CHAPTER XI
JUDY'S PARTICULAR ADVENTURE
Adventure means saying Yes, and being careless; children say Yes toeverything and are very careless indeed: even their No is usually aYes, inverted or deferred. "I won't play," parsed by a psychologist,means "I'll play when I'm ready." The adventurous spirit accepts whatoffers regardless of consequences; he who hesitates and thinks is but aPoliceman who prevents adventure. Now everything offers itself tochildren, because they rightly think that everything belongs to them.Life is conditionless, if only people would let them accept it as itis. "Don't think; accept!" expresses the law of their swift and fluidbeing. They act on it. They take everything they can--get. But it isthe Policeman who adds the "get," changing the whole significance oflife with one ugly syllable.
Each of the children treasured an adventure of its very own; anadventure-in-chief, that could not possibly have happened to anybodyelse in the world. These three survivals in an age when educationconsiders childhood a disease to be cured as hurriedly aspossible--took their adventure the instant that it came, and each witha complete assurance that it was unique. To no one else in the worldcould such a thing have happened, least of all to the other two. Eachtook it characteristically, according to his or her individualnature--Judy, with a sense of Romance called deathless; Tim, with ataste for Poetic Drama, a dash of the supernatural in it; and Maria,with a magnificent inactivity that ruled the world by waiting forthings to happen, then claiming them as her own. Her masterly instinctfor repose ran no risk of failure from misdirected energy. And to allthree secrecy, of course, was essential: "Don't never tell the others,Uncle! Promise faithfully!"
For to every adventure Uncle Felix acted as audience, atmosphere, andchorus. He watched whatever happened--audience; believed in itsreality--atmosphere; and explained without explaining away--chorus. Hehad the unusual faculty of being ten years young as well as forty yearsold, and a real adventure was not possible without him.
The secrecy, of course, was not preserved for long; sooner or later theglory must be shared so that "the others" knew and envied. For onlythen was the joy complete, the splendour properly fulfilled. And so theold tired world went round, and life grew more and more wonderful everyday. For children are an epitome of life--a self-creating universe.
That week was a memorable one for several reasons. Daddy, overworkedamong his sealing-wax, went for a change to Switzerland, taking Motherwith him; Aunt Emily, in her black silk dress that crackled withdisapproval, went to Tunbridge Wells--an awful place in another centurysomewhere; and Uncle Felix was left behind to "take charge of''em'"--"'em" being the children and himself. It was evidence ofmonumental trust and power, placing him in their imaginations evenabove the recognised Authorities. His sway was never for a momentquestioned.
"No lessons, then!" he had insisted as a condition of acceptance, andafter much confabulation the point was yielded with reluctance. It wasto be a fortnight's holiday all round. They had the house and groundsentirely to themselves, and with the departure of the elders a sheetwas pulled by some one off the world, a curtain rolled away, anotherdrop-scene fell, the word No disappeared. They saw invisible things.
Another reason, however, made the week memorable--the daisies. It wasextraordinary. The very day after the grown-ups left the daisies came.Like thousands of small white birds, with bright and steady eyes, theyarrived and settled, thick and plentiful. They appeared in sheets andcrowds upon the grass, all of their own accord and unexplained. In anight the lawns turned white. It seemed a prearranged invasion. Judy,first awake that morning, looked out of her window to watch a squirrelplaying, and noticed them. Then she told the others, and Maria, one eyeabove the blankets, ejaculated "Ah!" She claimed the daisies too.
Now, whereas a single daisy has no smell and seems a common,unimportant thing, a bunch of several hundred holds all the perfume ofthe spring. No flowers lie closer to the soil or bring the smell ofearth more sweetly to the mind; upon the lips and cheeks they are assoft as a kitten's fur, and lie against the skin closer than tiredeyelids. They are the common people of the flower world, yet have, invirtue of that fact, the beauty and simplicity of the common people.They own a subdued and unostentatious strength, are humble and ignored,are walked upon, unnoticed, rarely thought about and never praised;they are cut off in early youth by mowing machines; yet their pain infading is unreported, their little sufferings unsung. They cling toearth, and never aspire to climb, but they hold the sweetest dew andnurse the tiniest little winds imaginable. Their patience is divine.They are proud to be the carpet for all walking, running things, and intheir universal service is their strength. The rain stays longer withthem than with grander flowers, and the best sunlight goes to sleepamong them in great pools of fragrant and delicious heat. The daisiesare a stalwart little people altogether.
