Plants and their children — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Field Botany

Authors: Parsons, Frances Theodora, 1861-1952, Smith, Alice Josephine, 1859-1909 [Illustrator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2023 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Botany -- Juvenile literature; Plants -- Juvenile literature Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 64,146

Reading time 279 min

Text sections 91

The source record for Plants and their children — A Reader’s Guide measures this digital text at 64,146 words, 4 hr 39 min estimated reading time, and 91 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 18.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Botany -- Juvenile literature,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #71942

Parsons frames plant biology as a logical story for children, using cell growth analogies and seasonal reading. Excerpts show a pedagogical voice that treats roots, leaves, and cells as characters in a developmental narrative, not just botanical facts.

Editorial Edition Score 4.9/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg71942

Read the Text

irls sometimes wave their handkerchiefs when they wish to signal other boys and girls, so the apple tree uses its gay flower leaves to attract the attention of the bee, and persuade it to visit the flowers. Of course, really, they are not handkerchiefs at all. They would hardly be large enough for any but fairy noses, would they?

When the bee saw so many bright handkerchiefs waving it welcome, along it hurried; for it knew this was a signal that material for honey making was at hand. Another minute, and it had settled upon a freshly opened flower, and was eagerly stealing the precious sweet.

You children know, that, when you are given permission to go to the closet for a piece of candy or cake, you are not apt to set about it very gently. You are in too much of a hurry for that. Often you come very near knocking everything over, in your haste to get hold of what you want.

And bees are quite as greedy as any boy or girl could be. So our friend dived right into the pretty flower, brushing rudely against the little dust boxes. These, being full to overflowing with golden dust, spilled their contents, and powdered the bee quite yellow.

Having made sure that nothing more was to be found just there, off flew the dusty bee to the next blossom. Into this it pushed its way, and in so doing struck those pins which have no dust boxes; and upon their broad, flat tips fell some of the yellow dust grains with which its body was powdered.

Now there began to happen a strange thing.

But before I tell you more, I must stop one moment to remind you that these pins without dust boxes are joined below into one piece, and that this piece is set deep into the green cup which holds the rest of the flower (see Fig. 4); and I must tell you, that, if you should cut open this cup, you would find a number of little round objects looking like tiny green eggs.

The strange thing that began to happen was this:—

Soon after the yellow dust from the bee fell upon the flat tips of the pins without dust boxes, the little green objects deep within the green cup became full of life, and began to get larger. And not only this: the green cup also seemed to feel this new life; for it too grew bigger and bigger, and juicier and juicier, until it became the fine juicy apple we have before us this morning.

So now you understand a little of what happened to make the great apple take the place of the delicate blossom.

THE APPLE’S TREASURES

If we lift our apple by its stem, it hangs in the same position as when growing on the tree (Fig. 5).

But the blossom whose place in the world is taken by this apple held its little head proudly in the air. So let us put the apple in the same position, and see what is left of the flower from which it has come (Fig. 6).

We see the apple stem, which last May was the flower stem. This has grown thick and strong enough to hold the apple fast to the tree till it ripens and is ready to drop.

The upper part of the stem you cannot see, because the apple has swelled downwards all about it, or upwards we should say, if it were still on the tree.

On the top of the apple, in a little hollow, we see some crumpled things which look like tiny withered leaves.

You remember that when the bee left the yellow dust in the apple blossom, the green cup began to grow big and juicy, and to turn into the apple. And these little crumpled things are all that is left of the five green leaves into which the upper part of the cup was divided. These little leaves have been out in all kinds of weather for many weeks, so no wonder they look rather mussy and forlorn.

It is hard to realize that from the center of this now crumpled bunch grew the pretty apple blossom.

Now where are those tiny round things that were packed away inside the green cup?

Well, as that cup is now this apple, the chances are that they are still hidden safely away within it. So let us take a knife and cut the apple open.

