The daisies are 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.
To sleep upon a daisied lawn is to run a certain risk. There is this
hint of impudence in their attitude, half audacity, half knavery, that
shows itself a little in the way they stare unwinkingly all day at
everything above them--at the stately things that tower proudly in the
air--then just shut up at sunset without a word of explanation or
apology. They see everything, but keep their opinions to themselves.
Because people notice them so little, and even tread upon their tiny
and inquiring faces, they are up to things all the time--undiscovered
things. They know, it is said, the thoughts of Painted Ladies and
Clouded Brimstones, as well as the intentions of the disappearing
golden flies; why wind often runs close to the ground when the tree-
tops are without a single breath; but, also, they know what is going
on _below_ the surface. They live, moreover, in every country of the
globe, and their system of intercommunication is so perfect that even
birds and flying things can learn from it.
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