“It likewise fills the sails of ships and creates pilots,” observed Willis.

“And brings about shipwrecks,” remarked Jack.

“It conveys the pollen of flowers, and, as I had occasion to state the other day, sows the seeds of Nature’s fields and forests.  It is likewise made available by man in some classes of manufactures—­mills, for example.”

“And it causes the simoon,” persisted Jack, “that lifts the sand of the desert and overwhelms entire caravans; how can you justify such ravages?”

“I do not intend to plead the cause of either hurricanes or simoons; but I contend that, if the wind sometimes terrifies us by disasters, we have, on the other hand, to be grateful for the infinite good it does.  In it, as in all other phenomena of the elements, the evils are rare and special, whilst the good is universal and constant.”

Fritz, as usual, with the dogs and his rifle charged, acted as pioneer for the caravan, now and then bringing down a bird, sometimes adding a plant to their collection, and occasionally giving them some information as to the state of the surrounding country.

“Father,” said he, “I chased this quail into our corn-field; the grain is lying on the ground as if it had been passed over by a roller, but I am happy to say that it is neither broken nor uprooted.”

“Now, Jack, do you see how gallantly the wind behaves, prostrating the strong and sparing the weak?  If you had been charged with the safety of the grain, no doubt you would have placed it in the tops of the highest trees.”

“Very likely; and, until taught by experience, everybody else would have done precisely the same thing.”

“True; therefore in this, as in all other things, we should admire the wisdom of Providence, and mistrust our own.”

“Whoever would have thought of trusting the staff of human life to such slender support as stalks of straw?”

“If grain had been produced by forests, these, when destroyed by war, burned down by imprudence, uprooted by hurricanes, or washed away by inundations, we should have required ages to replace.”

“Very true.”

“The fruits of trees are, besides, more liable to rot than those of grain; the latter have their flowers in the form of spikes, often bearded with prickly fibres, which not only protect them from marauders, but likewise serve as little roofs to shelter them from the rain; and besides, as Fritz has just told us, owing to the pliancy of their stalks, strengthened at intervals by hard knots and the spear-shaped form of their leaves, these plants escape the fury of the winds.”

“That,” said Willis, “is like a wretched cock-boat, which often contrives to get out of a scrape when all the others are swamped.”

“Therefore,” continued Becker, “their weakness is of more service to them than the strength of the noblest trees, and they are spread and multiplied by the same tempests that devastate the forests.  Added to this, the species to which this class of plants belong—­the grasses—­are remarkably varied in their characteristics, and better suited than any other for universal propagation.”