Peter had it on the tip of his tongue to ask Mrs. Grouse if she had seen any other spring flowers which he had not found, when they were startled by grunting and low growls, with an occasional little whine mixed in. Neither Peter nor Mrs. Grouse needed to be told who was making that noise. Very cautiously they stole along until they could peep down in a hollow. Just below them was Buster Bear. Yes, sir, it was great big Buster Bear.

Buster was very busy. He was digging. He was hard at work digging. But by the sounds he was making, it was clear that he was getting a lot of pleasure out of his work. The ground was soft down there, and Buster was tearing it up with his big claws, every now and then stopping to pick up something and eat it with the greatest satisfaction.

"What do you suppose he is finding down there?" whispered Peter, his eyes fairly popping out with curiosity.

"I haven't the slightest idea," replied Mrs. Grouse. "Whatever it is, he is digging it out of the ground. Perhaps he is getting roots of some kind. I have been told that Buster Bear eats various kinds of roots early in the spring when other food is hard to find. When he goes away we will go down there and see if we can find out what he has been digging."

So Peter and Mrs. Grouse watched Buster Bear until finally he stopped digging and shuffled away. When he was out of sight, Peter and Mrs. Grouse went down to where he had been at work. All about the soft, black earth had been torn up, but for some time they found nothing to show why it had been torn up. Then the sharp eyes of Mrs. Grouse discovered a little round root called a bulb, with little short roots growing out from it. She guessed right away that it was bulbs like this that Buster had been digging for, and that this was one he had missed. She called Peter over.

Peter looked at the little bulb and then sniffed at it. It didn't smell particularly good, nor did it smell particularly bad. In fact, there wasn't much smell to it.

"If Buster Bear likes these funny little roots so much, they must be good eating," said Peter. I wonder what they taste like."

"It's easy enough for you to find out," replied Mrs. Grouse. "I don't eat roots myself, or I would sample that one. Try it, Peter, and then you will know what it is like."

Peter didn't need any urging. Already curiosity had possession of him. He set his sharp teeth in that bulb and bit off a little piece. Then Peter Rabbit went crazy! At least Mrs. Grouse thought he had gone crazy. He jumped as if he had suddenly felt the sharp little lance of Lady Bumblebee. He danced about frantically. He rolled over and over. The tears ran down his cheeks. For a long time he couldn't say a word. You see his mouth was all puckered up. When he could speak he gasped, "I — I — I — I'd like to know what Buster Bear's mouth is ma-ma-made of!"

Of course Mrs. Grouse couldn't tell him. But she did show him a few minutes later what kind of a plant he had tasted the root of. She had found one which had been dug up, but from which the root had not been broken.

"Why, it is Jack-in-the-pulpit!" exclaimed Peter in surprise.

And so it was. There was no mistaking Jack-in-the-pulpit for any other plant. A little way off they found two or three more plants. Coming straight out of the ground was a thick, green stalk from which grew a long-stemmed, three-parted leaf which looked like three leaves. At the point where the leaf sprang out from the stalk grew, at the end of a smooth stem, what looked very much like a striped, leafy vase with a top curving over in a pointed flap. It was green, striped with purple. But growing not far away was another which was light green striped with darker green.

Rising straight from the center, so as to peep out of that leafy vase, was Jack himself, in reality a smooth, green, little club-shaped part of the plant. If Peter had known anything at all about pulpits and preachers, which of course he didn't, he would have understood at once why this odd little plant is called Jack-in-the-pulpit.

"I wonder," said he, talking to himself more than to Mrs. Grouse, "if that whole thing is the flower." Then there popped into his head a memory of the Skunk Cabbage he had found before sweet Mistress Spring really had arrived. He remembered those strange hoods, and how he had found the tiny flowers inside. Could it be that this leafy vase was for the same purpose as the stout hood of the Skunk Cabbage, to protect the real flowers?

Peter sat up in front of Jack-in-the-pulpit and tried to peep down inside. But that pointed flap which formed a sort of roof over Jack was in his way, and do what he would he couldn't see to the bottom.

"What under the sun are you trying to do, Peter?" demanded Mrs. Grouse.

"I'm trying to see if there are any flowers inside," replied Peter.

"Flowers!" exclaimed Mrs. Grouse. "Why, that whole thing is a flower, isn't it?"

"That's what I want to find out," retorted Peter. "I have an idea that it isn't. I have an idea that the real flowers are inside. I suppose I can tear this open and find out, but I hate to do it."

