"It seems such a pity, to me, to pick them and let them wither," said Mrs. Evringham.
"Why, I think they only seem to wither, mother," replied Jewel hopefully. "A daisy is an idea of God, isn't it?"
"Yes, dear."
"When one seems to wither and go out of sight, we only have to look around a little, and pretty soon we see the daisy idea again, standing just as white and bright as ever, because God's flowers don't fade."
"That's so, Jewel," returned the mother quietly.
The child drew a long breath. "I've thought a lot about it, here in the ravine. At first I thought perhaps picking a violet might be just as much error as killing a bluebird; and then I remembered that we pick the flower for love, and it doesn't hurt it nor its little ones; but nobody ever killed a bird for love."
Mrs. Evringham nodded.
"Now it's my turn to choose," began Jewel, in a different tone, settling herself near the seat her mother had taken.
Mrs. Evringham opened the book and again read over the titles of the stories.
"Let's hear 'The Apple Woman's Story,'" said Jewel, when she paused.