But they have another quality as well--something elfin, wayward,mischievous. They peep and whisper. It is said they can cast spells. Tosleep upon a daisied lawn is to run a certain risk. There is this hintof impudence in their attitude, half audacity, half knavery, that showsitself a little in the way they stare unwinkingly all day at everythingabove them--at the stately things that tower proudly in the air--thenjust shut up at sunset without a word of explanation or apology. Theysee everything, but keep their opinions to themselves. Because peoplenotice them so little, and even tread upon their tiny and inquiringfaces, they are up to things all the time--undiscovered things. Theyknow, it is said, the thoughts of Painted Ladies and CloudedBrimstones, as well as the intentions of the disappearing golden flies;why wind often runs close to the ground when the tree-tops are withouta single breath; but, also, they know what is going on _below_ thesurface. They live, moreover, in every country of the globe, and theirsystem of intercommunication is so perfect that even birds and flyingthings can learn from it. They prove their breeding by their perfecttaste in dress, the well-bred ever being inconspicuous; and theirsimplicity conceals enormous, undecipherable wonder. One daisy out ofdoors is worth a hundred shelves of text-books in the house. Theirmischief, moreover, is not revenge, though some might think it so--buta natural desire to be recognised and thought and talked about alittle. Daisies, in a word, are--daisies.
And it was by way of the daisies that Judy's great adventure came toher, the particular adventure that was her very own. For she had deepsympathy with flowers, a sympathy lacking in her brother and sister,and it was natural that her adventure in chief should come that way.She could play with flowers for long periods at a time; she knew theirnames and habits; she picked them gently, without cruelty, and nevermerely for the "fun" of picking them; while the way she arranged themabout the house proved that she understood their silent, inner natures,their likes and dislikes--in a word, their souls. For Judy connectedthem in her mind with birds. Born in the air, they seemed to her.
As has been seen, she was the first to notice the arrival of thedaisies. From the bedroom window she waved her arm to them, and showedplainly the pleasure that she felt. They arrived in troops and armies.Risen to the surface of the lawn like cream, she saw them staring withsuspicious innocence at the sky. They stared at _her_.
"Just when the others have gone away!" was her instant thought, thoughunexpressed in words. There was meaning somewhere in this calculatedarrival.
"They _are_ alive," she asked that afternoon, "aren't they? But why dothey all shut up at night? Who--" she changed the word--"what closesthem?"
She was alone with Uncle Felix, and they had chosen with greatdifficulty a spot where they could lie down without crushing a singleflower with their enormous bodies. After considerable difficulty theyhad found it. Having done a great many things since lunch--a feastinvolving several second helpings--they were feeling heavy andexhausted. So Judy chose this moment for her simple question. The worldrequired explanation.
"There's life in everything," he mumbled, with his face against thegrass, "everything that grows, especially." And having said it, hesettled down comfortably again to doze. His pipe was
out. He feltrather like a log.
"But stopping growing isn't dying," she informed him sharply.
"Oh, no," he agreed lazily, "you're alive for a long time after that."
"_You_ stopped growing before I was born."
"And I'm not quite dead yet."
"Exactly," she said, "so daisies _are_ alive."
It was absurd to think of dozing at such a time. He rolled roundheavily and gazed at her through half-closed eyelids. "A daisybreathes," he murmured, "and drinks and eats; sap circulates in itslittle body. Probably it feels as well. Delicate threads like nervesrun through it everywhere. It knows when it is being picked or walkedon. Oh, yes, a daisy is alive all right enough." He sighed like a bigdog that has just shaken a fly off its nose and lies waiting for thenext attack. It came at once.
"But who knows it?" she asked. "I mean--there's no good in being aliveunless some one else knows it too!"
Then he sat up and stared at her. Judy, he remembered, knew a lot ofthings she could tell to no one, not even to herself--and this seemedone of them. The question was a startling one.
"An intellectual mystic at twelve!" he gasped. "How on earth did youmanage it?"
"I may be a mystillectual insect," she replied, proud of thecompliment. "But what's the good of being alive, even like a daisy,unless others know it--_us_, for instance?"
He still stared at her, sitting up stiffly, and propped by his handsupon the grass behind him. After prolonged reflection, during which heclosed his eyes and opened them several times in succession, sighinglaboriously while he did so, low mumbled words became audible.
"Forgive my apparent slowness," he said, "but I feel like amowing-machine this afternoon. I want oiling and pushing. The answer toyour inquiry, however, is as follows: We could--_if_ we took thetrouble."
