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The Daisy

I am sure the pretty lark flies across to them and visits them. Thank God that I stand close enough so that I can see them!" But just as she thought that-keevit -down came the lark!

But he didn't come down to the peonies or the tulips! No, indeed, he flew right down into the grass to the poor daisy, who was so overjoyed that she didn't know what to think.

The little bird danced around the daisy and sang, "How soft the grass is here, and what a lovely little flower! With gold in her heart and silver on her dress!" You see, the yellow heart of the daisy looked like gold, and the little petals around it were silvery white.

How happy the little daisy was no one can conceive. The bird kissed her with his beak, sang to her, and then flew up again-into the bright, blue air. It was at least a quarter of an hour before the daisy could recover from her joy! Then, almost ashamed, yet sincerely happy, she peeped over at the flowers in the garden, for they had seen the honor and happiness that had come to her, and would understand her joy. But the tulips stood up twice as stiff as before, and looked very haughty and very red in the face because they were very annoyed. The fatheaded peonies were jealous-bah! - and it was lucky they couldn't speak, or the daisy would have received a good scolding. The poor little flower could see they were not in a good humor, and that made her very sad.

Just then a girl with a great sharp, shining knife came into the garden, went straight up to the tulips, and cut them off, one after the other. "Oh my," sighed the little daisy, "that's dreadful! It's all over with them now."

Then the girl took the tulips away, and the daisy was glad that she was only a poor little flower that nobody would notice out in the grass. Yes, she felt very grateful indeed. The sun went down, and the little daisy folded her leaves and went to sleep, and dreamed all night about the sun and the pretty bird.

The next morning, when the flower again happily stretched out her white petals, like little arms, toward the early sun, she recognized the voice of the lark, but this time the song was mournful and sad.

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Category: Scandinavian folktales
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