Front Cover
 Title Page
 The flower-girl
 The daisy's mission
 The first snowdrop
 The violet's lesson
 A little talk about a rosebud
 The fright
 Little Red Riding-hood
 The torn card
 Back Cover

Group Title: Happy hour stories for the little ones
Title: The daisy's mission and other stories
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00054760/00001
 Material Information
Title: The daisy's mission and other stories
Series Title: Happy hour stories for the little ones
Physical Description: 62, 2 p., 9 leaves of plates : ill. ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Clark, Mary Latham, 1831-1911
D. Lothrop & Company ( Publisher )
Rockwell and Churchill
Publisher: D. Lothrop & Co.
Place of Publication: Boston
Manufacturer: Rockwell and Churchill, Printers and Stereotypers
Publication Date: c1870
Subject: Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Imprisonment -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Flowers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1870   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1870
Genre: Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Citation/Reference: NUC pre-1956,
Statement of Responsibility: by Mary Latham Clarke.
General Note: Publisher's advertisements follow text.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00054760
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002224375
notis - ALG4639
oclc - 13348300

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
        Page i
        Page ii
    Title Page
        Page iii
        Page iv
    The flower-girl
        Page 5
        Page 6
    The daisy's mission
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    The first snowdrop
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
    The violet's lesson
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
    A little talk about a rosebud
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
    The fright
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Little Red Riding-hood
        Page 49
        Page 50
    The torn card
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text

The Baldwin Library


C- ~ L

t1i P





ID -5 -:v 0 lM ir

33. OTHROP & .
.t8 & O. CORNHILL.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in tho year 1870, by


In the Offce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

Ilockwell & Churceill, Printers and Stcreotypers,
12 Washington Street, Boston.


SHO'LL buy my spring blos-
soms, who'll buy, oh! who'll
I've violets, blue as the deep
,' of the sky,
I've fair little daisies, the
first of the spring, -
They've hardly been touched
by the zephyr's light wing.
I've lilies that down in the
valley deep grow,
Whose delicate bells are as pure as the snow;
I've clusters of wind-flowers all modest and meek,
Just see how the blush is now mantling each cheek.

I've the trailing arbutus, whose blossoms of pink
Are the dearest and fairest of flowers, I think;


And the perfumes that down in each rosy heart
Make a sweet incense cup of each tiny flower-bell.
I traced by their fragrance the delicate vines,
Beneath the dim shade of the whispering pines.
The dew on each leaflet all sparkling doth lie;
Who'll buy my sweet flowers, who'll buy, oh!
who'll buy?

My gentle-voiced mother! Her tear-drops fall fast
At thoughts of the days and the scenes that are
And she sighs as she looks round our cottage so
And feels that the loved and the dead may be near.
Oh, pale grows her cheek as she toils sadly on!
I know that my mother, too, soon may be gone;
To lighten her labor, to bless her, I try,
Who'll buy my spring-blossoms, who'll buy, oh!
who'll buy?

.1i j


MONG the dusty
paving-stones of a
city street, close
by the sidewalk,
there once grew a
sweet daisy. A
bird, perhaps, had
dropped the seed;
the wind might have brought it there,
or perchance it had fallen from the
hand of some dear little child. But,
however it had chanced to be there, it
was a brave little daisy, and was doing
the very best that it could under the cir-


cumstances. It sent its slender roots
downward to gather whatever of moisture
they might find, while it lifted its crown
of green leaves to the sunshine, and its
white blossoms looked up with a smile for
every passer-by.
One day a little boy, weary with frolick-
ing up and down the street, sat down to
rest, and to eat the luncheon which he
carried in his hand.
"Oh!" said he, as his eyes fell upon
the daisy; what a pretty flower, growing
right here !"
So saying, he gathered it, and looked
admiringly at the snow-white petals with
their starry centres.
Indeed, that fresh, sweet daisy was a
rare sight to the little city boy.
At length the setting sun reminded him
of home, and of the dear mother who was

II:II;I.IIiiI1 -
i J! i ifi.

,,;i' ,, IrII!
lie . -


awaiting him there; so he arose and walked
on, with the little flower still in his hand.
On his way he passed a tall, gloomy-
looking building, with iron gratings at
the windows, and heavy bolts and bars at
the doors.
The little boy shuddered, and said to
himself, "I hope I shall never get into
jail. How dark and dismal it looks I
mean to be honest and true all my ife, as
mother tells me to be, and then I am not
afraid that I shall be shut up there.
"I wonder who is in that cell," con-
tinued he, looking up at the one nearest
him, the window of which was open to
admit the fresh air. I wonder if I could
toss this flower into it."
So he took the daisy by its slender stem,
and threw it up with all his might.


It went between the iron gratings, and
he lost sight of it.
Then he walked on, whistling as he
went, light-hearted and happy, and soon
forgot all about the daisy.
Within the gloomy prison-cell sat a fair,
young girl. Strangely out of place she
looked there, -more so than did the
daisy in the dusty street.
Her head was bowed upon her hand,
as if she would fain shut out from her
sight the sunshine that came streaming in
through the prison-bars.
Her heart was full of hard and bitter
thoughts. She was angry with the com-
panions through whose evil influence she
had been led to commit the crime that had
brought her to this place of punishment,
and she felt almost hatred towards all the

"I" '
,- ,-,:.,,,,

.-, ,F

4 h .



