"Isn't this pleasant!" exclaimed Daisy at length, dropping her work into her lap. "Isn't it just as pleasant as it can be, Nora?"
"Yes," said Nora, working away.
"Just see the river—it's so smooth. And look up into the leaves;—how pretty they are!—and every one of them is trembling a little; not one of them is still, Nora. How beautiful the green is, with the sun shining through! Wouldn't you like to be a bird up there?"
"No," said Nora; "I'd rather be down here."
"I think it would be nice to be a bird." said Daisy; "it must be pleasant up in those branches—only the birds don't know anything, I suppose. What do you think heaven must be like, Nora?"
"Daisy, you're so funny. What makes you think about heaven?"
"Why, you know," said Daisy slowly, "I expect to go there. Why shouldn't
I think about it?"
"But you won't go there till you die," said Nora.
"I don't see what that has to do with my thinking about it. I shall die, some time."
"Yes, but Daisy, don't be so queer. You are not going to die now."