She knew very well that the reason was, Daisy had never found any one to believe in what she saw, and that even her mother laughed at her for wearing such old things.
Maud snatched them eagerly now from Daisy's hand, but said, at first, she could only see the lightning and the rain, and then suddenly dashed them on the ground, with a frightened cry.
For she had seemed, all at once, to stand out in a lonely wood, by night, and to look through the ground, at her feet, and see as plainly as by daylight the dead form of her mother, with the rain drops, that pelted every where, dripping upon the flowers which Daisy had put in her folded hands.
Maud would not tell this to her sister, but said peevishly, "Your old glasses are good for nothing, as I always thought; and you only want me to wear them so as to spoil my beauty, and make me as homely as you. Tell me again about the place you saw our mother in, though I don't believe a word of what you say."
Daisy knew better, and answered, "It was a more beautiful city than any we ever thought about in the world. This earth seemed like its cellar, it was so dull and cold here after I had seen that glorious light; the trees looked in it as if they were made of gold."
"O, you are always talking about light and trees; tell me about the people and the houses."
"The houses were so bright, I cannot tell you exactly how they looked; the foundations of them were clear, dazzling stones, of every color; even the streets were paved with glass; and the walls were gold, and the gates great solid pearls!"
"What nonsense, Daisy! Didn't the shop-keeper tell us, at the fair, that one little speck of a pearl cost more than my new gown? Now, what of the people?"
"You didn't look at the houses, after once seeing them; they had such lovely faces, and such a kind, gentle look, I could cry at only thinking of them now."
"Don't cry till you've finished your story. Were any of them handsomer than the rest? And what kind of dresses did they wear?"