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NOW listen! In the country， close by the high road， stood a farmhouse; perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself. There was a little flower garden with painted wooden palings in front of it; close by was a ditch， on its fresh GREen bank grew a little daisy; the sun shone as warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent garden flowers， and therefore it thrived well. One morning it had quite opened， and its little snow-white petals stood round the yellow centre， like the rays of the sun. It did not mind that nobody saw it in the grass， and that it was a poor despised flower; on the contrary， it was quite happy， and turned towards the sun， looking upward and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air. the little daisy was as happy as if the day had been a GREat holiday， but it was only Monday. All the children were at school， and while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons， it sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun and from its surroundings how kind God is， and it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. With a sort of reverence the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and sing， but it did not feel envious. “I can see and hear， it thought; “the sun shines upon me， and the forest kisses me. How rich I am! In the garden close by GREw many large and magnificent flowers， and， strange to say， the less fragrance they had the haughtier and prouder they were. The peonies puffed themselves up in order to be larger than the roses， but size is not everything! The tulips had the finest colours， and they knew it well， too， for they were standing bolt upright like candles， that one might see them the better. In their pride they did not see the little daisy， which looked over to them and thought， “How rich and beautiful they are! I am sure the pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God， that I stand so near and can at least see all the splendour. And while the daisy was still thinking， the lark came flying down， crying “Tweet， but not to the peonies and tulips—no， into the grass to the poor daisy. Its joy was so great that it did not know what to think. The little bird hopped round it and sang， “How beautifully soft the grass is， and what a lovely little flower with its golden heart and silver dress is growing here. The yellow centre in the daisy did indeed look like gold， while the little petals shone as brightly as silver. | 
