"Dee, dee, Chickadee!

Look beneath the chestnut tree!

Pure as the drifted snow

Doth the dainty Bloodroot blow."



Peter Rabbit pricked up his long ears. "Bloodroot, Bloodroot," repeated Peter to himself. "That must be the name of a flower. I wonder if I know it." He scratched a long ear with a long hind foot as he tried to remember if he had ever seen the Bloodroot. "I must have seen it," he muttered, "but somehow I can't remember what it looks like. It must be one of the very earliest flowers, for Tommy Tit says it is in bloom now."



"Dee, dee, Chickadee!

Look beneath the chestnut tree!"



rang the merry voice of Tommy Tit once more. Away went Peter, lipperty-lipperty-lip, towards the edge of the Green Forest in search of Tommy Tit. He soon found him industriously picking the tiny eggs of insects from the twigs of a tree.

"Hi, Tommy Tit!" called Peter. "Which chestnut tree is it?"

Tommy's tiny black eyes twinkled. "Which chestnut tree is which?" he asked mischievously.

"The one you were talking about. The one you said to look under to see the Bloodroot," retorted Peter.

"Oh," replied Tommy Tit, "that's it, is it? Well, it's right over in the Green Forest. Go look for it, Peter."

"But the Green Forest is full of chestnut trees," replied Peter impatiently.

"So it is. So it is," cried Tommy Tit. "Look under all of them, Peter. Look under all of them and then you'll be sure to find the right one. I have business up in the Old Orchard, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way. If you haven't found the right tree by the time I get back, I'll show it to you." Before Peter could say a word Tommy Tit had flown away.

For a minute or two Peter was so vexed that he quite lost his temper. He stamped the ground angrily. But he was soon over his temper and curiosity started him on his way to look for that chestnut tree. "How can a fellow find the right tree among so many?" muttered Peter, as he hopped down the Lone Little Path. He was so busy thinking about this that he almost forgot to keep his eyes on the ground on both sides of the Lone Little Path.

So it was that he was almost past a certain big chestnut tree, which grew a little to one side of the Lone Little Path, when out of the corner of one eye he saw something white. He stopped for a good look, and then, with an excited jump, he headed straight for that tree. There, near the foot of it, was a beautiful pure white blossom. Peter remembered what Tommy Tit had said about the drifted snow, and he knew at once that he had found the Bloodroot.

If Peter had known anything about measuring he would have said that it was nearly an inch and a half across. There were eight pure white petals, every other one just a wee bit longer than its neighbors. And the heart of it was a golden yellow. Later he discovered some of these same flowers with twelve petals. The stem was quite long, smooth and fairly stout.

Coming up from the ground close to the foot of the stem was a big leaf, which was not as tall as the blossom. This leaf was rounded and had very deep notches, so that it looked almost like a number of small leaves grown together. The underside was rough, for it was covered with fine ribs. But the upper side was quite smooth.

Looking to see if there were more of these blossoms, Peter discovered what seemed like a strange bundle wrapped in silvery green, just pushing up out of the earth. When he looked at it closely he discovered that it was a Bloodroot bud wrapped in one of its own leaves, and thus it was protected from the wind and cold. As it grew higher that leaf would unfold and the blossom would push on and up until it was ready to open. He knew of no other flower that came out of the cold, damp earth so wrapped and protected.

Just then a Merry Little Breeze came dancing along, and when it had passed, several of the petals of the flower he had first seen lay on the ground, for despite its courage in blooming so early in the spring the Bloodroot is a most delicate flower. Like some of the other flowers Peter had found, it closes at night and on dull, dark days is never wide open.

As Peter turned to look for more of these little blossoms he accidentally stepped on a leaf and broke it off. A red juice came from it. Had Peter dug down and broken a piece of the root he would have found still more of that red juice. It is this that gives the plant its name of Bloodroot. Once upon a time the Indians used this juice for paint, and so in some places the plant is still called Indian Paint.

