the bark, and the channels
of the mature sap, should exactly coincide.
The whole arrangement is held in place by
means of bandages, and the two wounds are
left to the slow action of life. Being fed by
its own stem, from which it is not yet parted,
the branch that is to be transplanted mingles
its sap with that of the stock. On either
side fresh substances are organised which scar
over the wounds and join together, till sooner
or later the branch is incorporated with the
foreign stem. The graft must now be weaned,
or gradually deprived of the food provided
by its own stem. This is accomplished, as in
simple layering, by means of successive in-
cisions effected below the join. When it is
thought that the grafted branch is deriving

200

Grafting

all its nourishment from the new stock, it is
completely separated from the parent plant.
This, which is the most elementary mode of
grafting, is sometimes realised accidentally
and independently. If in a hedge there are
two branches in close and prolonged contact,
this point of contact, worn and cut by friction,
will end in becoming a join. Probably
natural occurrences of this kind first inspired
the idea of grafting.

Side-grafting is advantageously employed
when a gap in the form of a fruit tree has to
be filled up. Regular distribution and sym-
metrical branching are desirable for the
satisfaction of the eye, which is always
unpleasantly affected by disorder ; but there
is another and more urgent reason for regu-
larity. A tree bears more fruit if its branches
are equally distributed, so that each may
receive the same share of sap, light and heat.
If there is anywhere a gap among the
branches, side-grafting will provide the means
of filling it up and restoring the symmetry.
A long twig is selected from a neighbouring
branch that can well spare it, and by means
of an incision is brought into contact with the
point that needs supply, which is provided
with a corresponding incision, and the two

201

The Story-Book of the Fields

wounds are fastened together by a bandage.
As soon as the join is complete the twig is
cut below the point of junction, and resumes
its position on the branch that bears it. In
this way the rich branches supply additional
ones to their poor neighbours without any
loss to themselves.

Branch-grafting resembles propagation by
means of cuttings, and consists in transferring
a branch taken from its parent stem to
another plant. The method most generally
practised is called crown-grafting. This is
performed in spring, when the shoots on the
stock begin to develop. The last year's
branches are selected for grafts, strong and
well summered, having become hard wood
in the summer, and able to endure the winter
weather. There is one precaution that is
most necessary. When the branch is trans-
planted, unless it is to dry up and starve, it
must find on its new support nourishment
in proportion to its needs. It would in-
evitably perish if its growth were more for-
ward than that of the stem which is to be
its nurse. The stock must be ahead of it in
growth. For this reason, a month or two
before the grafting takes place, the branches
are cut off and buried in the ground, at the

202

Grafting

base of a wall with a northern aspect, where
they remain stationary, while the stocks are
growing and producing their sap.

Suppose that there is a poor pear tree in
our garden, either grown from seed or brought
from its native wood, and that we wish to
make it produce good pears. The method
to be adopted is as follows. The head of the
wildling is cut clean off, and the surface of
the section is made perfectly even with the
pruning-knife, removing any laceration which,
being slow to heal, might become a centre oi
decay. If the stem is small and is only to
receive one graft, the section is slightly
oblique and a small horizontal notch is cut
on the upper edge. Through this horizontal
notch the stem is split to a depth of three or
four inches. Then one of the branches, which
has been pruned in the way mentioned above,
is taken and cut back to two or three shoots,
the highest of which is to be the end of the
branch. Starting from the lowest shoot, the
branch is cut in the shape of the blade of a
knife, of which the thickest part on the back
is occupied by this same shoot. Then the
graft is placed in the crevice in the stock,
care being taken to apply the bark to the
bark, and the wood to the wood. The whole

203

The Story-Book of the Fields

is fixed with bandages, and the wounds are
covered over with grafting-wax, which is
bought in shops, and kept in place with a few
rags. This wrapping preserves the stump
from the air, which would dry it up. In time
the wounds are healed, and the branch unites
its bark and its wood with the bark and the
wood of the amputated stem. Finally the
shoots of the graft, fed by the stock, develop
into branches, and in a few years the head
of the wild pear tree will be replaced by one
that has been cultivated, yielding pears
similar to those on the tree that provided the
graft.

During the operation of grafting, numerous
shoots will not fail to appear on the stock.
What is to be done with the growths to which
they give rise ? Evidently they must be sup-
pressed, for they would use up the sap in-
tended for the graft. But this suppression
must be effected with discretion. We must
not forget that the most active cause of the
ascent of the sap is the evaporation from the
leaves ; so that until the graft has developed
its shoots and unfolded its leaves, it is well
to respect the young growths of the stock.
They are real helpers, drawing up by their
foliage the juices absorbed by the roots. But

204

Grafting

a time comes when the graft can do this work
for itself, and it must then be relieved of
these fellow-guests which, being stronger than
itself, would soon cause it to starve. The
lower growths are the first to be suppressed,
and then, proceeding gradually upwards, the
highest, which are not removed until the
graft is nearly a foot long.

205

CHAPTER XXXVI

Grafting (conclusion)

The aerial part of a plant and that which
is underground depend on each other, and
the development of the former calls for pro-
portionate development of the latter. If
there are too many leaves the roots will not
be able to feed it ; and if the roots pre-
dominate there will be an excess of sap and
food which cannot be utilised, and which
will burden and injure the plant. Therefore
if the stock has a large stem several grafts
will be required in order that the number
of shoots to be fed may be in proportion to
the roots that have to feed them.

For this purpose the stem is not cut off
in a slant, as if for a single graft, but hori-
zontally. Then it is split right through, on
a line passing through the pith, and two
grafts are inserted in the split, one at each
end. It is obvious that not more than two
can be inserted in the same split, because it

207

The Story-Book of the Fields

is absolutely necessary for the bark of the
graft to be in contact with the bark of the
stock, so that on either side the channels of
the descending sap may communicate and
mingle their new substances. If the size
of the stock requires more than two grafts
it is better, instead of repeatedly cutting
through the centre, to make lateral splits,
which will have less effect on the strength of
the support.

The following method may be adopted,
which does not require the splits which are
so hard to heal in the old wood. Half of the
lower part of the graft is cut away length-
ways, and the thickness of the remaining
half is gradually reduced from the upper to
the lower extremity. When thus shaped
the grafts are inserted between the wood
and the bark of the stock. This operation
is facilitated by the spring sap, when the
bark is easily separated from the wood. If
a rent is to be feared from the graft acting
as a wedge, a slight cut is made in the bark
to admit of free play. In this way the cir-
cumference of the stock may receive as
many grafts as are thought necessary, and
all that is now required is to fix the whole
with bandages and to cover the wounds

208

Grafting

with grafting wax. This method is termed
crown grafting, from the grafts crowning
the contour of the section.

Shoot-grafting corresponds with that
method of propagation by cuttings that con-
sists in placing shoots separately in the
ground. It consists in transferring to the
stock a shoot with the fragment of bark to
which it is attached. If the grafting takes
place in spring, at the awakening of vege-
table life, the shoot inserted in the stock will
unite with it and develop immediately ; but
if it is postponed till July or August, the
time of the autumnal sap, it will remain
stationary during all the autumn and winter,
after becoming incorporated with the stock.

