CHILDREN'S PRATTLE

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

　　a farmhouse1; 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 petals2 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 lark3 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 envious4. "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 fragrance5 they had the

　　haughtier and prouder they were. The peonies puffed6 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 standing7 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 hopped8 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 beak9, 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 vexed10. 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

　　dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird.

　　On the following morning, when the flower once more

　　stretched forth11 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 entirely12 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 lamenting13 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. Alas14! 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 fragrant15 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 anguish16; a faint and mournful "Tweet,

　　tweet," was all it could utter, then it bent17 its little head

　　towards the flower, and its heart broke for want and longing18.

　　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 adorned19 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