ayed, and laughed, and danced for joy, because a baby friend was
three years old that day; and once I stood at the right hand of a
gray-haired minister, in a crowded church, and heard him say, 'Solomon
in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.' But, dear, simple,
wee things, you don't understand that, do you? I forgot to whom I was
talking. They go to a large city, where nothing is seen but brick and
stone buildings and hosts of people, and nothing is heard but the sound
of voices and footsteps, and the ringing of bells, and the tramping of
horses, and rolling of wagons, and where there are no bees, nor
butterflies, nor birds, save canaries that live in cages, and sparrows
that can live anywhere."

"But the daisies are never taken to the city," said the daisies, after a
short pause, "and they are flowers as well as the verbenas and pinks."

"Bless your innocent little hearts! I know they are," said the lily.
"But the fact is, no one cares to buy daisies."

"So nobody cares for us in the big city," said the daisies to each
other, "and yet the butterflies and birds tell us we are very pretty."

But the lily was mistaken, for the very next morning the gardener came
out into the meadow with a trowel in his hand, and digging up some of
the largest daisy plants, replanted them in a large flower-pot.

"Somebody wants us after all," they called to the grass, and the
dandelions, and the other daisies, as they were carried away, "and we
shall see the fine houses, and perhaps live with lilies, roses, and
geraniums all the rest of our lives. Good-by, dear friends, good-by."

In a short time the daisies found themselves in a market-place--not
among cabbages and tomatoes, but at the end of a row of blooming plants
from the garden at which they had so often peeped through the fence. But
they had scarcely had time to look about them when they saw a shabbily
dressed boy coming slowly toward them--slowly, poor fellow, because one
of his feet was sadly misshapen, and in his arms he carried a heavy
bundle of newspapers. He looked eagerly at the gardener as he came near.

"I've got your daisies, my boy," the man called, cheerily. "Here they
are, still wet with the dew, as handsome daisies as ever I saw. You must
keep them in the shade a day or two, giving them a drink now and then,
and I don't doubt they'll do finely. Will you take them now?"

"Yes, sir, thank you," said the boy, his whole face lighting up, and his
pale che