The necessary implement is the grafting
knife, which has a very sharp blade on one
side and a short spatula of bone or hard
wood on the other. The first thing to be
done is to remove the shoot that is to be
transplanted. On a sap-bearing branch a
transverse cut is made with the grafting
knife above the shoot and below it, and then,
holding the knife in one hand and the branch
in the other, a piece of bark is removed
limited by the two cuts. This is called the
shield. The leaf growing at the axil of the

209 0

The Story-Book of the Fields

shoot is removed, but the stalk is left, as it
may be ' used for holding the shield, and
handling it more conveniently. The shield
must have no rent and no sap-wood ad-
hering to the bark. The bark must be
absolutely intact, especially in the internal
layers, which are the seat of life, and the
cavity opposite to the shoot must contain a
small amount of young greenish wood, which
is the germ and heart of the shoot. If,
through unskilful handling, the germ were
removed, the shield must be rejected, as the
graft would certainly be a failure.

Next, a double cut in the bark is made in
the shape of a T, penetrating to the wood
without injuring it. The two edges of the
wound are raised with the spatula, and the
shield is inserted between the bark and the
wood, being held by the leaf stalk that was
left. Then the edges of the wound must be
brought together by some supple and elastic
ligature, which will not arrest the develop-
ment of the shoot. A reed, a thin strip of
some long flexible leaf, or a thread of wool
are most suitable for this purpose. If in
spite of this precaution the ligature were to
become too tight because of the growth of
the graft, it should be relaxed at once. When

2io

Grafting

the shields are incorporated the shoots of the
stock are gradually removed, as was shown
in the case of crown-grafting.

When the stock is too slender to receive a
graft in the usual way, the difficulty may be
overcome by the following method. From
a branch, the same size as the stock, a rec-
tangular piece of bark, furnished with a shoot,
is removed by four strokes with the knife.
This piece is immediately applied to the
stock to serve as a guide, and its outline
is followed by the point of the knife which at
the same time cuts the bark. In this way
a piece of bark of exactly the same size is
removed, which is at once replaced by the
other, held in place by a ligature.

Another way is to make two cuts in the bark
all round the branch above and below the
shoot . A cut is then made lengthways between
the two, and the cylinder of bark is removed in
one piece. On the stock of equal size a
similar cylinder is removed, which is replaced
by the one bearing the shoot that is to be
transplanted.

211

CHAPTER XXXVII

Rotation of Crops.

Dinner at the farm. A great dish of pork
chops and beans is steaming on the table.
Everyone is helped, and it is a pleasure to
see these worthy people eat with their good
appetites. Jim, the big cowman, is the first
to finish. He throws away his bone and
Rover grabs it. Rover lies down on his
stomach and takes the bone between his
fore-paws. You can hear him biting his
hard morsel. How it cracks ! Rover must
not be teased now. An angry growl and the
display of four formidable fangs would warn
the thoughtless person that he must stop
his jokes at once, or else — I would not answer
for what might happen. Rover is not ill-
tempered — far from it ; but Rover has a
right not to be interfered with at dinner. He
does his work as a dog thoroughly. The
night before last wolves were prowling round
the park, and he put them to flight. Let

213

The Story-Book of the Fields

him eat his bone in peace. Puss, the great
red cat, does not agree with this. He
approaches, with fur on end and a tail the
size of your arm, with the object of frighten-
ing Rover and taking awray his food. With-
out dropping the bone Rover growls and
raises one paw. It is enough, and the cat
runs away. But, you impudent pussy, what
business had you here ? The bone is not
for you, and your teeth are not strong enough
to bite it. Run away ; Martha is calling
you to give you some crumbs soaked in sauce,
which will suit you better than a bone as
hard as a stone.

Other guests are arriving. The door is
open, and the fowis come in from the poultry
yard and pick up the crumbs that have
fallen from the table. Rover would not
touch these crumbs ; they are too small
for him. Neither would the cat care for
them, because they are too floury ; but
they are a feast for the fowls.

And so the men, the dog, the cat and the
fowis all dine at once ; only each one must
put up with something that is not wanted by
the others. Rover is satisfied with the bone
thrown away by big Jim, and the cat with a
little crumbs and sauce, which would not be

214

Rotation of Crops

enough for Rover, while the fowls pick up the
crumbs despised by Jim, Rover and the
cat. Martha, as it seemed, had only pre-
pared the dinner for the men and women on
the farm, and behold — by making use of the
remains not wanted by these, many others
have had a share in the repast. With the
leavings despised by man the dog will gain
strength to defend the flock ; the cat will
develop the keen sight and sharp claws with
which it sees and seizes the mice, by means
of the remains left by the dog ; while that
which is scorned by the cat will enable the
fowls to lay their eggs ; and everything,
every single thing, will have been a source
of profit to the farm.

The husbandman, in his turn, in his own
way, prepares the dinner for the harvest, by
spreading manure on the ground — the fertile
corruption which is the favourite food of
the plant. The table is set ; the field is
thoroughly prepared, ploughed and manured.
Who shall be the first guest, since obviously
all cannot be invited at the same time ? Who
shall be summoned first ? It may be wheat,
a plant with particular tastes, but which will
give us bread in return. Suppose that we
sow wheat. If only the weather is favour-

215

The Story -Book of the Fields

able it cannot fail to do well in this ground
overflowing with food. It will select that
which suits it best, and will leave the rest.

It is done. The harvest has been gathered
and abundantly satisfies our hopes. The
wheat has converted the manure deposited
in the ground into splendid grain ; it has
made food out of corruption. It has done
its work well and made a clear sweep. It
has appropriated everything that could be
turned into wheat, leaving nothing behind.
What would happen then if we were to sow
wheat again in the same field ? Just what
would happen to Tom if he had nothing to
eat but the bone left by Jim. He would
die of hunger. Tom requires the food of
man, and wheat must have the food of wheat.
If the first harvest has exhausted all the
wheat-forming materials in the ground, how
can a second crop of wheat be produced ?
It would be impossible, and we should have
either a very poor harvest or none at all.
Therefore wheat must not be sown twice
running in the same field, and the same thing
is true of other crops. Where any plant has
done well in one year the same plant will
not do well in the next, because the sub-
stances that suit this plant will be more or

216

Rotation of Crops

less exhausted. It is folly to invite guests
to a bare table.

If the table were spread afresh, if manure
were again spread over the ground, it would
be a different matter, and the wheat would
do as well as ever. But it would be bad
economy ; for when a meal has been served
it is well to make all possible use of it. Be-
fore we go to fresh expense in manure we
will utilise to the utmost the expense already
incurred. Rover made a good dinner on
Jim's leavings, and the fowls did well on
something that was despised by Rover and
the cat. Let us follow the example of these
feeders, who have successively utilised the
remains rejected by the others. The wheat
has almost, or entirely, exhausted every-
thing that suits itself. But just as the
cowman Jim left the bone, the wheat has
left several substances which are excellent
food for others. To derive every advantage
from the first supply of manure, we must
find a guest of a different nature. This guest
may be the potato. The potato will find
plenty to live upon in ground where the
wheat would have starved, because its tastes
are quite different from those of the cereal.

That makes two ; and we have sacks of

217

The Story -Book of the Fields

potatoes without having spent anything more
on manure. Is that all ? Not yet. After
the wheat and the potato, only scanty food
will be left in the upper layer of the ground ;
but in the lower layers there is part of
the manure carried away and dissolved by
the rain, which could not be reached by the
short roots of the two preceding crops. In
order to make use of these lower substances,
and to bring them to the surface converted
into fodder, we now sow a plant with strong
roots, such as clover or sainfoin, or better
still, lucerne, which penetrates further. And
that makes three.

