“Here is no water,” said the captive lark; “they are all gone out and have forgotten to give me a drop of water to drink. My throat is hot and dry; i feel as if I had fire and ice within me, and the air is so heavy. Alas! I must die; I must bid farewell to the warm sunshine, the fresh green, and all the beautiful things which God has created.” And then he thrust his beak into the cool turf to refresh himself a little with the fresh grass, and his eye fell on the daisy; then the bird nodded to it and kissed it with his beak, and said, “You also will wither here, you poor little flower! They have given you to me with the little patch of green grass on which you grow, in exchange for the whole world which was mine out there. Each little blade of grass was to me as a great tree, and each of your white leaves a flower. Alas! you only show me how much I have lost.” “Oh, if I could only comfort him,” thought the daisy, but she could not move a leaf; yet the perfume from her leaves was stronger than is usual in these flowers, and the bird noticed it, and though he was fainting with thirst, and in his pain pulled up the green blades of grass, he did not touch the flower. The evening came, and yet no one appeared to bring the bird a drop of water; then he stretched out his pretty wings and shook convulsively, he could only sing, “Tweet, tweet,” in a weak, mournful tone. His little head bent down towards the flower; the bird’s heart was broken with want and pining. Then the flower could not fold its leaves as it had done the evening before, to sleep, but it drooped sick and sorrowful towards the earth. Not till morning did the boys come, and when they found the bird dead, they wept many and bitter tears; they dug a pretty grave for him, and adorned it with leaves of flowers. The bird’s lifeless body was placed in a smart red box, and he was buried with great honour. Poor bird; while he was alive and could sing, they forgot him and allowed him to sit in his cage and suffer want, but now he was dead, they mourned for him with many tears, and buried him in royal state. But the turf with the daisy on it was thrown out into the dusty road. No one thought of the little flower which had felt more for the poor bird than any one else, and would have been so glad to help and console him, if she had been able to do so.
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