What do you find in its very heart? If you cut it through crosswise, you find five brown seeds packed as neatly as jewels in their case (Fig. 7); and if you cut it through lengthwise, you discover only two or three seeds (Fig. 8).

Continue Reading →

Parsons opens her preface with a threefold aim—practice in reading, amusement, and instruction—and immediately anchors the book to the school calendar. The excerpts reveal a voice that treats plant processes as a narrative: cells are born with power, root hairs make broth, and leaves cook food in the sun. This is not a dry catalog of parts but a story of how a plant builds itself, brick by brick, cell by cell.

The catalog subjects list only 'Botany -- Juvenile literature' and 'Plants -- Juvenile literature,' but the text itself pushes further, blending observation with reasoning. Parsons explicitly wants to train 'powers of observation and of reasoning,' and the excerpts show her doing so through analogy (brick walls, hungry children) and direct address to the reader.

Cells as Builders and Bricks

Parsons introduces plant cells not as static units but as active agents. She writes that a cell has 'the power of giving birth to other cells with like power,' then offers a sustained analogy: imagine a brick that can change into two bricks, and those bricks arrange themselves into a wall. The comparison is deliberately imperfect—she admits that cell division does not explain how different parts (root, stem, leaf) arise—but she uses the puzzle to engage young readers. She likens the difficulty to 'Humpty Dumpty,' a reference that would be familiar to her audience. The key point is that a 'healthy cell is born with the power to do whatever is most needed,' a phrase that personifies the cell as a willing worker. This section shows how Parsons turns abstract biology into a concrete, almost moral story about growth and purpose.

Cooking Broth in the Sun

In the chapter on how a plant's food is cooked, Parsons extends her domestic metaphor. Root hairs make a 'broth' from earthy materials, but it needs 'cooking' before it is fit for plant food. The sun is the 'great fire,' and leaves are the parts 'best fitted to receive the sun's rays.' She asks readers why they eat and drink, then answers: to feed cells that build 'flesh and bone and muscle.' For plants, the same need drives the creation of 'fresh roots and stem and leaves and flowers and fruits.' The language is consistent—'broth,' 'cooking,' 'fire'—and it ties the invisible process of photosynthesis to a child's own experience of hunger and meals. The excerpts do not reveal whether she names chlorophyll or explains the chemical reaction; instead, she keeps the explanation at the level of analogy, trusting that the concrete image will stick.

A Teacher's Manual Disguised as a Story

The preface is as much a guide for instructors as it is an introduction for children. Parsons insists that specimens 'should always be on exhibition in the schoolroom' and that children should 'collect and handle these specimens' themselves. She warns teachers to omit chapters that 'may seem beyond the comprehension of the class,' showing a flexible, child-centered approach. The book is arranged to follow the school year, with chapters keyed to seasons. This structure, combined with the direct address ('you children'), suggests that the text was designed for oral reading in a classroom. The excerpts do not reveal whether the later chapters maintain this seasonal frame, but the opening makes clear that the book's primary audience is not the solitary reader but the group of pupils guided by a teacher. The catalog subjects do not capture this pedagogical scaffolding.

Parsons wrote for a specific moment in educational history—the late-nineteenth-century push for nature study as a tool for logical reasoning. The excerpts show her balancing scientific accuracy with narrative charm, but they do not reveal how deeply she goes into plant anatomy or whether she includes any hands-on activities beyond observation. Readers should approach the book as a period piece that reveals more about turn-of-the-century teaching methods than about modern botany. The illustrations by Alice Josephine Smith, though not excerpted here, likely reinforce the visual, specimen-based approach Parsons advocates.

That little book about plants and their children made me see roots as quiet storytellers, unfolding slowly. It reminded me of another gentle guide, Outlines of Lessons in Botany, Part I; from Seed to Leaf For the Use of Teachers, or Mothers Studying with Their Children — A Reader’s Guide, which holds the same patient wonder. I keep thinking how a leaf’s growth feels like a whispered secret between seasons.