To go on with our tree--we will take the root, and there is a Stringy Bark blown over in the last storm. And a strong root it has, too. How the wind must have puffed to overcome the weight of all the gravel and clay resting on that lot of roots, especially as they held the gravel like so many fingers. So these are the suckers of moisture and food out of the soil. Yes, but you do not see the real suckers. They are very small, and were broken off and left behind. Those are called _spongioles_, because they suck up like a sponge. They are situated at the ends of the small fibres of roots, and have their mouths always open. Yet I don’t see why the moisture rises. If I put my mouth into the rain cask, the water will not rush up into it. Your mouth is too big. Supposing you put a lump of salt near a little water, so as to be touched, what will be the result? The salt will gradually absorb the water, until there be none left. After dipping the corner of a towel in the basin, and hanging it up by the opposite corner, does not the dampness run down when drying? No, the moisture ascends and wets the dry part of the towel. So you see, then, that the water in small particles can arise in the pores, or narrow openings of substances. This is because the sides attract it, and the process is called _capillary_, or hairlike, _attraction_. On this principle the moisture rises into the rootlets through the spongioles. Is that all the work they do? Sometimes these fibres reject things not wanted in the tree, and that often prove poisonous to its growth. Such important little workmen as the spongioles ought not to be disturbed in their labour, and this is what makes the difficulty in moving trees. I know that most of those I move are sure to die. But gardeners are more lucky. The reason is, because they do it at a proper time. What, father, can we catch the spongioles asleep? Not exactly; but they only live a year, and you must take up the tree between the time of the death of one set, and the production of another, which is the winter season. Even then you should get up as many fine roots as possible, for at the end of these the spongioles grow. All roots are not alike, father. That is true: some are creeping, or fibrous, or bulbous, or knobbed, or taprooted. Can you give me instances of each? Let me see. The mint spreads underground by its creeping roots. The potatoe is knobbed, and the onion and tulip are bulbous. The grass is fibrous, and the parsnip has a tap root.” * * * * * So much for the root. Now let us look at the bark. I suppose you have noticed the difference of the bark of our forest trees. I know that they shed their bark, though not in the same way. The stringy bark peels off in strings. The gum throws out fine long ribands, waving in the wind. The iron bark sheds its thick coat in great lumps. But does the whole of the bark thus fall off?