"Could know that daisies are alive?" she cried.
His great head nodded.
"If we thought about them very hard indeed," he went on, "and for avery, very long time we could feel as they feel, and so understandthem, and know exactly _how_ they are alive."
And the way he said it, the grave, thoughtful, solemn way, convincedher, who already was convinced beforehand.
"I do believe we could," she answered simply.
"I'm sure of it," he said.
"Let's try," she whispered breathlessly.
For a minute and a half they stared into each other's eyes, knowingthemselves balanced upon the verge of an immense discovery. She did notdoubt or question; she did not tell him he was only humbugging. Herheart thrilled with the right conditions--expectation and delight. Herdark-brown eyes were burning.
He murmured something that she did not properly understand:
Expect and delight Is the way to invite; Delight and expect, And you'll know things direct!
"Let's try!" she repeated, and her face proved that she fulfilled hisconditions without knowing it; she was delighted, and sheexpected--everything.
He scratched his head, wrinkling up his nose and pursing his lips for amoment. "There's a dodge about it," he explained. "To know a floweryourself you must feel exactly like it. Its life, you see, is differentto ours. It doesn't move and hurry, it just lives. It feels sun andwind and dew; it feels the insects' tread; it lifts its skin to meetthe rain-drops and the whispering butterflies. It doesn't run away. Ithas no fear of anything, because it has the whole green earth behindit, and it feels safe because millions of other daisies feel the same"--
"And smells because it's happy," put in Judy. "Then what _is_ a daisy?What is it really?"
She was "expecting" vividly. Her mind was hungry for essentials. Thismere description told her nothing real. She wanted to feel "direct."
What is a daisy? The little word already had a wonderful and livingsound--soft, sweet, and beautiful. But to tell the truth about thisordinary masterpiece was no easy matter. An ostentatious lily, ablazing rose, a wayward hyacinth, a mass of showy wisteria--advertised,notorious flowers--presented fewer difficulties. A daisy seemed toosimple to be told, its mystery and honour too humble for proud humanminds to understand. So he answered gently, while a Marble White sailedpast between their very faces: "Let's think about it hard; perhapswe'll get it that way."
The butterfly sailed off across the lawn; another joined it, and then athird. They danced and flitted like winged marionettes on wires thatthe swallows tweaked; and, as they vanished, a breath of scented airstole round the trunk of the big lime tree and stirred the daisies'heads. A thousand small white faces turned towards them; a thousandsteady eyes observed them; a thousand slender necks were bent. A waveof movement passed across the lawn as though the flowers pressednearer, aware at last that they were being noticed. And both humans,the big one and the little one, felt a sudden thrill of happiness andbeauty in their hearts. The rapture of the Spring slipped into them.They concentrated all their thoughts on daisies....
"I'm beginning to feel it already," whispered the Little Human, turningto gaze at him as though that breath of air impelled her too.
The wind blew her voice across his face like perfume; he looked, butcould not see her clearly; she swayed a little; her eyes meltedtogether into a single lovely circle, bright and steady within theirfringe of feathery lashes. He tried to speak--"Delight and expect, andwe'll know it direct"--but his voice spread across whole yards of lawn.It became a single word that rolled and floated everywhere about him,rising and falling like a wave upon a sea of green: "Daisy, daisy,daisy." On all sides, beneath, above his head as well, it passed withthe music of the wandering wind, and he kept repeating it--"Daisy,daisy!" _She_ kept repeating it, too, till the sound multiplied, yetnever grew louder than a murmur of air and grass and tinyleaves--"Daisy, daisy, daisy." It broke like a sea upon the coast-lineof another world. It seemed to contain an entire language in itself,nothing more to be said but those two soft syllables. It was everywhere.
But another vaster sound lay underneath. As the crest of a breakingwave utters its separate note of foam above the general booming of thesea that bears it, so the flying wave of daisy-tones rose out of thisdeeper sound beneath. Both humans became aware that it was but asurface-voice they imitated. They heard this other foundation-soundthat bore it--deep, booming, thunderous, half lost and very far away.It was prodigious; yet there was safety and delight in it that broughtno hint of fear. They swam upon the pulse of some enormous, gentle lifethat rose about and through them in a swelling tide. They felt theheave of something that was strong enough to draw the moon, yet softenough to close a daisy's eyes. They heard the deep, lost roar of it,rising and coming nearer.
"The Earth!" he whispered. "And the Spring is rising through it.Listen!"
