Then the little girl remembered how long she had been away from home, and hurried back to tell her mother about the bridge, stopping now and then to snatch a flower as she passed. Her hands were full when she bounded into the cabin; and she looked as bright, and fresh, and full of joy as any thing out doors.
But her mother sat in a corner, feeling very sad, and hardly looked at Daisy's flowers, and said it was nothing to her how bright the sun shone so long as it never could rest again on Peter's face.
"Why," said Daisy, "I thought father was happy in heaven, and where he did not have to work so hard, and there were never any storms, and the flowers were prettier than these."
"That is true enough," Susan answered; "but it will not keep us from being lonely, and cold, and hungry, too, sometimes."
"But we are not hungry now, and perhaps the queer old dame may bring us some more of her bread, or else I'm pretty sure the fairy will take care of us. Who feeds the flowers, mother?"
"God."
"What, ours—up in heaven?"
"There is only one God, Daisy; he gives us meat and milk, and gives the flowers dew and air."
"Then I suppose they were thinking about him this morning."