After clover we might try a fourth crop of
a different kind ; but it is obvious that as
the guests succeed one another at the same
table, the remains must constantly become
more scanty and less fit for use. And before
very long a time will come when all will be
exhausted : the supply of manure will have
given back everything that it possessed.
Then we must set the table afresh, manure
the field, and begin the same crops over again
—or try new ones. We need go no further.
We understand that in order to make the
best possible use of this valuable substance
from which bread, vegetables, fodder, meat,

218

Rotation of Crops

fruit, milk, in a word everything is derived ;
in order to obtain every advantage from the
manure, instead of keeping to the same
plant in a field for several years in succession,
it is better to cultivate in turn different
kinds of plants, so that each of them may
make use of that which is left by those
that came before them. This succession of
different crops is called rotation.

219

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Wine

When wine is made hot a vapour is given
out which will take fire and burn with a
bluish flame. Anyone who has seen wine
heated will remember the curious blue tongues
of flame that escape from the boiling vessel
and hover over the liquid. This inflam-
mable vapour proceeds from alcohol, the
fluid which imparts its properties to wine
and is therefore commonly called spirit-of-
wine. So there are two different fluids in
wine ; alcohol, which is most easily con-
verted to vapour, and water, which evaporates
more slowly. This does not mean that water
has been added to the wine. There is no
fraud connected with this water. It belongs
naturally to the wine, being, like the alcohol,
a product of the grape. WTine is a natural
combination of a small amount of alcohol
with a large amount of water. In cheap

32i

The Story-Book of the Fields

wine the proportion of alcohol varies from
9 to 14 per cent.

Wine is made from the juice of grapes.
This juice when extracted from the sweet
grape has neither the scent nor the taste of
wine, because it then contains no alcohol ;
but it has a sweet and pleasant flavour,
which gives the grape its value as a table
fruit. The grapes owe this taste to a kind
of sugar. If you examine carefully the
raisins that are sold by the grocers you will
see on their surface small white specks,
which crackle when bitten and have a sweet
taste. These specks are tiny lumps of sugar
which have come through as the grape dried.
So there is sugar in grapes.

This sugar is precisely the substance at the
expense of which the alcohol is produced.
That which was sugar in the fresh juice of
grapes is alcohol in the same juice which has
fermented and become wine. We will shortly
consider how this comes to pass.

The vintage is first crushed by men stamp-
ing on it in great vats, and then the mixture
of juice and skins is left to itself. This liquid
mixture soon becomes hot and begins to boil,
sending out great bubbles of gas as if it were
warmed by a fire. This process is called

222

Wine

fermentation : it goes on in the very sub-
stance of the sugar, which is gradually decom-
posed and separated into two bodies, very
different from each other and from the sugar
that produced them. One of these is alcohol
and the other a gas with which we are already
acquainted — carbonic acid gas — the same that
feeds the plants and causes coal to burn, but
which cannot be breathed by animals. The
alcohol remains in the liquid, which gradually
loses its former sweet taste, and adopts that
of wine. The gas, on the other hand, rises,
stirring up the whole with a violent motion
like that of boiling water, and is dispersed in
the atmosphere.

You will remember that carbonic acid gas
is as invisible as air itself, that it has neither
smell nor colour, and will kill at once if
inhaled freely. This will show how dangerous
it would be to enter a vat in a state of fer-
mentation, or even a cellar where there is
not a sufficient draught to carry off the
formidable gas. This should only be
attempted while carrying before one a lighted
taper attached to a long stick. As long as
the taper burns as usual we may advance
boldly — there is no carbonic acid gas. But
if the flame turns pale, diminishes and goes

223

The Story-Book of the Fields

out, we must retreat at once ; for the ex-
tinction of the taper shows the presence of the
gas and to proceed further would expose us to
sudden death.

Let us go back to the wine. We have said
that the sugar which gives the sweet taste to
the must, the juice drawn from the grape,
changes its nature by fermentation and is
separated into two components — alcohol,
which remains in the fluid and transforms it
into wine, and carbonic acid gas, which is dis-
persed in the air. When this process is com-
pleted the wine is drawn off to separate it
from the residuum, consisting of the skins and
pips. The fluid will then contain a large
amount of water derived from the grapes, a
little alcohol from the lost sugar and a colour-
ing matter from the skins of the black grapes.

White wine is made with white grapes,
the skins of which hold no colouring matter ;
but it can be manufactured just as well with
black grapes, however dark they may be.
The whole secret lies in pressing the crushed
grapes before they are allowed to ferment
and thus separating the juice from the skins.
When the skins have been removed the wine
will be white, even if made with black grapes.
The colouring matter of the grapes from which

224 /

Wine

red wines derive their colour is contained
exclusively in the skins. Moreover, it is not
soluble in water, but is easily dissolved in
alcohol. So it is only when the fermentation
has made considerable progress that the
liquid is coloured by the action of the alcohol
in dissolving the colouring matter. If the
skins are removed before the juice ferments
and contains alcohol, the wine will remain
white, since there will be no colouring matter
to be dissolved.

There are some wines that drive out the
cork from their bottles and that are covered
with froth when poured into a glass. These
are sparkling wines. To achieve this result
the wine must be bottled before the fermenta-
tion is complete. The carbonic acid gas,
which is still being produced and which can
find no outlet because of the strong cork that
stops its path, is dissolved in the liquid and
accumulates there, while making a constant
effort to escape. It is that which drives out
the cork with an explosion as soon as the
string that kept it in its place is cut ; it is
that which draws out the liquid in a frothy
stream when the bottle is uncorked and covers
the wine when poured into the glass with a
coating of froth from which a slight crackling

225 p

The Story -Book of the Fields

sound is heard proceeding from the bubbles
of gas bursting in the air.

Sparkling wine has a somewhat sharp but
pleasant taste, caused by the presence of
carbonic acid gas. We can drink, dissolved
in sparkling wine, the same gas which would
kill us if it were breathed in any quantity.
Carbonic acid gas is only dangerous as breath.
Mingled with our drink it only imparts a
slightly sharp taste, which is harmless and
even wholesome, since it promotes digestion.
Almost all the water that we drink holds
carbonic acid gas in solution ; and it is by
means of this gas that water contains the
small amount of mineral substance required
for the formation of the bones. Sparkling
lemonade, cider, beer and seltzer water owe
their sharp flavour and their froth to carbonic
acid gas.

226

CHAPTER XXXIX

Rotation of Crops (continued)

When we say that the ground is worn out
and needs rest, we mean that it has been ex-
hausted by the crops already produced. The
crops deprive the ground of a large amount of
the materials necessary to plant life, and
when there are not enough of these left the
ground will no longer produce and is ex-
hausted. To restore the former fertility
would entail great expense in manure ; so it
is often more profitable to proceed by one or
other of the following methods.

Sometimes the land is left to lie fallow ;
which means that it is left without any
attention for several years. The weeds grow
freely, while the water, air and frost act on
the soil, break it up, lighten it, and promote
the formation of certain substances that are
necessary to vegetation. The weeds are con-
verted into humus and after a time of rest the
ground is able to produce a fresh crop. This

227

The Story-Book of the Fields

method of improvement is very slow and takes
several years. It may be shortened by
ploughing, or even by supplying manure,
although it is not to be sown immediately.

But there is a way of getting crops from the
same land uninterruptedly, unless it is very
poor. All plants are nourished at the expense
of the earth and the air, but some take most
from the former and others from the latter.
The plants which draw most of their food from
the air are those with highly developed foliage,
such as the potato. We know that it is by
means of their leaves that plants absorb the
carbonic gas dispersed in the air, so that the
larger and more numerous the leaves the
more abundant will be the absorption. The
plants that take almost everything from the
ground are those the leaves of which are few,
small and thin, and which can therefore
absorb but little carbonic acid gas from the
air. Such an one is wheat.

