"I
thought it was the colour of the rock."
"That goes to prepare soil for the mosses, Daisy."
"Oh, how, Dr. Sandford?"
"In time the surface of the rock is crumbled a little by its
action; then its own decay furnishes a very little addition to
that. In favourable situations a stray oak leaf or two falls
and lies there, and also decays, and by and by there is a
little coating of soil or a little lodgment of it in a crevice
or cavity, enough for the flying spores of some moss to take
root and find home."
"And then the moss decays and makes soil for the ferns?"
"I suppose so."
Daisy stood looking with a countenance of delighted
intelligence at the great boulder, which was now to her a
representative and witness of natural processes she had had no
knowledge of before. The mosses, the brakes, the lichen, had
all gained new beauty and interest in her eyes. The doctor
watched her, and then scrambled up to his feet and came to her
side.
"Look here, Daisy," said he, stooping down at the foot of the
rock, and showing her where tufts of a delicate little green
plant clustered, bearing little umbrella-like heads on tiny
shafts of handles.
"What is that, Dr. Sandford?"
"Something wonderful.
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