THE DAISY故事

　　 Now listen! In the country, close by the high road, stood

　　 a farmhouse; perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself.

　　 There was a little flower garden with painted wooden palings

　　 in front of it; close by was a ditch, on its fresh green bank

　　 grew a little daisy; the sun shone as warmly and brightly upon

　　 it as on the magnificent garden flowers, and therefore it

　　 thrived well. One morning it had quite opened, and its little

　　 snow-white petals stood round the yellow centre, like the rays

　　 of the sun. It did not mind that nobody saw it in the grass,

　　 and that it was a poor despised flower; on the contrary, it

　　 was quite happy, and turned towards the sun, looking upward

　　 and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air.

　　 The little daisy was as happy as if the day had been a

　　 great holiday, but it was only Monday. All the children were

　　 at school, and while they were sitting on the forms and

　　 learning their lessons, it sat on its thin green stalk and

　　 learnt from the sun and from its surroundings how kind God is,

　　 and it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so

　　 sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. With a sort of

　　 reverence the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and

　　 sing, but it did not feel envious. "I can see and hear," it

　　 thought; "the sun shines upon me, and the forest kisses me.

　　 How rich I am!"

　　 In the garden close by grew many large and magnificent

　　 flowers, and, strange to say, the less fragrance they had the

　　 haughtier and prouder they were. The peonies puffed themselves

　　 up in order to be larger than the roses, but size is not

　　 everything! The tulips had the finest colours, and they knew

　　 it well, too, for they were standing bolt upright like

　　 candles, that one might see them the better. In their pride

　　 they did not see the little daisy, which looked over to them

　　 and thought, "How rich and beautiful they are! I am sure the

　　 pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God, that

　　 I stand so near and can at least see all the splendour." And

　　 while the daisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down,

　　 crying "Tweet," but not to the peonies and tulips- no, into

　　 the grass to the poor daisy. Its joy was so great that it did

　　 not know what to think. The little bird hopped round it and

　　 sang, "How beautifully soft the grass is, and what a lovely

　　 little flower with its golden heart and silver dress is

　　 growing here." The yellow centre in the daisy did indeed look

　　 like gold, while the little petals shone as brightly as

　　 silver.

　　 How happy the daisy was! No one has the least idea. The

　　 bird kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then rose again

　　 up to the blue sky. It was certainly more than a quarter of an

　　 hour before the daisy recovered its senses. Half ashamed, yet

　　 glad at heart, it looked over to the other flowers in the

　　 garden; surely they had witnessed its pleasure and the honour

　　 that had been done to it; they understood its joy. But the

　　 tulips stood more stiffly than ever, their faces were pointed

　　 and red, because they were vexed. The peonies were sulky; it

　　 was well that they could not speak, otherwise they would have

　　 given the daisy a good lecture. The little flower could very

　　 well see that they were ill at ease, and pitied them

　　 sincerely.

　　 Shortly after this a girl came into the garden, with a

　　 large sharp knife. She went to the tulips and began cutting

　　 them off, one after another. "Ugh!" sighed the daisy, "that is

　　 terrible; now they are done for."

　　 The girl carried the tulips away. The daisy was glad that

　　 it was outside, and only a small flower- it felt very

　　 grateful. At sunset it folded its petals, and fell asleep, and

　　sp; dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird.

　　 On the following morning, when the flower once more

　　 stretched forth its tender petals, like little arms, towards

　　 the air and light, the daisy recognised the bird's voice, but

　　 what it sang sounded so sad. Indeed the poor bird had good

　　 reason to be sad, for it had been caught and put into a cage

　　 close by the open window. It sang of the happy days when it

　　 could merrily fly about, of fresh green corn in the fields,

　　 and of the time when it could soar almost up to the clouds.

　　 The poor lark was most unhappy as a prisoner in a cage. The

　　 little daisy would have liked so much to help it, but what

　　 could be done? Indeed, that was very difficult for such a

　　 small flower to find out. It entirely forgot how beautiful

　　 everything around it was, how warmly the sun was shining, and

　　 how splendidly white its own petals were. It could only think

　　 of the poor captive bird, for which it could do nothing. Then

　　 two little boys came out of the garden; one of them had a

　　 large sharp knife, like that with which the girl had cut the

　　 tulips. They came straight towards the little daisy, which

　　 could not understand what they wanted.

　　 "Here is a fine piece of turf for the lark," said one of

　　 the boys, and began to cut out a square round the daisy, so

　　 that it remained in the centre of the grass.

　　 "Pluck the flower off" said the other boy, and the daisy

　　 trembled for fear, for to be pulled off meant death to it; and

　　 it wished so much to live, as it was to go with the square of

　　 turf into the poor captive lark's cage.

　　 "No let it stay," said the other boy, "it looks so

　　 pretty".

　　 And so it stayed, and was brought into the lark's cage.

　　 The poor bird was lamenting its lost liberty, and beating its

　　 wings against the wires; and the little daisy could not speak

　　 or utter a consoling word, much as it would have liked to do

　　 so. So the forenoon passed.

　　 "I have no water," said the captive lark, "they have all

　　 gone out, and forgotten to give me anything to drink. My

　　 throat is dry and burning. I feel as if I had fire and ice

　　 within me, and the air is so oppressive. Alas! I must die, and

　　 part with the warm sunshine, the fresh green meadows, and all

　　 the beauty that God has created." And it thrust its beak into

　　 the piece of grass, to refresh itself a little. Then it

　　 noticed the little daisy, and nodded to it, and kissed it with

　　 its beak and said: "You must also fade in here, poor little

　　 flower. You and the piece of grass are all they have given me

　　 in exchange for the whole world, which I enjoyed outside. Each

　　 little blade of grass shall be a green tree for me, each of

　　 your white petals a fragrant flower. Alas! you only remind me

　　 of what I have lost."

　　 "I wish I could console the poor lark," thought the daisy.

　　 It could not move one of its leaves, but the fragrance of its

　　 delicate petals streamed forth, and was much stronger than

　　 such flowers usually have: the bird noticed it, although it

　　 was dying with thirst, and in its pain tore up the green

　　 blades of grass, but did not touch the flower.

　　 The evening came, and nobody appeared to bring the poor

　　 bird a drop of water; it opened its beautiful wings, and

　　 fluttered about in its anguish; a faint and mournful "Tweet,

　　 tweet," was all it could utter, then it bent its little head

　　 towards the flower, and its heart broke for want and longing.

　　 The flower could not, as on the previous evening, fold up its

　　 petals and sleep; it dropped sorrowfully. The boys only came

　　 the next morning; when they saw the dead bird, they began to

　　 cry bitterly, dug a nice grave for it, and adorned it with

　　 flowers. The bird's body was placed in a pretty red box; they

　　 wished to bury it with royal honours. While it was alive and

　　 sang they forgot it, and let it suffer want in the cage; now,

　　 they cried over it and covered it with flowers. The piece of

　　 turf, with the little daisy in it, was thrown out on the dusty

　　 highway. Nobody thought of the flower which had felt so much

　　 for the bird and had so greatly desired to comfort it.

　　 THE END