On the other hand, nothing of the potato is
used except the tubers, which are only a small
part of the whole plant, while the stalk and
the foliage are buried in the ground and con-
verted into humus. So the potato enriches
the ground with the substances that it has
absorbed from the air ; and gives more than

228

Rotation of Crops

it receives. For this reason it is said to be a
restorative plant. In cereals, on the contrary,
the whole is used — the straw as well as the
grain. Nothing remains in the ground but
the roots, and as they derive almost every-
thing from the ground, because of their scanty
foliage, they receive much more than they
give. They are exhaustive plants.

So it would be impossible, without going to
ruinous expense in manure, to have a crop of
cereals every year on the same ground. But
what would happen if we were to use the wheat
and the potato alternately ? The latter,
deriving most of their food from the air, might
flourish in the ground that was too poor for
the wheat, and their buried tops would restore
some of its former fertility to the ground.
The wheat might then again be cultivated
with success. This practice which consists in
growing successively on the same ground
plants that do not injure one another and get
the best result from the manure expended, is
the rotation of which we have already spoken.
The object is to diminish the amount of
manure required while allowing continuous
crops.

The fundamental principle of rotation con-
sists in causing an exhaustive plant to be

229

The Story-Book of the Fields

followed by one that is restorative ; a plant
with poor leaves by one whose leaves are
highly developed. The principal restorative
plants are clover, lucerne, sainfoin, the
potato, beetroot and turnip. Cereals, on the
other hand, are all exhaustive plants.

Generally a series of different plants is grown
on the same ground. This series comes to
an end in four, five, six or more years, and
then begins again in the same order. The
following is an example of a six-years'
rotation :

ist year
2nd year
3rd year
4th year
5th year
6th year

We will consider this rotation as an ex-
ample. In the first year the ground is
thoroughly manured. One effect of the
manure is the appearance of a number of
weeds which would infect the ground and im-
poverish the crop unless they were carefully
removed. Hence the necessity of weeding.
The weeds are removed either by hand or
with an implement. It is not possible to weed

230

. . potato

. restorative.

. . wheat

. . exhaustive.

. . clover

. restorative.

. . wheat

. . exhaustive

. . sainfoin

. restorative.

. . oats

. exhaustive.

Rotation of Crops

every kind of crop. The plants must be some
distance apart or they would be trodden under
foot, cut off or uprooted by the implement
used. We cannot think of weeding wheat,
because the blades are too close to each other ;
but potatoes, which are far apart, can be
weeded without difficulty. By the weeding
all useless and noxious plants are destroyed
and their return is prevented by pulling them
up before the seed ripens. The ground is
perfectly cleared and prepared to receive a
more delicate crop. This shows the ad-
vantage of anticipating the cultivation of
cereals by that of the potato, or of any other
plant that can be weeded.

The second year will mark the arrival of
the wheat. Having been cleansed by the
former crop the earth produces no weeds. It
needs no more manure ; for although the
tubers of the potato have removed certain
substances, these substances are not the same
as those required by the wheat ; and, more-
over, the heads which have been buried and
converted to humus will compensate for that
which the tubers have taken from the ground
by the matter which they have absorbed from
the air. So the wheat has come at the right
time.

231

The Story-Book of the Fields

But it will not be to our interest to ask the
ground to produce another crop of wheat in
the third year. Exhausted by the crop that
it has just produced the ground would give a
poor result, unless fresh loads of manure were
added, which would entail too great an expense.
So the third year is devoted to the cultivation
of a restorative plant — clover, for instance.
After being used as fodder the last cutting of
the clover is buried, and all its remains — roots,
stalks and leaves — converted into humus
prepare the ground for receiving wheat again
in the fourth year. The same reasons will
necessitate the use of another restorative
plant in the fifth year. This restorative
plant may be sainfoin, which will be followed
by the last crop of cereals, possibly oats.
This will complete the rotation, when the same
series will begin again.

The succession of crops may be varied to
any extent and the rotation may extend over
a longer or shorter period. But one rule must
always be followed, namely, that every crop
of cereals must be preceded by that of a
restorative plant.

232

CHAPTER XL

Burning the Weeds

We see a man on the slope of a hill armed
with a great strong bladed hoe, stripping the
ground by removing great slabs of earth
covered with grass and heather. He places
these slabs upright — either back to back or
rolled over on themselves, or bent into an
arch so that the air may circulate freely and
dry them.

If we return in a few days we shall find that
the sun and air have completely dried them
and the man will be still at work. Now he is
arranging the slabs in a heap, always with the
grass inside, forming a hollow in the middle
filled with brushwood and dry leaves. He
then sets fire to it. Another heap is arranged
in the same way and kindled in its turn.
Soon the hill is covered with a number of
these small ovens, which burn slowly and
send out long trails of smoke. In a few days
— three, four or more — the fire goes out. As

233

The Story-Book of the Fields

soon as the heaps are cold the mixture of
ashes and burnt earth is spread over the
surface of the ground with a shovel. This
operation is called clearing ; and by this
means a piece of ground, which has never been
cultivated and which is covered with its wild
plants, is rendered fit for use.

This clearing produces two effects, one of
which relates to the clay in the ground and the
other to the ashes produced by burning the
weeds. Clay, as you know, is a tough and
sticky substance which cannot be penetrated
by air or water. Therefore ground which
holds too much clay is unfavourable to the
growth of plants, the roots of which always
need air and moisture. But as soon as it has
been strongly heated clay will have very
different properties. It no longer combines
with water, it is porous and permeable and
easily penetrated by air and water. So burn-
ing the weeds improves a clay soil by burning
the clay and making it permeable. This
shows that although this is excellent for a
heavy clay soil it is bad for poor or sandy
ground.

The ashes of the weeds also produce their
effect. After the complete combustion of
any vegetable matter, an earthy powder or

234

Burning the Weeds

ash is left, which contains the mineral sub-
stances existing in the plants. These sub-
stances are not affected by combustion
because of their power of resistance. The
most remarkable of these is potash. All
these substances, which formed part of the
plants that were burnt, are evidently suitable
for assisting in the growth of new plants.
The ashes of the weeds that have been des-
troyed will be of great use to the plants that
will be cultivated by man in the ground that
has been burnt. But we may not profit by
everything contained in the weeds : all that
escapes in smoke is so much loss. The clay
burnt in the slabs of turf renders another
service in this way. Becoming porous by
combustion, it is able to absorb and retain the
gases produced by the burning and so far to
mitigate the loss. But if there is no clay in
the ground the burning is injurious, and it is
better to bury the weeds, which will turn into
humus, instead of their being dispersed in
the air in smoke.

Ashes are also used as manure, though
not often at once, because potash, a very
valuable substance, is extracted from them
for industrial purposes. After this process
t he ashes are called buck-ashes. They contain

235

The Story -Book of the Fields

silex and carbonate and phosphate of lime,
in which condition they are most readily
absorbed by plants. Although not so strong
as ordinary ashes they produce a good result
in clay soil. Coal ash, which contains a
large proportion of burnt clay, is used for
lightening heavy ground.

The consideration of ashes naturally leads
on to that of soot. This consists of vegetable
substances not completely decomposed by
heat. It holds ammonia, so it is very
efficacious as manure. It is spread over
young plants to increase their strength, and by
its bitter flavour keeps off the insects that
attack them.

