“Yes, dear; it’s not so much what we are, or where we are, but what we’re doing, that makes a life of usefulness and fulness,” said Madame Giche, when the ditty came to an end.
“Yes; in filling others’ lives we fill our own. Is that what you mean, Madame Giche?” inquired Inna, leaving the piano, and coming to kneel on the hearth.
“Yes. The daisy wasn’t thinking of what she was doing, but rather of herself; seeking great things for herself, not seeing—poor little thing!—that in just blooming where she was placed she was in a way blessing heaven and earth, and making her own crown; and missing that, her life was a failure.”
Just then in came the three little girls from the park, Miss Gordon with them.
“Oh, grand-auntie, we’ve brought such a lovely bunch of marsh marigolds,” cried Sybil. [p103] “Jenny has them;” and Jenny came forward, dropping on one knee to present them, and tossing her hat on the floor.
The kindly old lady patted the yellow-haired fluffy head, taking the flowers from her, and touching their petals as in fond reverence.
“Children, at the sight of these flowers I always see myself a child again,” said she, a sweet far-away light in her dark eyes.
“And what do you see, grand-auntie—what were you like?” inquired nimble-tongued Sybil.
“Yes, dear Madame Giche, what were you like?” echoed Jenny.
“My dear, I was just what Sybil is now. I half fancy, sometimes, that it must be myself, when I see her running about on the terraces.”