"We're growing together," replied the Little Human. "We're rising withthe Spring!"
Ah, it was exquisite. They were in the Daisy World.... He tried to moveand reach her, but found that he could not take a step in anydirection, and that his feet were imbedded in the soft, damp soil. Themovement which he tried to make spread wide among a hundred others likehimself. They rose on every side. All shared his movements as they hadshared his voice. He heard his whole body murmuring "Daisy, daisy,daisy...." And she leaned over, bending towards him a slim form in agraceful line of green that formed the segment of a circle. A littleshining face came close for a moment against his own, rimmed withdelicate spears of pink and white. It sang as it shone. The Spring wasin it. There were hundreds like it everywhere, yet he recognised it asone he knew. There were thousands, tens of thousands, yet this one hedistinguished because he loved it.
Their faces touched like the fringes of two clouds, and then withdrew.They remained very close together, side by side among thousands likethemselves, slowly rising on the same great tide. The Earth's roundbody was beneath them. They felt quite safe--but different. Alreadythey were otherwise than they had been. They felt the big world flying.
"We're changing," he murmured, seizing some fragments ofhalf-remembered speech. "We're marvellously changed!"
"Daisies," he heard her
vanishing reply, "we're two daisies on thelawn!"
And then their voices went. That was the end of speech, the end ofthinking too. They only felt....
Long periods passed above their heads and then the air about themturned gorgeous as a sunset sky. It was a Clouded Yellow that sailedlazily past their faces with spreading wings as large as clouds. Theyshared that saffron glory. The draught of cool air fanned them. Thesplendid butterfly left its beauty in them before it sailed away. Butthat sunset sky had lasted for hours; that cool wind fanning them was abreeze that blew steadily from the hills, making "weather" for half anafternoon. Time and duration as humans measure them had passed away;there was existence without hurry; end and beginning had not beeninvented yet. They did not know things in the stupid sense of havingnames for them; all that there was they shared; that was enough. Theyknew by feeling.
For everything was plentiful and inexhaustible--the heavens emptiedlight and warmth upon them without stint or measure; space poured aboutthem freely, for they had no wish to move; they felt themselveseverywhere, for all they needed came to them without the painful effortof busy things that hunt and search outside themselves; both food anddrink slipped into them unawares from an abundant source below thatequally supplied whole forests without a trace of lessening or loss.All life was theirs, full, free, and generous beyond conception. Theyowned the world, without even the trouble of knowing that they ownedit. They lived, simply staring at the universe with eyes of exquisitelyfashioned beauty. They knew joy and peace, and were content with that.
They did communicate. Oh, yes, they shared each other's specialhappiness. There was, it is true, no sound of broken syllables, nospeech which humans use to veil the very thing they would express; butthere was that simpler language which all Nature knows, which cannotlie because it is unconscious, and by which constellations conversewith buttercups, and cedars with the flying drops of rain--there wasgesture. For gesture and attitude can convey all the important andnecessary things, while speech in the human sense is but an inventionof some sprite who wanted people to wonder what they really meant. Insublimest moments it is never used even in the best circles ofintelligence; it drops away quite naturally; souls know one anotherface to face in dumb but eloquent--gesture.
"The sun is out; I feel warm and happy; there is nothing in the world Ineed!"
"You are beside me," he replied. "I love you, and we cannot go farapart. I smell you even when no wind stirs. You are sweetest when thedew has gone and left you moist and shiny."
A little shiver of enjoyment quivered through her curving stem. Hispetals brushed her own. She answered:
"Wet or fine, we stand together, and never stop staring at each othertill we close our faces--"
"In the long darkness. But even then we whisper as we grow--"
"And open our eyes together at the same moment when the light comesback--"
"And feel warm and soft, and smell more delicious than ever in thedawn."
These two brave daisies, growing on the lawn, had lives of concentratedhappiness, asking no pity for their humble station in the universe. Alltreated them with unadulterated respect, and everything made love tothem because they were so tender and so easily pleased. They knew, forinstance, that their splendid Earth was turning with them, for theyfelt the swerve of her, sharing from their roots upwards her giganticcurve through space; they knew the sun was part of them, because theyfelt it drawing their sweet-flavoured food up all their dainty lengthtill it glowed in health upon their small, flushed faces; also theyknew that streams of water made a tumbling fuss and sent them messagesof laughter, because they caught the little rumble of it through milesof trembling ground. And some among them--though these were prophetsand poets but half believed, and looked upon as partly mad and partlywonderful--affirmed that they felt the sea itself far leagues away,bending their heads this way and that for hours at a stretch, accordingto the thundering vibrations that the tide sent through the soil fromdistant shores.
