The sisters lived together comfortably enough in the wood, for the old dame still supplied their wants; and Daisy grew so accustomed to Maud's complaints and reproaches, that she did not mind them so much as at first.
Then it was such a joy when, sometimes, Maud would be pleased and satisfied, and speak a kind word or two, that her sister forgot all the rest.
The fairy had been in the habit, after Susan's death, of taking Maud to the fair sometimes, where she could see the people, and choose handsome gowns for herself, and hear what was going on in the world.
Meantime Daisy would remain at home, cleaning the house and washing Maud's dresses, and baking some nice thing for her to eat when she should come home tired from the fair.
You may think this hard for Daisy; but you are mistaken, this time, for she was never so merry as when working thus alone. There was no one to meddle and complain when she was trying to do her best. Let Maud depart, and all was peace in Daisy's home.
Maud seemed to think that Daisy was made for her servant; and when she wished to enjoy herself alone, or to do some kind deed,—for other people lived, now, in the neighborhood of the cabin,—her sister would always interfere, and complain and whine so grievously that Daisy yielded to her.
But Maud away, and her work all finished in the house, Daisy would clap on her spectacles, and then such a wonderful world as stretched around her! Nothing was common, or mean, or dead; all things were full of beauty and surprise, when she looked into them.
The insects that stung Maud, and made her so impatient, would settle quietly on Daisy's hand, and let her find out how their gauzy, glittering wings were made, and see all the strange machinery by which they could rise and fly, and the little beating hearts and busy heads they had.
Then they would go slowly circling to their homes; and Daisy would softly follow, and find how they lived, and what they ate, and what became of them in winter time, and all about their young.
The birds, meantime, would come and sing to her about their joy, their young, their fairy nests, their homes among the shady summer leaves; the poorest worm, the ugliest spider, had something in him curious and beautiful.