She tripped lightly off; and the Vicar waited till Magda approached—shy at coming, and half disposed to bolt at the last moment. He saw so much. Also, from long experience, he at once recognised that she had something in her mind, which she wanted to bring out.
"How do you do? All well at home?" Though the words were commonplace, his strong hand closed round hers with a fatherly grip which won her confidence on the spot. "I'm glad you have found your way to us. It is time that I should know you better."
She said only "Yes," but there was evident pleasure.
"Fond of flowers?" He drew her attention to a fine bloom. "Is not that a marvel of colouring? Something in the arrangement of those petals speaks of a Mind behind—controlling. A garden has much to say to us, if we will but listen. We don't always."
"I suppose we don't always understand the garden-language," she suggested.
He stooped to gather a daisy from the lawn. "Did you ever come across those lines?—"
"'Small service is true service while it lasts;
The daisy by the shadow that it casts
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.'"
"And here is the dewdrop—see! Able to last till now, because of the daisy-shelter. I have taken the daisy away for another and a higher purpose. But it did its little work first."
"Why higher?"
"It has sheltered a drop of water. Now it serves to illustrate a great truth. That is the more important."