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"Ah, yes, no doubt," said the fern, "but you do not know the world yet as well as I do, for my sticks are knotty;" and then it sung quite mournfully "Snip, snap, snurre, Basse lurre: The song is ended." "No, it is not ended," said the flax. "To-morrow the sun will shine, or the rain descend. I feel that I am growing. I feel that I am in full blossom. I am the happiest of all creatures."
The fern was not wrong with its song of 'Snip, snap, snurre, Basse lurre. But the song is not ended yet, I am sure; it is only just beginning. How wonderful it is, that after all I have suffered, I am made something of at last; I am the luckiest person in the world so strong and fine; and how white, and what a length! This is something different to being a mere plant and bearing flowers.
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