_The Doctor_—“Do you like this stationary life—I mean, living in the same place all the time, unable to move?” _The Lilies_—(Several of them seemed to answer in chorus)—“Why, yes—of course. Being stationary doesn’t bother us. We hear about all that is going on.” _The Doctor_—“From whom, what, do you hear it?” _The Lilies_—“Well, the other plants, the bees, the birds, bring us news of what is happening.” _The Doctor_—“Oh, do you communicate with the bees and the birds?” _The Lilies_—“Why, certainly, of course!” _The Doctor_—“Yet the bees and the birds are races different from your own.” _The Lilies_—“Quite true, but the bees come to us for honey. And the birds come to sit among our leaves—especially the warblers—and they sing and talk and tell us of what is happening in the world. What more would you want?” _The Doctor_—“Oh, quite so, quite so. I didn’t mean you should be discontented. But don’t you ever want to move, to travel?” _The Lilies_—“Good gracious, no! What’s the use of all this running about? After all, there’s no place like home—provided it’s a good one. It’s a pleasant life we lead—and very safe. The folks who rush around are always having accidents, breaking legs and so forth. Those troubles can’t happen to us. We sit still and watch the world go by. We chat sometimes among ourselves and then there is always the gossip of the birds and the bees to entertain us.” _The Doctor_—“And you really understand the language of the birds and bees!—You astonish me.” _The Lilies_—“Oh, perfectly—and of the beetles and moths too.” [Illustration: “_He struck a light_”] It was at about this point in our first recorded conversation that we made the astonishing discovery that the Vanity Lilies could _see_. The light, as I have told you, was always somewhat dim on the Moon. The Doctor, while he was talking, suddenly decided he would like a smoke. He asked the lilies if they objected to the fumes of tobacco. They said they did not know because they had never had any experience of it. So the Doctor said he would light his pipe and if they did not like it he would stop. So taking a box of matches from his pocket he struck a light. We had not fully realized before how soft and gentle was the light of the Moon until that match flared up. It is true that in testing our woods for smoke fuel we had made much larger blazes. But then, I suppose we had been more intent on the results of our experiments than on anything else. Now, as we noticed the lilies suddenly draw back their heads and turn aside from the flare, we saw that the extra illumination of a mere match had made a big difference to the ordinary daylight they were accustomed to. THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER Mirrors for Flowers When the Doctor noticed how the lilies shrank away from the glow of the matches he became greatly interested in this curious unexpected effect that the extra light had had on them.