nt from falling down."

"Oh, look!" cried Mab, as she passed one stalk of corn that was larger
than any of the others. "There's something growing on this that's just
like my doll's hair. I'm going to pull it off."

"No, you mustn't do that," her father said. "That is corn silk."

"Oh, I know what it is," said Hal. "It's brown stuff and sometimes when
you're eating corn it gets in your mouth and tickles you."

"Corn silk isn't brown until it gets old and dried," said his father. "At
first it is a light green, like this. And the silk is really part of the
corn blossom."

"I didn't know corn had a blossom," said Mab.

"Yes," said her father, "it has. Part of the blossom is up top here, on
these things that look like long fingers sticking out," and he pointed to
the upper part of the stalk. "On these fingers grows a sort of fine dust,
called pollen, and unless this falls down from the top of the corn stalk,
and rests on the silk which grows out from the ear, there would be no more
corn seed. Or, if corn seed, or kernels, did form on the ear, they would
be lifeless, and when planted next year no corn would grow from them. The
pollen dust and the silk must mingle together to make perfect ears of
corn, so don't pull off the silk, even if you do want to make it into hair
for your doll."

Mab promised she would not, though she loved the feel of the soft corn
silk. Then she and Hal noticed where some of the light yellow pollen had
already been blown by the wind down on the silk to help make the perfect
ear of corn.

As the children walked along through the garden with Daddy Blake they
heard voices over the fence where Mr. Porter lived. Then they heard Sammie
calling:

"Oh, Daddy! Look what I got! It's a big green bug, an' Roly-Poly is
barkin' at him! Come quick!"

"I hope Roly-Poly isn't making any more trouble as he did with the fly
paper," said Mr. Blake as he walked toward the fence.

CHAPTER VII

EARLY TOMATOES

"What's the matter, Mr. Porter?" asked Mr. Blake, looking over the fence
where Sammie's father was working in his garden. "Has our little poodle
dog been scratching up your plants?"

"Oh, no. Roly is very good. He seems to know we want the thing's in our
gardens to grow, and he only walks carefully between the rows, and doesn't
scratch a bit," answered the neighbor.

"What is he barking at now?" asked Mab, for the little poodle dog had
crawled under the fence and had gone next door, as he of