They prove their breeding
by their perfect taste in dress, the well-bred ever being
inconspicuous; and their simplicity conceals enormous, undecipherable
wonder. One daisy out of doors is worth a hundred shelves of text-
books in the house. Their mischief, moreover, is not revenge, though
some might think it so--but a natural desire to be recognised and
thought and talked about a little. Daisies, in a word, are--daisies.
And it was by way of the daisies that Judy's great adventure came to
her, the particular adventure that was her very own. For she had deep
sympathy 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 their
names and habits; she picked them gently, without cruelty, and never
merely for the "fun" of picking them; while the way she arranged them
about the house proved that she understood their silent, inner
natures, their likes and dislikes--in a word, their souls. For Judy
connected them 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 the
daisies.
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