In a bright field, there stood a party of flowers. There were the bold red poppies, and the sweet-smelling violets, the delicate pinks, and the proud-looking lilies. Near the end of the party stood a little sunflower called Sunny, called so because she seemed to feel so glad to be alive, always turning her head to look toward the bright, shining sun. The flowers could not understand her, for she always looked so bright and happy, while they felt too important to be pleased with anything.
One day a butterfly came up to her and said, “Why do you always look so bright and happy, Little Sunny?”
“I do not know, I can not help it,” she answered, “You know the whole day long I try to turn my face toward the sun; there must be a reason why I should do that, and I think that reason must be the reason why I am always so glad to be alive.”
“But that is a very simple reason,” said the butterfly. “It is only the bright sunshine that makes red and pink flowers, and it is the silt that lies just below the surface of this soil that feeds us. Now you are yellow, and of course, there is hardly any color in yellow: even the sun can not brighten it, as you see, and of course, the black earth will never keep you alive, you will die when the sun starts away in winter.”
“Oh, no, I shall not!” said Sunny, shaking her head. “If you will only keep near to me, you will see that I shall blossom year after year, when you have all faded away.”
“That is quite impossible,” laughed the butterfly, and flew away. Soon afterward, the sun and the silt also went away, and winter came.
After a long, dark time, spring came again, and then a little green shoot appeared just above the roots of Sunny, which said, “I am afraid that soon the snow will cover me up again.”
“Oh no, that can not be. The frost will soon cease, and not by the littlest bit of snow shall I be covered. I will battle against it,” said Sunny, and she did. The green summer shoots soon peeped forth from all sides of her, but Sunny had only one green shoot. The other flowers were soon all in full bloom, while Sunny had only one great yellow flower in the middle of green leaves.
“Dear Sunny,” said her green shoot. “You must be ashamed to be taller than any of the flowers about you.”
“Why should I be ashamed?” said Sunny. “If the Almighty wished me to be tall, I think he knows best.” And it always held its head higher the sun. High on the top of its green stem stood the large yellow flower, which the sun will always rise, will it not?” said Sunny.
“It is for me; for you the silt will cease by-and-by,” answered the butterfly.
But summer passed away, and autumn came. All the flowers were dead, and the little sunflower still stood there as bright as ever, looking just as if the King of the Gilders had been covering her all over with gilding.
The butterfly came flying up and said, “What is the reason that you do not fall?”
“It is from above that the greatest strength comes,” answered Sunny, looking upward.
“Just then the silt began to rise to the roots of Sunny. “Look here,” said it. “I can not allow the sunflower to die: she is far too proud, and the Almighty checks those that are proud.”
“I pray you be quiet,” said the sunflower. “Today there are many who displease him more than I do.”
But after a time the autumn came, and black earth continued to rise. All at once there was a noise. The source was broken, and the earth came continually. It rushed up to its eyes. “Oh,” said a rose close by. “Surely that is too much for estimating. The Almighty says in the Book of Judgment that those are ashamed and humble themselves.”