CHAPTER XLI

The Grain of Wheat

If we examine a seed of chickweed or ivy
that has been split open, where shall we find
the germ, or the little plant in its egg ? It
will be that small, slender, white object,
enclosed in the substance of the seed. That
of the chickweed takes up the whole length
of the seed, but that of the ivy is on one side
at the extremity. A fine line shows where
the two cotyledons, which are now closely
pressed together, will separate. This is the
situation of the tigella, ending in the radicle.
We notice how very small these cotyledons
are, how very different from the enormous
nursing leaves of the almond, the acorn, the
bean, or the pea. These poor breasts will
soon be dry, and if, when the seed awakens,
the ivy and the chickweed had no other
resource, they would soon starve to death.

But we see that under the skin of the seed
there is an abundant floury substance, in

237

The Story-Book of the Fields

which the germ is immersed. This amount
of flour makes up almost the whole of the
seed. This is the supplementary food, the
provision which will assist the cotyledons,
insufficient in themselves. This well-stored
granary that encloses the germ, this magazine
of food, is the perisperm. [Neither the
almond, nor the acorn, nor the pea, nor the
bean, nor any number of others, have any-
thing like it ; beneath the skin of the seed
there is the germ, and nothing else — nothing
at all. The reason for this difference is
easily seen. The almond, the acorn and the
bean, with their great cotyledons swollen
with nutritive food, have no need of a supple-
mentary ration ; their huge vegetable breasts
are enough for the food of the little plant.
But the chickweed and the ivy, with their
poor little cotyledons, need some help, which
they will find in the store of flour of the
perisperm.

So, to satisfy the first needs of the young
plant, the seed may contain a double pro-
vision for food — the cotyledons and the peri-
sperm. All seeds contain the cotyledons,
but the perisperm is not found in all. There
is none in the seed of the almond, the oak,
the chestnut, the apricot, the bean or the

238

■IIMKW'IWl

The Grain of Wheat

pea ; but to make up for this, their cotyledons
are very large. On the other hand, buck-
wheat, chickweed and ivy, which have small
cotyledons, are supplied with it. Generally
speaking, the cotyledons and the perisperm
have a similar office : they supply each other's
deficiencies in feeding the young plant. As a
general rule the seed with large cotyledons
has no perisperm, and the seed with small
cotyledons is provided with it.

Many plants have only one cotyledon, and
this most frequently is a very small one.
It is in these that we find the perisperm. The
grain of wheat is one of the most remarkable
of these. If we cut this seed lengthways and
examine it with the microscope, we shall find
at the base, and on one side, the germ which
forms a very small part of the seed. Above
this is the one cotyledon, which will provide
the first, or seminal leaf, and next to this the
gemmule, from which the following leaves
are produced. At the opposite end there is
a short projection — the radicle, the origin of
the root. Suppose we compare the tiny
cotyledon of the wheat with the two huge
cotyledons of the almond. The latter, with
their rich supply of food, are well able to
feed the growing shrub until the roots are

239

The Story-Book of the Fields

strong enough ; but would it be possible for
the cotyledon of the wheat, so poor and so
small, to act as nurse to the young plant ?
Certainly not : the wheat must have a store
of food, and this store is the perisperm,
which makes up almost the whole of the seed.
This same perisperm, the first food of the
first shoot of the wheat, is also the chief food
of man ; for under the millstone it becomes
flour, which is the substance of bread. But
how does the flour in the perisperm feed the
plant ? We may learn this from a simple
experiment. If we put some wheat in a
saucer and keep it slightly moist, in a short
time the seed will germinate. If we take a
seed as soon as the green point of the young
shoot appears, we shall find it quite soft.
It may now be crushed by the finger, and
will pour out a white liquid with a very sweet
taste, that might be taken for a kind of milk.
You may guess what has happened, from
what you have been told of the wonderful
change that may take place in starch. The
perisperm of the grain of wheat consists
chiefly of starch, and during the process of
germination this store of starch has been
converted into a sugary substance — glucose,
which produces the kind of vegetable milk

240

The Grain of Wheat

which now fills the seed. The germ is
immersed in this sweet fluid ; it is saturated
and penetrated by it like a fine sponge ; and
by means of the material thus absorbed it
increases its own substance, prolongs it into
a root and stem, and forms it into leaves.
The grain of wheat feeds its germ with the
same matter that provides us with bread.

241 Q

CHAPTER XLII

Germination

The germ in the seed seems to be sound
asleep, with its life arrested and suspended.
But by means of certain stimulating con-
ditions it wakes up, throws off its wrappings,
grows strong on its supply of food, unfolds its
first leaves and appears in the daylight.
This development of the seed is called germina-
tion. Moisture, heat and the air are the
causes that determine it. Without the help
of these the seeds would remain good for
sowing for a time, but would gradually waste
away and become incapable of germinating.
No seed can germinate without moisture.
Water plays many parts in the process.
In the first place, it saturates the germ and
the perisperm, causing them to swell more
than their envelope, so that this is forced to
break — even if it is a very hard shell. Through
the crevices of this broken envelope the
gemmule projects at one end and the radicle

243

The Story-Book of the Fields

at the other, and the little plant is now
subject to the influence of the earth and the
air. The germ takes more or less time to
free itself, according to the degree of resist-
ance of the seed-walls. If it is enclosed in a
compact kernel it takes a long time to become
saturated with moisture, and capable of
bursting its cell. For this reason the shells
of very hard seeds are rubbed away on a stone.

Besides this mechanical part played by
water in causing the seeds to open, there is
another which relates to nutrition. The
changes by means of which the food materials
of the perisperm and cotyledons are liquefied
and become capable of absorption, can only
take place through water. Besides this fluid
is indispensable for dissolving the food sub-
stances, introducing them into the young
plant, and distributing them equally through-
out. So it will be seen that as long as it
remains dr}r it is impossible for any seed to
germinate, and if we wish to preserve seeds,
the first thing necessary is to keep them free
from damp.

Warmth is necessary as well as water.
Generally speaking, germination is most suc-
cessful at a temperature of fifty-five to
seventy degrees — that of our spring and

244

Germination

autumn. Above or below this limit germina-
tion will slacken, or cease altogether if the
divergence is too great.

The help of air is no less indispensable.
It would be of no use to submit the seeds
to a suitable temperature and moisture ; if
air is lacking there will be no germination.
This primary condition explains why seeds
that are buried too deeply will not come up ;
why germination is much easier in ground
that is light and permeable by air, than in
that which is more compact ; why delicate
seeds should be covered very slightly with
earth, or only scattered on the surface of the
damp ground ; and why ground that is
turned over is sometimes covered with new
vegetation, resulting from seeds that for
long years have been sleeping inactively and
that the air has caused to germinate when
our excavation has brought them from the
depth to the surface.

With the same conditions of temperature,
moisture and air, all seeds by no means
take the same time to germinate. Cress
will generally germinate in two days. The
parsnip, turnip and bean take three days to
come up ; lettuce, four ; the melon and pump-
kin, five ; and cereals about a week. The

245

The Story-Book of the Fields

rose, the hawthorn, and several fruit trees
with kernels, take two years and more.
Generally speaking, seeds with thick and hard
envelopes are slowest to germinate, because
of the resistance that they offer to the pene-
tration of moisture. Seeds, sown fresh as
they are, when they have just reached
maturity, will germinate sooner than old
ones, because the latter have to regain,
by a lengthy stay in the ground, the
moisture that has been lost by their long
drying.

