That is as it may be," said Flamen, with a smile.

"Bebee, I must paint you as Gretchen before she made a love-dial of the daisies.

What is the story?
Oh, I have told you stories enough.

Gretchen's you would not understand, just yet." "But what did the daisies say to her ?" "My dear, the daisies always say the same thing, because daisies always tell the truth and know men.

The daisies always say 'a little'; it is the girl's ear that tricks her, and makes her hear 'till death,'-- a folly and falsehood of which the daisy is not guilty." "But who says it if the daisy does not ?" "Ah, the devil perhaps--who knows?
He has so much to do in these things." But Bebee did not smile; she had a look of horror in her blue eyes; she belonged to a peasantry who believed in exorcising the fiend by the aid of the cross, and who not so very many generations before had driven him out of human bodies by rack and flame.
She looked with a little wistful fear on the white, golden-eyed marguerites that lay on her lap.
"Do you think the fiend is in these ?" she whispered, with awe in her voice.
Flamen smiled.