“What can I do to comfort him?” thought the little flower; but she could not move a leaf; yet the fragrance which streamed from her delicate leaves was much stronger than is usual with this flower. The bird observed this; and although he was dying of thirst, and tore up every green blade of grass in his suffering, yet he did not even touch the little Daisy.
It was evening, and no one came as yet to bring the poor bird a drop of water: he stretched out his delicate wings, and fluttertered convulsively; his song was a complaining chirp. His little head bowed down towards the Daisy, and the heart of the bird broke for thirst and longing.
Then the flower was not able as on the evening before, to fold its leaves together and sleep; it bowed down ill and sorrowful to the earth.
It was not until the next morning that the boys came back; and when they saw that the bird was dead, they wept many tears, and dug for it a pretty grave, which they decked with flowers. The dead body