Seeds, according to their species, preserve
their faculty of germinating for a longer or
shorter time, but there is nothing to tell us
the causes which determine the duration of
this persistence in life. Neither the size nor
the nature of the envelope, nor the presence
or absence of a perisperm, seem to determine
the longevity. One seed will remain alive
for years, or even centuries, while another
will not come up after a few years, for no
reason that we can ascertain. The seed of
angelica will not come up unless it is sown
as soon as it is mature, while beans have been
known to germinate after being kept for
more than a hundred, and rye for more than
one hundred and forty years. When sheltered

246

Germination

from the air some seeds will last for centuries,
capable of germinating as soon as the con-
ditions are favourable. In this way the
seeds of the raspberry, cornflower and camo-
mile, taken from ancient sepulchres, have
germinated as freely as the seeds of the present
year. Seeds of reeds have been grown, taken
from underground in the He de la Seine —
the original site of Paris. These seeds no
doubt date from the time when Paris, then
called Lutetia, consisted of a few huts of
mud and reeds, on the marshy bank of the
river. In spite of these remarkable excep-
tions we must always remember that, for
sowing, new seed is preferable to old ; it
comes up better and more abundantly.

We have mentioned that some seeds are
very slow in coming up. Such, for instance,
are those of the peach, the apricot, and the
plum, which shut out the damp needed by
the germ with the thick wall of their kernel.
If placed in the ground at once, on the same
spot that is afterwards to be occupied by
the young plant, these seeds would be exposed
to many dangers during their tedious germina-
tion. Prolonged rain might rot them, or
many animals that enjoy them, such as rats,
field-mice, jays, magpies or crows, might dig

247

The Story-Book of the Fields

them up for a feast. Besides, they would
occupy the ground in which they had been
sown for a long time unprofitably. These
disadvantages are avoided by means of a
temporary sowing which is called stratifica-
tion. First of all a layer of small stones is
arranged in a large, deep, earthenware pan,
pierced with holes in the bottom, or in any
other receptacle — chest, vase, or tub — pierced
in the same way. The object of these holes
and of this bed of stones is to give free access
to the air and to allow any excess of water
used to escape. Next comes a bed of fine
sandy earth, and then a layer of seeds placed
side by side, covered by another bed of earth.
Over this another layer of seeds is arranged,
which is also covered with earth ; and this
process is continued, placing the seeds and
the earth alternately, until the receptacle is
full. Then the whole is sprinkled with water
and the pan is carried into a cellar or some
dark shed. Now the contents of the vessel
need only be kept suitably moist by occasional
watering. Thus enclosed in a small space,
and easily watched over, without being at
the mercy of thieving animals, or unprofitably
occupying ground that might be used for
something else, the seeds may break their

248

Germination

hard shells at their leisure and germinate as
slowly as their nature requires.

As soon as the kernels are partly open and
show the radicle, it is time to proceed to the
final sowing, and the seeds that have begun
to germinate are placed in the ground,
separately, in the open air, in the place that
the young plant is to occupy.

There is another advantage in stratification.
Fruit trees and others produce a vigorous
tap-root, which enters the ground vertically
to a considerable depth, and presents a
difficulty in transplanting. It would be an
advantage to change this into a shallow root,
branching horizontally. When considering
the root we saw how the nurseryman obtains
the result. With the edge of his spade he
cuts the tap-roots of his young plants clean
off. In stratification the process is much
simpler and more likely to succeed. Before
placing the seed in the ground the extremity
of the tender radicle is nipped off with the
nail. This is enough ; for, deprived of its
extremity, the young root will branch out
horizontally instead of descending in a vertical
direction.

249

CHAPTER XLIII

Animal Helpers

Those animals are helpers that, living with-
out care on our part, come to our assistance
by the war that they wage on the larvae,
insects and other devourers which would
take complete possession of our crops if their
excessive multiplication were not controlled
by others as well as ourselves. What can
man do against their hungry hordes renewed
every year in numbers that defy all calcula-
tion ? Will he have the patience, the skill,
or the eye to carry on a successful war against
the smaller species, when the cockchafer,
despite its larger size, mocks all our efforts ?
Can he undertake to examine his fields sod
by sod, his wheat ear by ear, or his fruit trees
leaf by leaf ? If the human race were to
concentrate its whole strength on this one
occupation it could not accomplish the tre-
mendous work. The devouring brood would
devour us unless others were working for

251

The Story -Book of the Fields

us : others endowed with unwearied patience,
with skill that detects all stratagems, and
with vigilance from which nothing escapes.
To watch for the enemy, to seek him out in
his most hidden retreat, to pursue him with-
out ever stopping, and to exterminate him—
this is their only care, their ceaseless occu-
pation. They are eager and pitiless ; driven
by their own hunger and that of their
families. They live on those that live
at our expense, and are the enemies of our
enemies.

The bat, the hedgehog and the mole, the
owl, the swift, the swallow, and all the small
birds ; the lizard, the adder, the frog, and
the toad— all carry on this great work.
Blessed be God Who has given us the swallow
and the warbler, the red-breast and the
nightingale, the swift and the starling, to
protect us against that mighty eater, the
insect. But these precious creatures, the
salvation of our earthly goods, the delight
of our eyes and ears, find their nests plun-
dered by the stupid and cruel bird-nester.
Blessed be God Who has given us the owl
and the toad, the hedgehog, the bat, and
the adder, the lizard and the mole, to defend
our daily bread. Yet these useful creatures,

252

Animal Helpers

that help us so bravely, are cursed, slan-
dered and foolishly persecuted by aversion
and hatred.

What eccentricity of mind is it that makes
us destroy the animals whose assistance is
so profitable to us ? Almost all our helpers
are persecuted. Their goodwill must be
strongly founded since our ill-treatment has
not driven them from our fields and dwellings
for ever. The bats deliver us from a host of
enemies, and they are outlawed ; the mole
purges the ground of vermin ; the hedgehog
makes war on vipers ; the owl and all night-
birds are clever rat-hunters ; the adder, the
toad and the lizard feed on the plunderers
of our crops — and all these are outlaws.
People call them ugly, and kill them for no
other reason. Blind murderers, will you
never understand that you are sacrificing
your own defenders to an unreasonable dis-
like ? You complain of rats and nail the
owl on your door, allowing its carcase to
dry in the sun — a hideous trophy : you
complain of grubs, and kill the mole when-
ever the spade brings it to the surface ; you
set your dogs at the hedgehog for an amuse-
ment ; you complain of the damage done by
moths in your barns, but if the bat falls into

253

The Story-Book of the Fields

your hands it rarely meets with mercy : you
keep on complaining, and while they are all
working to defend you, you treat them as
accursed. Poor blind and foolish murderers !
Birds that devour insects are of tremen-
dous assistance in agriculture. They share
the work among them in fields, hedges,
gardens and orchards, and wage continual
war against every kind of vermin — that
terrible brood that would destroy the crops
if others beside ourselves did not keep an
untiring watch ; others more skilful, with
keener sight and more patience, and with no
other occupation. It is no exaggeration to
say that if it were not for the insect-eating
birds we should be decimated by famine.
Who but a destructive idiot would dare to
touch the nests of the birds that enliven
the country with their song, and protect us
from the plague of the devouring insect ?
But there are savage boys who, if they can
manage to miss school, weary of books and
lessons, take a delight in climbing trees and
searching hedges, to steal the eggs, which are
pitifully broken, and the poor little dying
nestlings. Let us hope that the game-keeper
will catch these rascals, and that they may
experience all the severity of the law, so that,

254

Animal Helpers

protected by the birds, our fields may pro-
duce their sheaves and our orchards their
fruit.