Peter soon discovered more of these dainty flowers growing under the trees, — maples and oaks, as well as chestnuts. Then he understood that the Bloodroot is a lover of woodland, regardless of the kind of trees growing there.

Oddly enough, the Bloodroot is related to one of the most gorgeous of flowers, the California Poppy, for it is a member of the Poppy family. Its beautiful, brilliant cousin Peter had never seen. But had he lived out in the wonderful State from which the flower takes its name, it would have been perhaps more familiar to him than any other flower, for there in its season it covers the fields as with a cloth of orange. Or had he visited Farmer Brown's flower garden he might have found it there, for so beautiful is it that in the East, where it does not grow wild, it is cultivated in gardens. It seems strange that the modest little Bloodroot is related to such a gloriously brilliant flower as the California Poppy.

Presently Peter made another discovery that almost made him forget the Bloodroot. Just a little way from where he had found the first Bloodroot he came upon a little group of flowers which, when he first saw them at a distance, he thought to be Bloodroot. But when he had hopped over to them, he knew right away that they were not even related.

At first glance these also seemed white, but when he looked closely Peter found that some had the most delicate tint of pink on the outside, while others had just the faintest touch of blue. The flowers were not as large as those of the Bloodroot. But it was in the stalks and leaves that Peter found the greatest difference. The stalks were very slender, and springing out from each stem, about a third of the way from the flower to the ground, were three to five leaves, each one deeply cut and notched. They grew out from the same point on the stem so that they made almost a circle around it. There was only one flower on each stem.

"Wood Anemones!" cried Peter in sheer delight. "I had forgotten that it was time for these. They are the Windflowers. How I love them!"

Just then, as if to show Peter why these lovely blossoms are called Windflowers, a Merry Little Breeze came dancing along, and all the flowers swayed and nodded and bent this way, that way, and the other way. Peter remembered how the petals of the Bloodroot had dropped at the rude touch of one of these Merry Little Breezes. But the Anemones were quite unharmed. Even had rough Brother North Wind blown upon them they would simply have bent until he had passed, then lifted their lovely heads again. This was because of those slender, wiry stems.

Just by chance Happy Jack Squirrel came along and dug for a buried nut. In doing this he uncovered the root of one of the Anemones, and Peter saw that the root, instead of going straight down into the ground, turned sharply and ran along just under the surface. It was quite thick and stout and from it grew many little roots in all directions. Then Peter understood how the Anemone is anchored in the ground and can stand the rude winds without being torn up.

The finding of the Wood Anemones or Windflowers reminded Peter that the spring before he had seen other flowers so like them that he had guessed right away that they were cousins. He wondered if he could find these now, and promptly began to look. He didn't have to look far. In fact, he found them only a few hops away, for these cousins are most neighborly. Peter was glad of this, for it gave him a chance to compare the two.

The plants were much alike in the way they grew. These cousins also had slender stems, and the leaves were divided into leaflets. Such leaves are called compound. They, too, grew out from the same point on the stem so as to form almost a circle. But while there was just a single blossom of the Wood Anemone nodding above its circle of leaves, there were two or three blossoms above the leaves on each stem of the Rue Anemones, for this is the name these dainty blossoms bear. The flowers were smaller. Most of them were pure white, though some were tinged with pink. They were for all the world like many-pointed little stars with yellow centers.

Remembering what Happy Jack Squirrel had accidentally shown him about the roots of the Wood Anemone, Peter dug down beside one of the Rue Anemone plants. Instead of a root like its larger cousin, he found the Rue Anemone had a cluster of little bulbs like very tiny sweet potatoes.

"Well," declared Peter. "If I couldn't tell those cousins apart by the flowers, I certainly could by the roots. But I guess there never will be any trouble in telling these two apart. All I have to do is to remember that the Wood Anemone has only one blossom, and the Rue Anemone has two or three. It is great fun hunting for spring flowers. It certainly is. I wonder what one I shall find next."