But all, from the tallest spread-head to the smallest button-face--allknew the pleasure of the uncertain winds; all knew the game of holdingflying things just a moment longer, by fascinating them, by drowsingthem into sleepiness, by nipping their probosces, or by puffing perfumeinto their nostrils while they caught their feet with the pressure of ahundred yellow rods....
Enormous periods passed away. A cloud that for a man's "ten minutes"hid the sun, wearied them so that they simply closed their eyes andwent to sleep. Showers of rain they loved, because it washed and cooledthem, and they felt the huge satisfaction of the earth beneath them asit drank: the sweet sensation of wet soil that sponged their roots, thepleasant gush that sluiced their bodies and carried off the irritatingdust. They also felt the heavier tumbling of the swollen streams in alldirections. The drops from overhanging trees came down and played withthem, bringing another set of perfumes altogether. A summer shower was,of course, "a month" to them, a day of rain like weeks of holiday bythe sea.... But, most of all, they enjoyed the rough-and-tumblenonsense of the violent weather, when they were tied together by theropes of running wind; for these were visiting days--all manner ofstrangers dropped in upon them from distant walks in life, and theynever knew whether the next would be a fir-cone or one of thosecareless, irresponsible travellers, a bit of thistle-down....
Yet, for all their steadiness, they knew incessant change--the varietyof a daisy's existence was proverbial. Nor was the surprise of beingwalked upon too alarming--it did not come to all--for they knew a wayof bending beneath enormous pressure so that nothing broke, whilesometimes it brought a queer, delicious pleasure, as when the bare feetof some flying child passed lightly over them, leaving wild laughterupon a group of them. They knew, indeed, a thousand joys, proudest ofall, however, that the big Earth loved them so that she carriedmillions of them everywhere she went.
And all, without exception, communicated their knowledge by themovements, attitudes, and gestures they assumed; and since each stoodclose to each, the enjoyment spread quickly till the entire lawn feltone undivided sensation by itself. Anything passing across it at such amoment, whether insect, bird, loose leaf or even human being, would beaware of this, and thus, for a fleeting second, share another world.Poets, it is said, have received their sweetest inspirations upon adaisied lawn in the flush of spring. Nor is it always a sight of preythat makes the swallows dart so suddenly sideways and away, but somechance message of joy or warning intercepted from the hosts of flowersin the soil.
And from this region of the flower-life comes, of course, the legendthat fairies have emotions that last for ever, with eternal youth, andwith loves that do not pass away to die. This, too, they understood.Because the measurement of existence is a mightier business than withover-developed humans-in-a-hurry. For knowledge comes chiefly throughthe eye, and the eye can perceive only six times in a second--thingsthat happen more quickly or more slowly than six times a second areinvisible. No man can see the movement of a growing daisy, just as noman can distinguish the separate beats of a sparrow's wing: one is tooslow, and the other is too quick. But the daisy is practically all eye.It is aware of most delightful things. In its short life of months itlives through an eternity of unhurrying perceptions and of bigsensations. Its youth, its loves, its pleasures are--to it--quiteendless....
"I can see the old sun moving," she murmured, "but you will love me forever, won't you?"
"Even till it sinks behind the hills," he answered, "I shall notchange."
"So long we have been friends already," she went on. "Do you rememberwhen we first met each other, and you looked into my opening eyes?"
He sighed with joy as he thought of the long, long stretch of time.
"That was in our first reckless youth," he answered, catching the goldof passionate remembrance from an amber fly that hovered for an instantand was gone. "I remember well. You were half hidden by a drop ofhanging dew, but I discovered you! That lilac bud across the world wasjust beginning to open." And, helped by the wind, he bent his shin
inghead, taller than hers by the sixtieth part of an inch, towards thelilac trees beside the gravel path.
"So long ago as that!" she murmured, happy with the exquisite belief inhim. "But you will never change or leave me--promise, oh, promise that!"
His stalk grew nearer to her own. He leaned protectively towards hereager face.
"Until that bud shall open fully to the light and smell its sweetest,"he replied--the gesture of his petals told it plainly--"so long shallyou and I enjoy our happy love."
It was an eternity to them.
"And longer still," she pleaded.
"And longer still," he whispered in the wind. "Even until the blossomfalls."