We will say a few words concerning the
habits of these valuable helpers. The bat
feeds exclusively on insects. None come
amiss to it ; beetles with their hard wing-cases,
skinny gnats, plump butterflies — especially
those of the twilight — moths and all those
destroyers of our cereals, our vines, our
fruit-trees, our woollen materials, which
attracted by the light come in the evening to
burn their wings in our lamps. Who could
tell the number of insects destroyed by the
bats as they circle round the house ? The
prey is so small and the hunter's hunger so
insatiable.

Let us notice what happens on a calm
summer evening. Drawn forth by the mild
temperature of the twilight, a number of
insects leave their retreats and come to play
in the air, to seek their food and to pair. It
is the time when the large night moths fly
hastily from flower to flower, to plunge their
long trumpets into the corolla, and to suck
the honey ; the time when the gnat, greedy
for man's blood, sounds his war-cry in our
ears and chooses the most tender point to

255

The Story-Book of the Fields

insert his poisonous lancet ; the time when
the cockchafer leaves the shelter of the foliage,
unfolds his humming wings and wanders in
the air to seek his fellows. The ephemerids
are dancing in merry bands, that are scattered
like columns of smoke by the least breath ;
the great moths, with wings powdered with
silvery dust, and antennae spread out like
plumes, are gambolling in the air or seeking
convenient spots to lay their eggs ; the little
wood-eating beetles leave their galleries and
wander over the bark of the old tree-trunks ;
the winged insects rise in clouds from the
heaps of corn which they have plundered
and take their flight to fields where the
cereals are ripe ; the pyralids explore the
tendrils of the vine, the apple-trees, the pears
and the cherries — all busy in the work of
providing food and shelter for their disastrous
progeny.

But suddenly among these joyous mul-
titudes come the spoil-sport. It is the bat :
he comes and goes in his crooked and tireless
flight, rising and falling, appearing and dis-
appearing, turning his head this way and
that, and every time capturing some flying
insect, crushing it, and swallowing it in a great
mouth open from ear to ear. The hunt

256

Animal Helpers

prospers. There are crowds of flies and
beetles, and now and then a joyful cry pro-
claims the capture of a plump moth. As
long as the expiring light of evening will
allow the keen hunter carries on his work of
extermination, until with his hunger satis-
fied he returns to his dark and peaceful
retreat. On the next day, and throughout
the summer, the same pursuit will begin
again, always as eager and at the expense
of insects alone. All children should respect
the bat, that helps us by destroying the
robbers of our crops.

257 k

/

CHAPTER XLIV

Animal Helpers (continued)

The food of the hedgehog is chiefly com-
posed of insects. The smallest are despised
and are of no use to it, but the larva of a
cockchafer, or a plump mole-cricket, is a
prime capture. If they are not too deep
down he digs with his paws and nose till he
gets them up. All night he prowls about,
seeking out and devouring any number of
enemies without showing any special pre-
ference.

The following story is taken from a book
by a learned observer: "In a chest in
which a female hedgehog was nursing her
young I placed a strong viper, who rolled
himself up in the opposite corner. The
hedgehog approached slowly, smelling the
reptile, who at once raised his head, assuming
a defensive attitude and exhibiting his poison-
ous fangs. For a moment the aggressor re-
treated, but soon returned boldly, when the

259

The Story-Book of the Fields

viper bit her on the snout. The hedgehog
licked her bleeding wound, received a second
bite on her tongue without showing any
alarm, and then seized the viper by the
middle of his body. The two adversaries
rolled over and over each other furiously,
the hedgehog growling and the viper stinging
repeatedly. Suddenly the hedgehog struck
him on the head, which she crushed between
her teeth, and then quietly began to eat the
front half of the reptile. After this she re-
turned to the opposite corner of the chest,
and, lying down on her side, peacefully
suckled her young. On the next day she
ate the rest of the viper. The same experi-
ment was repeated several times, after an
interval of a few days, and always with the
same result. Notwithstanding the bites that
covered her muzzle with blood, the hedge-
hog always finished by eating the reptile,
and neither the mother nor the young were
ever the worse for it."

We may be sure that it was not without
a purpose that the hedgehog received this
gift of resisting the venom of reptiles. He
must enjoy himself in the places frequented
by the viper ; in his nightly excursions in
the thickets he is able to surprise the snake

260

Animal Helpers

in its lair and to crush its head. What ser-
vice it does in localities infested by this
dangerous brood ! And yet man persecutes
the hedgehog and treats him as a disgusting
animal, only fit to excite the rage of dogs
that cannot bite his prickly back. Children
must not imitate this bad example. They
must respect the hedgehog which delivers us
from the grub and the viper.

What does the mole eat ? The most satis-
factory method of determining the food of an
animal is to examine the contents of its
stomach. We will open the stomach of the
mole and see what it holds ; sometimes red
fragments of the common worm, sometimes
a mass of beetles, that can be recognised
by the tough remains unaffected by digestion,
the scraps of claws and wing-cases ; more
often a mixture of larvae and grubs, especially
those of the cockchafer, known by distinctive
marks, such as the mandibles and the hard
covering of the head. We find something
of all dwellers underground — wood-lice and
centipedes, insects and worms, chrysalids of
twilight moths, and subterranean caterpillars,
but the most careful search will not detect
the least morsel of vegetable matter.

So the mole is exclusively carnivorous.

261

The Story-Book of the Fields

Also, the animal has a monstrous appetite
and a furious digestion, which in twelve
hours require an amount of food equal to
its own weight. The existence of the mole
is one of gluttonous madness, ever reviving
and never satisfied. If the animal fasts for
a few hours it will die of starvation. On
what can it depend to allay the torment of
such a stomach, where food passes, dissolves,
and disappears at once ? On the larvae that
live in the ground, and most of all on those
of the cockchafer, as tender and fat as they
can be. They are small for such an appetite,
but their number makes up for their size.
Then what an extermination of grubs must
be effected by the mole, since the ground is
full of this small prey ! One meal is scarcely
finished before the next begins, and dozens
are consumed on each occasion. There is
no helper equal to the mole for ridding a
field of these formidable destroyers. It is
unfortunate that in order to reach the vermin
on which it feeds, it is obliged to dig among
the roots inhabited by its prey. Roots which
interrupt its work are cut through, plants are
torn up, and the earth from the excavated
galleries is collected in mole hills, which hinder
the work of the scythe when the hay is cut.

262

Animal Helpers

No matter, the damage done by the grubs
would be far more serious, and there is
nothing like the hungry hunter for ridding
a field of these. Children must not disturb
the mole that protects us from the cockchafer.

The toad is harmless, but there is more
than that to commend him to our notice.
He is also a meritorious helper, a greedy
devourer of snails, beetles, larvae, and all
vermin. During the day remaining discreetly
under the cool shelter of a stone, in some
dark hole, at nightfall he leaves his retreat
and makes his round, dragging himself awk-
wardly on his great belly. There is a snail
on its way to the lettuces, a wood-louse on
the threshold of its burrow, a cockchafer
laying its eggs in the ground. The toad
comes very gently, opens a mouth like an
oven, and in three mouthfuls the three are
swallowed up with a smack of the throat as
a sign of satisfaction. That was good, it
really was ! Let us look out for some more !

