Once upon a time, in a lively flower meadow, lived Daisy the Caterpillar. Each day felt like an eternity; she would wriggle her tiny body, munching on leaves that grew near the ground. With the warm summer sun overhead and the buzzing of friends around her, days turned into nights, and nights turned back into days. “Oh, what fun it is to be a Caterpillar!” thought Daisy.
But one bright morning as she was munching a large leaf, having just turned herself around after a happy sleep, several large dragonflies came fluttering down. Daisy looked up in surprise. She had never spoken to a dragonfly before.
“Good day!” said one of the dragonflies as it hovered over her. “A very good day. I presume you will soon be feeling it grow warm on your back?”
“Will I?” asked Daisy anxiously.
“You will, indeed. Every day the sun rises higher in the sky, and within a few days, you will feel so warm inside your back that you will burst open and come out.”
“Come out?” repeated Daisy in a frightened voice. “Will it hurt me?”
“Perhaps just a little,” replied the old dragonfly, “and then you will feel happy. You will stretch your new wings and dry them a bit in the warm sunshine. And then, perhaps, you will soar high over the flowers, where you may dance in the air with all the other dragonflies.”
“Please tell me, why do we come out?” asked Daisy. “What is wrong with us as we are?”
“Oh, much is wrong with you,” said the other dragonfly. “Being a Caterpillar is only the first part of your life. You must put off your present dress and come out. Then you will have big, beautiful wings, and your whole life will be a joyful song.”
“But my friends!” sobbed Daisy. “My friends, will they come out, too?”
“Oh, yes,” answered the dragonfly. “You all will; but each in good time will come out according to its kind. Your friends will burst their dresses and come out a few days after you.”
Daisy felt sad. “What shall I do all alone without my friends?” she cried. “I don’t want to come out!”
“Not want to? I wouldn’t refuse to come out for anything! Why, just look at me!” And with that, the dragonfly hopped to the side of the jealous Caterpillar, and Daisy saw how beautiful she was. Her body shone like polished silver, and her wings were like thin tissue-paper sprinkled with iridescent powder. Daisy could hardly take her eyes from her. Suddenly, her heart grew heavy again. “But I can’t be like you,” she said. “And what shall I do alone? I don’t want to lose my friends.”
“And what will they do without you?” said the other dragonfly dryly. “They will go about and about, with their ugly black heads lowered, munching away; they can’t help it, they’ll be so busy. No one will think of you. They’ll be glad enough to get out first, I can tell you! Good-by!” and flitting away with a sudden sweep of her wings, she left Daisy alone.
That night it grew very cold; the wind howled, and the lightning shone so brightly that Daisy grew frightened. A few drops of rain fell, freezing and beating down her tender body. “Oh! dear,” cried Daisy, “this is terrible; I wish I only knew what I was to come out for!” But no answer came.
The next day was a little warmer, but still very gloomy. The rains were now pouring down, and Daisy had to hold on tightly to her leaf. “No one can be colder or wetter than I,” she sighed.
“No, indeed!” said a voice under Daisy, or it might have been in her own heart.
“Oh, is my friend out?” cried Daisy. She had forgotten, she was so warm in her downy dress, that now instead of crying, Daisy bent over her sad neighbor and whispered, “Do come out early, dear!”
And with that the voice ceased, and Daisy did not think of her poor neighbor, who was now probably lying frozen stiff under the icy rains.
The next day, Daisy’s dress grew warmer and warmer, but it also became dimmer and dimmer.
Now and then, she burst open a hand’s-breadth and let a few drops of cold rain pass through; but that filled her dress with fresh green shoots, and she grew up into a pretty Caterpillar. “What can be wrong? why is it so dark in here? What shall I do alone? Oh! I do wish my friends would come out!” She felt as if she wanted to dance for joy; but then her heart grew sad again. “Oh, dear! I’ll fold my dress, be happy, be happy,” she repeated.
On the day when the sun shone bright, several of the children borrowed a boat, and sailed down the whole river. There the large old dragonline met them, flitting about in the air, and soon all—large and small—were together in the warm summer air. Daisy danced joyfully around. She saw weeping Willows on the bank, meadow-sweet and blue forget-me-nots; yes, she often heard the humming on the distant hills and valleys. All was beautiful and full of joy.
But Daisy did not forget her friend, nor could she forget the unhappy night and all the cold she had borne. “But my friend; will he also soon come out?” she said to one Dragonfly.
“Not till after a few days,” she answered. “The cold may drop off a branch, for which you will soon have to thank God because he was so sorry for you.”
Daisy grew thoughtful; soon afterward, however, the sun shone so powerfully that she had entirely forgotten what she was thinking of you would have supposed she had just come out.
On the following day, several little black Caterpillars came forth, and Daisy saw them slowly munching along the tree. They were soon joined by other little black spies; they soon became very numerous, and went from shoot to shoot, and from tree to tree all over the country. Thus it continued for whole days, and Daisy thought all the happy time of her old crawling life was come again, and felt almost as she did before coming out.
At last, she longed to see her friend, and asked a young Dragonfly to sail down to her. He did so. “It has been an eternity since I have seen you,” said Daisy. “How my heart wept the other day when you said I should put off my dress, and that all would forget me. But all was so beautiful when I did put my dress off, and here, too, and far above all we live, ‘tis most glorious.”
“Where is your friend?”
“He will soon come out,” said Daisy, looking down.
“No, no,” said the young Dragonfly in a shy, gentle tone; “I was your friend.”
Daisy blushed, and the next moment all the sunlit air seemed to dance with leaves.
Thus Daisy always thought “the sun had set” was once more “the woodman lay in his cabin,” and the children had a pleasant excursion.
Thus we have rather grown into it; and after owing Daisy, we think it better not to say anything more of her. It was really familiar with Daisy, who at once flitted out to her wood in the mountain gorge, and danced about from flower to flower with all her friends who had the various sized dresses furrowed in concentric circles.
And then in the afternoon she lay at her friend’s feet slumbering, and dreamed of the earth and all her acquaintances, or those she knew and did not know, and wished them all the best in the world.