When at last Peter bade farewell to Longbill the Woodcock he headed towards the Green Forest which began just beyond the edge of the swamp. Here the ground was still damp and rich. Peter was thinking of the beautiful Arethusa as he hopped along rather aimlessly. Presently his attention was caught by what appeared like curious, little, green, folded umbrellas pushing their way up through the earth. Peter's curiosity was aroused at once and he stopped to look at them. Of course he saw immediately that they were leaves which had not yet opened.

"Now I wonder what these are," said Peter to himself, and looked around for some fully opened. He didn't have to look far. All about were plenty of them. They were beautiful great leaves nearly a foot across, each cut into five to nine long, narrow parts starting from a common center. If the folded leaves looked like closed umbrellas, the open leaves were quite as much like opened umbrellas. They were dark green above and much lighter green beneath. Though Peter didn't know it children often call them Umbrella Plants.

Of course Peter at once began to look for flowers. He found one presently. It was a little more than a foot from the ground, nodding from a very short stem which grew out from a point on a stalk where two leaves similar to those he had been looking at, but smaller, sprang out.

The flower was pure white, almost round, saucer-shaped, about two inches across, and was waxy looking. In this one there were six petals, and these were covered with a network of very fine veins. There were twice as many stamens, each with a big yellow anther, arranged in a circle around a large pistil. Looking among other plants Peter found more of these pretty flowers, some of them having as many as nine petals. He had to look to find them, for most of them were quite hidden beneath the broad umbrella-like leaves.

Of course Peter smelled of them, and he promptly turned up his wobbly little nose. They were good to look at, but not to smell of. He knew what they were. Long ago he had learned not to eat the leaves of this plant, for they were poisonous. It was the Mandrake, or May Apple. Because in midsummer it bears a yellow fruit it is also called Wild Lemon and Hog Apple. The latter name is given it in the South, where hogs delight to eat the fruit.

"Three flowers this morning," said Peter to himself. "I wonder what the next one will be." He found out in a very few moments. Leaving the Mandrake he went on up among the pine trees, and there almost at once he caught sight of a whole colony of quaint, little, pink flowers only a few inches above the ground. Delightedly he hurried over to them.

There was something about them that at once reminded him of the Arethusa he had left so short a time before down in the swamp. It was the fact that these little flowers also had colored sepals which looked like petals. There were five sepals, but only two of them were colored, and these two were rose-pink and like a pair of wide-spreading wings. They were much larger than the three other sepals.

The three true petals were formed into a slender tube, and the lower one, which was parted and extended beyond the others, was beautifully fringed. Within this tube were six stamens and a single pistil. In most cases there were two to four flowers on short, slender stems growing from among the oval-shaped leaves clustered at the top of a stalk.

The flowers reminded Peter of gay little butterflies. In fact they are often called Gay-wings, but their proper name is Fringed Milkwort, for they belong to the Milkwort family. Fringed Polygala is another name for them, and they are also called Flowering Wintergreen. The reason for this Peter found out. Accidentally he uncovered the root of one and out of curiosity smelled of it. It smelled like Wintergreen.

A thing that Peter didn't know, and that very many people do not know, is that these strange little plants have two kinds of flowers entirely different. One of them is borne underground, strange as that may seem. Probably you would not recognize it as a flower if you should see it. But it really is one. It is Old Mother Nature's provision to insure seeds in case something happens to the gay little flowers above ground. The leaves of the Fringed Milkwort remain on the plant through the winter, becoming reddish in color.

When Peter left the bright little Gay-wings he decided that he had seen enough for one day and would go home to the dear Old Briar-patch. Perhaps his conscience pricked him a little for having left Mrs. Peter there alone to care for their lively youngsters.

On his way across the Green Meadows he suddenly remembered that it was a long time since he had had breakfast. He knew of a certain patch of Clover which he had not visited for some time, so he promptly turned in that direction. When he reached it, he discovered that since his last visit something had happened in that patch of Clover. All over it were what at a distance appeared to be white flowers. But close to some proved to be pure white, some a creamy white and many decidedly pinkish.

Of course, like the Red Clover, what appeared to be a single flower was made up of tiny flowers growing in the form of a head, but smaller and not so pointed as the head of the Red Clover. How sweet they smelled! It seemed to Peter he could not get enough of their fragrance.

And how busy Busy Bee and her friends were among them. Well they knew that there is no nectar like the nectar of the White Clover for making honey, and they didn't intend to miss a drop of it.

There was little for Peter to learn about this Clover, for had it not been one of his favorite foods ever since he was big enough to nibble? Unlike the Red Clover it is a creeping plant, spreading over the ground and frequently taking root at the joints. There are no leaves on the flower stems and the plant never grows high. Its leaves are divided in three parts like all Clovers, and usually there is a V-shaped whitish band on each leaflet.

Of course, Peter knew nothing about the good fortune that is supposed to follow the finding of a Clover leaf divided into four parts, but he could have told anyone who asked him that this is the kind of Clover which most often has the four-parted leaves. He had found many of them in his time.

There is a relative of the White Clover known as the Tree Clover because sometimes it gets to be almost ten feet high. This one is also called White Sweet Clover, Honey-lotus and the White Melilot. It has a widely branching stalk and the flower heads are long and slender.

Peter ate his fill and then once more started for the dear Old Briar-patch. Happening to glance up he discovered Redtail the Hawk high in the blue, blue sky. Redtail saw Peter at the same instant. It was fortunate for Peter that he had not far to go. And how he did go! It was hard work running on a full stomach, but the mere thought of Redtail's great claws gave added speed to Peter's long hind legs. He reached the dear Old Briar-patch just in time, for hardly had that funny little white tail of his disappeared as he dived into one of his private little paths under the brambles when Redtail checked himself in the midst of a headlong rush downward, and with a scream of disappointment flew away.

"Why don't you stay at home?" demanded timid little Mrs. Peter sharply. "One of these days that fellow will catch you on one of these foolish trips of yours."

"They are not foolish trips," retorted Peter. "I learn something on every one of them, and nothing is foolish which adds to one's knowledge. I wish, my dear, you could have seen the flowers I saw this morning."

"Pooh!" said little Mrs. Peter, turning up her wobbly little nose. "I have something more important to think about than flowers." And with that she went to look after her babies.