The excursion is continued. When it ends
at dawn, you can imagine the amount of
vermin of every kind contained in the glutton's
spacious stomach. And there are some who
kill this valuable animal, who stone it to
death because it is ugly. Children must

263

The Story-Book of the Fields

never commit such a cruel action, which is
foolish and harmful ; they must not stone
the toad ; for the fields would be deprived
of a vigilant protector. He must be left
alone to carry on his work as a destroyer of
insects and worms.

264

CHAPTER XLV

Animal Helpers (continued)

It is among birds that our most active helpers
are found. The owls, those nocturnal birds of
prey, hunt in the fields the field mice, those
formidable devourers of our crops ; they also
watch for the rats and mice in our barns.
They are feathered cats, having all the good
points of the domestic cat without its faults ;
fierce destroyers of the small furry races, of
which the mouse is the most familiar example.
They are birds of night, hidden during the
day in some dark retreat, which they only
leave in the evening to hunt in the twilight or
by the light of the moon. Their large, widely
opened eyes allow them to see distinctly in a
very poor light.

We will follow the bird in its nocturnal
excursion. It skims over the barren plain,
the ploughed fields and the meadows. It
inspects the furrows and the grassy lawns
that are the haunt of the field mouse, and the

265

The Story-Book of the Fields

hovels inhabited by the rats and mice. Its
flight is silent, the soft wing cleaves the air
without the least noise, so as not to alarm
its victims. Nothing betrays its sudden
approach, and the prey is seized before the
presence of the enemy is suspected. On the
contrary its exceptionally sharp hearing warns
it of everything that goes on in the vicinity.
If a field mouse disturbs a blade of grass in
passing or stops to gnaw an oat, the sound,
which is imperceptible to any other ear, is
enough for the bird of night. A blow of the
beak breaks the captive's head, and the prey,
after being crushed by the claws, disappears
in the abyss of the throat. Everything, bones
and fur, all goes down. It is seldom that one
victim suffices, and so the hunt goes on. Mice
and field mice follow one another, always
slain by a blow from the beak, and always
swallowed whole. If he comes across any
large beetles the bird will not despise them.
When quite satisfied the nocturnal hunter
returns to his resting-place — the cleft of a
rock, a hollow trunk, or a hole in some hovel.
Children must not disturb the owl : above
all he must not be nailed to the barn door ;
for, far from being an evil-doer, he renders
the most valuable service.

266

Animal Helpers

Almost all small birds are capital cater-
pillar hunters, and without them the produce
of the earth would be in great danger. We
cannot speak of all, but a few at any rate
may be mentioned. The tits are pretty little
birds, lively and sprightly, never still for a
moment, fluttering from tree to tree, carefully
examining the branches, hanging at the end
of the weakest twigs, maintaining themselves
in any position, often head downwards, follow-
ing the sway of their slender support without
letting go and without ceasing their inspection
of the worm-eaten shoots, which they split
open to extract the maggots and the eggs.
It has been calculated that one tit consumes
three hundred thousand insects' eggs in a
year. It is true that it has to supply the
needs of an exceptionally numerous family.
Twenty nestlings and more to be fed at the
same time in the same nest are not too great a
burden for its activity. It is then that the
shoots and cracks in the bark must be visited
in order to catch larvae, spiders, caterpillars
and maggots of every kind to feed the twenty
beaks always gaping with hunger in the nest.
The mother arrives with a caterpillar. The
family is in a state of excitement, twenty
beaks are opened, but only one receives the

267

The Story -Book of the Fields

morsel, and nineteen are left in expectation.
The tit at once sets out on another expedition,
returns, starts again unwearied, and when the
twentieth beak has been rilled the first has
for a long time been gaping with hunger.
You may imagine the amount consumed by
such a household. Whole tribes of birds-
woodpeckers, wrynecks, nuthatches, tits,
wrens and many others, carry on this patient
pursuit, seeking for the eggs in the wrinkles
of the bark and the clusters of leaves, for the
larvae in the scales of the shoots and in worm-
eaten wood ; and for the insects in the
crevices where they lie hidden. In this kind
of hunting the bird has not to follow its prey,
or to vie with it in speed : it is only necessary
to find it in its lair. For this a keen eye and
sharp beak are required ; the wings being
only of secondary importance. But other
races carry on the great hunt in the air ; they
follow in their flight the ephemerids, moths,
gnats or beetles. These need a short but
widely opened beak, which will catch the
ephemerids as they pass, notwithstanding
their uncertain and uncontrolled flight ; a
beak in which the prey is swallowed up with-
out the bird slackening its speed for a second,
and sticky so that a little butterfly cannot

268

Animal Helpers

graze it without being caught fast. But above
all they must have tireless and swift wings,
that will not be wearied by the desperate rush
of a prey at full speed, or outwitted by the
crooked flight of a moth at its last gasp. A
very widely opened beak and highly deve-
loped wings must mark the bird addicted to
the great hunt in the air. These conditions
are shown in the highest degree by the swallow
and the swift. Both of these hunt the flying
insects, coming and going endlessly ; crossing
and recrossing a thousand times, swallowing
the insect in their wide throats and passing on
without stopping for a second.

The grain-eating, or granivorous, bird has a
large conical beak, wide at the base and
strong, because it is intended for opening
hard seeds. Such are the chaffinch, the
greenfinch, the linnet, the goldfinch and the
sparrow. The insect-eating, or insectivorous,
bird has a slight, thin delicate beak, weaker
because destined to catch the soft vermin.
Among these are the nightingale, the warbler,
the wagtail, the wheatear and the stonechat.
Agriculture has no better defenders against
the destruction caused by vermin than these
small birds with their fine beaks ; for they are
eager devourers of larvae and insects. They

269

The Story-Book of the Fields

live exclusively on that which is harmful to us.
But the granivorous birds are not altogether
blameless. There are some who rob the corn-
fields, who extract the wheat from the ear,
and who are impudent enough to claim a share
of the oats thrown to the fowls in the poultry-
yard. Others prefer the juicy flesh of fruit ;
they know before we do when the cherries are
ripe and the pears mellow. But these mis-
deeds are compensated for by many services.
The grain-eaters gather in the fields a great
number of seeds, which if they were allowed to
grow up would infest the crop with weeds.
With this character of weeders they combine
another that is even more deserving. Grain,
it is true, is their usual food, but the insect is
not so much despised that most of them will
not feast on it when abundant and easily
caught. Better still, when young, feeble and
featherless, receiving their beakful from their
parents, many grain-eaters are fed with
insects. The sparrow, for instance, is a
decided grain-eater. He plunders the dove-
cots and the poultry yards, stealing the food
of the pigeons and fowls ; he reaps the corn-
fields near our dwellings before we can.
Many other misdeeds are laid to his charge.
He strips the cherry trees, robs the gardens,

270

Animal Helpers

forages among the rising seeds and refreshes
himself with the young lettuces and the first
leaves of the green peas. But when the time
of laying eggs has come the impudent robber
becomes an exceptionally good helper. Twenty
times in the hour at least the father and
mother in turn bring a beakful to the young
— sometimes a caterpillar, sometimes an
insect large enough to be divided into quarters,
or again a plump larva, a grasshopper or any
other prey. In one week the brood will
consume three thousand insects, larvae, cater-
pillars and maggots of every kind. Round
the nest of one sparrow the remains of seven
hundred cockchafers have been counted,
besides innumerable small insects. This was
the amount of food required to bring up one
brood. So children must not harm any of
the little birds that protect us from the
destructive insects.

Printed in Great Britain Jy Wyman & Sons Ltd., London, Reading and Faketiham.

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

QH Fabre, Jean Henri

The story book of the
F28 fields

BioMed