"Why?"
"Because, when I first went out, they seemed as if they were dreaming—just as I felt when I dreamed; so that I wondered if they hadn't seen the fairy pass, or if their eyes were sharper than ours, and they could see faces floating in the air when there were none for us. It was damp, at first, and there were great shadows; but presently the sunshine poured in every where, and still they kept looking straight up into the sky—a whole field of them, down by the river bank; and, do see! even these I've brought you are looking up now at our wall as if they could see through it. If God can see through walls, can't we, when we are looking after him?"
"I don't know but we might, Daisy. You ask strange questions."
"Just answer one more, mother. If the flowers have the same God with us, why do they always look so happy, and beautiful, and young? Does he think more of them than he does of us?"
"No, child—not half so much. We suffer because God made us wiser than the flowers."
"Why, they get trampled on, and beaten in the wind, and have their stems broken, and have to stay out doors in the cold all night, (Daisy was thinking of her midnight walk,) and sometimes they don't have any sunshine for a week: we should call that trouble, and I know what I think about it."
"Tell me."
"Why, you see, the flowers are always looking at the sky, and don't mind what is happening around them, nor wait to think who may step on their pretty faces. Suppose we are wiser; why can't we live as they do, mother, and think about God and heaven, instead of always ourselves?"
"I know a little girl who lives very much like them now," said Daisy's mother, kissing her. "But, my dear child, how strangely you have looked ever since you put on those old spectacles!"