THE DAISY故事

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　　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
            
            

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　　    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
            
            

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　　    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
            
            

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　　    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