“And is it wonderful, Dr. Sandford?”

“If I could shew it to you, you would think so.  Look here, Daisy—­on the surface of this leaf do you see little raised spots here and there?”

“Yes, I see them.”

“Those are, when they are finished, little baskets.”

“Baskets?” exclaimed Daisy delightedly.  “I can’t see anything like a basket now.”

“No, it is too small for you to see; you must take it on my word, who have seen it.  They are baskets, and such baskets as you never dreamed of.  The shape is elegant, and round the edge, Daisy, they are cut into a fringe of teeth, and each tooth is cut again into teeth, making a fringe around its tiny edge.”

“I wish I could see it,” said Daisy.

“Now if you were my little sister, and lived with me, I could shew you these things in the evenings.”

Daisy responded to this with a very grateful and somewhat wistful smile, but immediately went on with the business in hand.

“Do these little baskets hold anything, Dr. Sandford”

“Yes.  Baskets are always made to hold something.”

“What do they hold?”

“They hold what are called spores; that is, little bits of things which, whenever they get a chance, begin to grow and make new plants.”

“Seeds?” said Daisy.

“They answer the purpose of seeds.”

“How do they get out of the basket? do the winds blow them out?”

“Or the rain washes them out.  If they lie long enough in the basket, they will take root there, and then there is a new plant seen growing out of the old one.”

“How wonderful it is!” said Daisy.

“There is another wonder about it.  It does not matter which way these little spores lie on the ground or in the basket; but the side that happens to be exposed to the light, after a time, prepares itself to expand into the surface of a frond, while the dark side sends down a tiny root.”

“And it does not matter which side lies uppermost?”

“No, not in the beginning.”

“What is a frond, Dr. Sandford?”

“This sort of seed-bearing leaf is called so.”

“How pretty it is!” said Daisy.  “What are these little things like umbrellas?”

“These carry the real seed vessels of the plant.”

“Other seeds.  Dr. Sandford, is everything wonderful?”

“What do you think about it?”

“I do not know but a very little,” said Daisy; “but I never should have thought this little green moss—­or what did you say it was?”

“Liverwort.  Its name is Marchantia.”

“This liverwort; I never should have supposed it was anything but pretty, and of course good for something; but now I never heard anything so wonderful.”

“More than the sun?” said Dr. Sandford smiling.

“It is more surprising, I think,” said Daisy.

“Pray, what makes you conclude so securely that this little Marchantia is good for something?”