It's all so plain to me. Oh, if I
could only make you see!"
She buried her face in the pillow and presently lifted it, transfigured.
"Now I have it!" she cried. "Oh, dear heart! I can make it so plain!
Freckles, can you imagine you see the old Limberlost trail? Well when
we followed it, you know there were places where ugly, prickly thistles
overgrew the path, and you went ahead with your club and bent them back
to keep them from stinging through my clothing. Other places there were
big shining pools where lovely, snow-white lilies grew, and you waded
in and gathered them for me. Oh dear heart, don't you see? It's this!
Everywhere the wind carried that thistledown, other thistles sprang up
and grew prickles; and wherever those lily seeds sank to the mire, the
pure white of other lilies bloomed. But, Freckles, there was never
a place anywhere in the Limberlost, or in the whole world, where the
thistledown floated and sprang up and blossomed into white lilies!
Thistles grow from thistles, and lilies from other lilies. Dear
Freckles, think hard! You must see it! You are a lily, straight through.
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