"Why, am I not the same Daisy? Am I changing to a fairy, like the dame?"
"I fear not; they leave a sort of shadow on your face, and make you homely. It seems to me, Daisy, I'd throw the old things away."
"O, don't say that—not if they make me like the old woman herself. I guess it doesn't matter much how we look down here."
"Down where?"
"Why, on the earth; for you know father was not handsome; and when I saw him in heaven, in my dream, O, he had such a beautiful face!"
So Daisy went on prattling about her father until Susan dried her tears; for when she thought of Peter now, it was not the poor crushed body in the wood, which she had wept about, but the beautiful, smiling angel in paradise.
And when cares gathered thicker about her, and want seemed so near that Susan grew discouraged, Daisy would bring her flowers; and the mother would remember then how they were always looking up to the kind God, and so look up herself, and thinking about him, forget her sorrows and her cares.