“Now then,” he said, “let me see how much you remember of our lesson in the woods. I will begin with Dolly”—and Uncle George held up a lovely white flower. “That,” said little Dolly, “is the _wooden enemy_!” Uncle George laughed loudly, and so did the two boys. Dolly laughed too—she did not quite know why. She was a merry little girl, who laughed whenever she got the chance. “You mean _wood anemone_, dear, don’t you?” said Uncle George, as he stroked her pretty curly hair. “Yes, I _mean_ that, Uncle George; but I can’t say it properly,” said Dolly, still laughing. “Oh yes, you can if you try—wood a-nem´-o-ne. It is easily pronounced. Now Frank, it is your turn. What is this one with the great number of yellow petals, the spotted heart-shaped leaves, and the funny fat roots?” “The pilewort, or lesser celandine,” answered Frank. “Quite right! Now, Tom, here is one for you. This plant, you see, has broad kidney-shaped leaves with crimped edges, large yellow flowers, and a coarse round hollow stem. We found it, if you remember, growing in the mud at the edge of the brook.” [Illustration: Marsh Marigold.] “It is the marsh marigold,” said Tom. “Very good! Now this one?” As he held it up all three answered at once—“The primrose!” “We found this one also growing at the edge of the brook.” As he spoke, Uncle George held out a very pretty plant. Its flowers were of a pale pinkish blue colour. They were shaped like the flowers of the wallflower, but were smaller. The flowers were borne up upon a long stalk which sprang from a rosette of pretty little leaves. “It is the _lady’s smock_,” said Dolly; “I remembered that one because it is so pretty.” “Well done, Dolly!” said her uncle proudly. “Now, I think we have quite enough to go on with. Let us take these up one by one and examine and draw parts of them. First take the wood anemone. What do you call this?” Uncle George pointed to the stout part of the plant that had been in the ground. “The root,” said Frank. “No, Frank!” his uncle replied. “But that is what I thought you would say. Now, tell us why you think it is the root.” “Because it grows under ground.” “But roots do not have buds upon them, Frank: and see! flower-stalk and leaf-stalk spring from it, while fibrous, or string like, roots hang down from it.” “It must be a stem, then,” Frank ventured. “It _is_ the stem,” said his uncle. “We have already seen that the creeping crowfoot and ground ivy have stems that creep along on the surface of the ground. “Many plants have stems which creep along under ground. This is an underground stem; and this is another.” Here he pointed to the primrose. “Why, I always thought that that pink thing was the root of the primrose,” said Frank; “but I see now that it is really more like a stem. It has marks upon it like scars.” [Illustration: Plants with Underground Stems] [Illustration]