Ah, it was good to be alive with such an age of happiness before them!
He felt the tears in her voice, however; he knew there was somethingthat she longed to tell.
"What is your sadness?" he asked softly, "and why do you put suchquestions to me now? What is your little trouble?"
A moment's hesitation, a moment's hanging of the graceful head thewidth of a petal's top nearer to his shoulder--and then she told him.
"I was in darkness for a time," she faltered, "but it was a long, longtime. It seemed that something came between us. I lost your face. Ifelt afraid."
And his laughter--for just then a puff of wind passed by and shook hissides for him--ran across many feet of lawn.
"It was a Bumble Bee," he comforted her. "It came between us for a bit,its shadow fell upon you, nothing more! Such things will happen; wemust be prepared for them. It was nothing in myself that dimmed yourworld."
"Another time I will be braver, then," she told him, "and even in thedarkness I shall know you close, ah, very close to me...."
For a long, long stretch of time, then, they stood joyfully togetherand watched the lilac growing. They also saw the movement of the sunacross the sky. An eternity passed over them.... The vast disc of thesun went slowly gliding....
But all the enormous things that happened in their lives cannot betold. Lives crammed with a succession of such grand and palpitatingadventures lie beyond the reach of clumsy words. The sweetnesssometimes was intolerable, and then they shared it with the entire lawnand so obtained relief--yet merely in order to begin again. The hummingof the rising Spring continued with the thunderous droning of theturning Earth. Never uncared for, part of everything, full of the big,rich life that brims the world in May--ah, almost fuller than theycould hold sometimes--they passed with existence along to theirappointed end.
"We began so long ago, I simply can't remember it," she sighed.
Yet the sun they watched had not left half a degree behind him sincethey met.
"There was no beginning," he reproved her, smiling, "and there willnever be any end."
And the wind spread their happiness like perfume everywhere until thewhole white lawn of daisies lay singing their rapture to thesunshine....
The minute underworld of grass and stalks seemed of a sudden to growlarge; yet, till now, they had not realised it as "large"--but simplynatural. A beetle, big and broad as a Newfoundland dog, went lumberingpast them, brushing its polished back against their trembling necks;yet, till now, they had not thought of it as "big"--but simply normal.Its footsteps made a grating sound like the gardener's nailed bootsupon the gravel paths. It was strange and startling. Something wasdifferent, something was changing. They realised dimly that there wasanother world somewhere, a world they had left behind long, long ago,forgotten. Something was slipping from them, as sleep slips from theskin and the eyes in the early morning when the bath comes "pinging"upon the floor. What did it mean?
Big and little, far and near, above, below, inside and outside--allwere mixed together in a falling rush.
They themselves were changing.
They looked up. They saw an enormous thing rising behind them with vastcaverns of square outline opening in its sides--a house. They saw huge,towering shapes whose tops were in the clouds--the familiar lime trees.Big and tiny were inextricably mixed together.
And that was wrong. For either the forest of grass was as big asthemselves--in which case they still were daisies; or else it was tinyand far below them--in which case they were hurrying humans again.There was an odd confusion...while consciousness swung home to itsappointed centre and Adventure brought them back towards the old,familiar starting-place again.
There came an ominous and portentous sound that rushed towards themthrough the air, and through the solid ground as well. They heard it,and grew pale with terror. Across the entire lawn it rumbled nearer,growing in volume awfully. The very earth seemed breaking into bitsabout them. And then they knew.
It was the End of the World that their prophets had long foretold.
It crashed upon them before they had time to think. The roar wasappalling. The whole lawn trembled. The daisies bowed their littlefaces in a crowd. They had no time even to close their innocent eyes.Before a quarter of their sweet and happy life was known, the End sweptthem from the world, unsung and unlamented. Two of them who had plannedEternity together fell side by side before one terrible stroke....
"I do believe--" said Judy, brushing her tumbled hair out of her eyes.
"Not possible!" exclaimed Uncle Felix, sitting up and stretchinghimself like a dog. "It's a thing I never do, _never_, _NEVER!_ I thinkmy stupid watch has stopped again...."
They stared at each other with suspiciously sleepy eyes.
"Promise," she whispered presently, "promise never to tell the others!"
"I promise faithfully," he answered. "But we'd better get up, or weshall have our heads cut off like--all the other daisies."
He pulled her to her feet--out of the way of the heavy mowing machinewhich Weeden was pushing with a whirring, droning noise across the lawn.