"He may die, of course," Magnolia said. "I've got to be prepared for that. The soil is different, the air is different, the sun is different. But the chances are, if he survives, he'll turn blue. And if he turns blue, who knows what other changes might be brought about? Maybe the plants on your Earth aren't inherently mindless, Jim. Maybe they just didn't have a chance. 'Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime...?' That land isn't Earth, Jim, so it might just possibly be Elysium." * * * * * Again he didn't say anything. What he wanted to say, he had no right to say, so he kept silent. "It'll be a chance for me, too, Jim. At least we're both plants, he and I. That gives us a headstart." "Yes, I suppose it does." "Intellect doesn't count for much in the propagation of the species. Life goes on without regard for reason, and that's mainly what we're here for, to make sure that life goes on--if we're here for anything at all. Thanks to your kind, Jim, life will continue on this planet; it will certainly be your kind of life--and I hope it can be ours as well." "Yes," he said. "I hope so, too." And he did, but he wished it didn't have to continue in quite that way. Perhaps it was a trick of the three moons, but the holly plant's leaves seemed to have changed color.. They were no longer green, but almost blue--powder blue. "You'd best be getting on to your party, Jim," Magnolia said. "You wouldn't want to be remiss in your duties as host. And please close the door gently when you go inside. The little holly plant's asleep." As he closed the door carefully behind him, he heard a burst of laughter coming from the kitchen, where the guests apparently had assembled--raucous animal laughter--and, rising shrill and noisy above it, Phyllis's company laugh. --EVELYN E. SMITH