a baker's implements like a signboard. And if you
look at the flax, the most useful of all the plants, you will have to
admit that it is the plant itself which has taught man to spin. Look
right into the heart of the flower and you will find the filaments wound
round the style like flax round a spindle. And to make her meaning even
more plain, nature has planted a parasite, the bind-weed by its side,
which winds itself round and round the plant up and down, to and fro,
like a weaver's shuttle. And isn't it wonderful that not a man, but
a butterfly, first thought of spinning the flax? People call it
'flax-spinner,' for with its own silk and the leaves of the plant it
weaves little sheets and blankets for its young ones. And so cunning it
is that when flax began to be cultivated, it completely adapted itself
to the new conditions, so that the young ones should be hatched before
the flax was harvested. And now, look at the medicinal herbs! Look at
the large poppy, for instance, fiery red it is, like fever and insanity!
But in the heart of the blossom is a black cross, just like the cross on
the chemist's label which he puts on his poisons. In the middle of
the cross is a Roman vase with little grooves. When these grooves are
pricked the drug runs out, the powerful drug, which will call either
death, or death's gentle brother, sleep. Yes, now you can form an idea
of the generosity and wisdom of nature.

"And now, let's see about the goldpowder."

He paused to see whether Little Bluewing was at all curious. But she was
not.

"And now, let's see about the goldpowder," he repeated.

Another pause! No, Little Bluewing could hold her tongue, although she
was as not much more than a baby.

"And now, let's see about the goldpowder," he said for the third time,
"which has flowers like the bird's-eye and leaves like the saxifrage.
That's its distinctive mark, and tells you where water can be found.
The bird's-eye collects dew and water in its leaves, and is in itself a
tiny, clear rivulet; but the saxifrage can break mountain rocks. There
is no spring without a mountain, be the mountain never so distant. This
is what the goldpowder tells all those who can understand its message.
It grows here, on this island, and you shall know the spot, because your
heart is pure. The rich man shall receive water for his parched soul
from your tiny hand, and through you all the island shall be blessed. Go
in peace, my child, and when you come