"There's one over there on the ground that Buster Bear dug up. Let's have a look at that one," said Mrs. Grouse.

So together they walked over to a plant that lay broken and trampled in the mud. The leafy vase had been torn on one side. Eagerly Peter peeped within. Sure enough, close around the base of the little green "Jack", at the very bottom of the vase, were tiny, greenish-yellow blossoms. Peter would hardly have known them for blossoms had he not seen those of the Skunk Cabbage.

"I thought as much," cried Peter happily. "Do you know, Mrs. Grouse, I believe Jack-in-the-pulpit must be a cousin of the Skunk Cabbage, because it protects its flowers in the same way."

Peter was right. The Jack-in-the-pulpit belongs to the same family as the Skunk Cabbage. It is the Arum family. That leafy vase is for the same purpose as the hood of the Skunk Cabbage, but because the weather is warmer when the Jack-in-the-pulpit appears, the flowers do not need as much protection as do the flowers of the Skunk Cabbage. Had Farmer Brown's boy happened along he might have told Peter that "Jack" is also a cousin of the beautiful Calla Lily. He could also have told Peter that Jack-in-the-pulpit is often called Indian Turnip, because long ago the Indians discovered that when the roots are properly cooked they no longer sting and burn in the mouth, but are excellent food.

"Speaking of flowers, have you seen the Columbine yet?" Mrs. Grouse asked, when Peter's curiosity had been quite satisfied.

Peter pricked up his ears. "I don't believe I know the Columbine," said he, though it was hard to admit that there was anything he didn't know.

"Oh, yes, you do," replied Mrs. Grouse. Come with me."

She led the way through the Green Forest to the hill where Peter had first found the Saxifrage. Straight up the hill she went until they reached a place where it was rocky and in spots the earth barely covered the rock. It was open and sunny up there. Suddenly Peter fairly squealed with delight.

"Of course I know the Columbine!" he cried, as he hurried over to the nodding red-and-yellow blossoms of a plant with several branches, and which was a little more than a foot high. "Of course I know the Columbine! It had slipped my mind, that was all. Aren't these flowers lovely?"

"You said it, Peter Rabbit, and they are just as sweet as they are lovely," said a sharp, squeaky voice. "There is no flower I love more than I do the Columbine."

It was Hummer the Hummingbird who had spoken, and now his wonderful little wings, moving so swiftly that they made a humming sound, held him stationary in mid-air before one of the blossoms while he sucked the nectar from it. Then like a flash he had moved to another. So in turn he visited every one, and then darted away in search of more. He was gone before Peter could find his tongue.

Peter hopped a step nearer to look more closely at one of the blossoms. Without it was bright scarlet, while within it was bright yellow. It hung face down from a slender stem that bent over at the end. There were five petals, but these were unlike any petals Peter had seen, though in a way they reminded him of the strange little bag-like petals of the Dutchmen's-breeches. Instead of being flat each petal was in the shape of a tiny cone, tapering down very small and ending in a little rounded point. Hanging head down as the flower did, these little cones all pointed up. Peter counted them on several blossoms. In every case there were just five. Thrust out from the heart of each flower were many stamens, each with its tiny package of yellow pollen at the tip. With them were five other little threadlike parts without the little pollen holders at the tips. These are called pistils. Together the stamens and pistils were quite like a little tassel hanging from the center of the flower.

The leaves were light green above and beneath were almost whitish. They were divided into leaflets, each leaflet again divided into three or more parts with rounded notches on the edges. The stems were slender and somewhat wiry. With every passing Merry Little Breeze the flowers swayed and nodded.

For a long time Peter sat where he could look at and admire these brightest of the spring flowers. He watched Hummer the Hummingbird dart from one to another, not missing a single flower. Now he understood why Old Mother Nature had given Hummer that long bill, for without it he couldn't have reached the nectar held in the little rounded tip of each of those odd petals. What Peter didn't know was that Hummer carried the pollen from one flower to another, and thus paid for the sweets he gathered.

A memory of the boy and girl he had twice found gathering wild flowers came to Peter, and his face darkened. "I do hope they won't come up here," thought Peter. "If they should try to pick these flowers they would be almost sure to pull the plants up by the roots, and then never again would this old hillside be as beautiful as it is now. How it must hurt Old Mother Nature to see thoughtless people destroy the beauty she has worked so hard to create! I'm coming up here every day as long as the Columbine is in bloom."