"Oh that I might die !" groaned she, as
she struck her forehead fiercely with her
clenched hand.
Just then the little white daisy fell at
her feet.
She looked up with surprise, and then,
stooping, took it from the place where it
lay, and held it listlessly in her fingers.
"A white daisy," said she, at length, -
"just such as grew by my mother's door,
when I was a little girl."
Her busy thoughts went on.
"What a dear mother she was! and
how she put her hand upon my head when
she was dying, and told me to be good and
meet her in heaven !
"Oh, I hope she cannot look dow:,.
and see me now! Poor mother! dear
mother !"
As she pronounced this beloved name


again and again, tears gushed from her
eyes, and sobs of anguish shook.her slight
Soon she sank upon her knees, and
words of prayer arose from the lips to
which they had long been strangers.
"0 my mother's God!" cried she;
"be merciful, be merciful to me, a sin-
ner I "
The sunset light faded slowly away, and
in its place stole through the prison-bars
the peaceful rays of the moon, resting
upon that bowed head like a blessing,
while a voice seemed to speak to her tem-
pest-tossed heart, saying: -
"Daughter, thy sins be forgiven thee;
go and sin no more "
This was the daisy's mission.


SWAY under the
', ground, where the
Sbuds and flowers
'AJ live, before they
Spring up in our
gardens, the blos-
soms were busily
talking. It was a
bright day, though the snow was yet in
little patches here and there on the brown
earth. Yes, the flowers were talking; but
not as we talk; for, if you had knelt down
and put your ear close to the ground, you
could not have heard a single word.
2 17


They had been sleeping all winter long,
snug and warm, but they were now begin-
ning to wake up, and the sunshine above
seemed to whisper, Come Come "
Then the snowdrops knew they must go
that they might see the snowflakes before
they disappeared, for snowdrops and snow-
flakes are particular friends; if it were
not so, perhaps you would not see the
delicate blossoms peep out so early every
But, as I said before, the flowers that
bright morning were busily talking. "I
will go first," said one snowdrop, a little
braver than her sisters, "and then I will
bend low, and tell you if it is time for you
to come."
I hear a robin sing; may I not go?"'
whispered a blue violet.
"No, indeed," said the careful snow-


-L '% '


drop; "the skies are not half blue enough
yet, I know. You must wait, dear, till
the heavens are deep and clear, just like
your eyes."
Now go," said the flowers to their sis-
ter, and smile on the good little chil-
dren, that they may know how we love
them, and that we will all come up by
and by, so that they may fill their hands
with blossoms if they will."
And shall I not smile on the naughty
little ones too?" asked the snowdrop.
"Oh, yes answered they; smile as
brightly as you can, that they may smile
in return, for they will love us so, they
will forget everything but the good and
Up went the snowdrop, and the sun
kissed her. Then everybody was glad,
and children said, "Spring is coming the


flowers and butterflies will be here, and
we can play in the air all day long."
The snowdrop bent her head, and per-
haps told the flowers beneath how glad
the children had been.
Let us be good, dear little children,
that the snowdrop may have so pleasant
a story to tell the sweet flowers, that
they will come up in whole troops to
see us.


EAR, dear !" im-
S patiently said a
blue violet one
F morning, I wish
the grass would
---- not grow up so
Stall that I can-
not look around me. I know nothing of
the world beyond my humble home, and
even now, I can only see the sun as it
dances on the green leaves far up above
me. No one cares for me, so far down


in the grass. Sure, never was a poor
flower more miserably situated "
Thus the violet murmured, and the
flower-angel drew near with tearful eyes,
for he tenderly loved the blue-eyed blos-
som, and he was grieved that she did not
trust in his better knowledge. Yet it
was so strange a thing for the violet to
complain, that he resolved to suffer her to
do as she would.
"And wouldst thou be happy," he
gently asked, "if thou wert that butter-
cup on yonder sunny bank ?"
Ah, yes!" and the blue eye of the
flower brightened; then indeed would I
never complain."
It was a strange thing, but the angel so
willed it; and the spirit of the violet
passed into the buttercup. Out in the
clear, warm light of the sun, how she re-


joiced in the beauty of her bright golden
leaves! She opened them, and let the
sunshine into her heart; and all that sum-
mer morning, she almost doubted that she
was not dreaming.
When the blazing noon-sun poured
down upon her, she bent her head; but no
green leaves protected her, no dew-drops
nestled in the grass to refresh her. Her
stem no longer reared itself upon the
sunny bank. With a burning brow, she
wearily sank upon the ground.
"I die I die "murmured she. Oh for
a cool home like that of the water-lily "
The flower-angel heard the faint excla-
mation of the dying blossom; and soon
the spirit of the violet rested among the
lily's white leaves.
"I am happy now," said she; and she


laid her head caressingly upon the cool
But a storm arose; the wind blew the
still waters into fearful waves, and where
was the water-lily now? Rudely tossed
about by the raving winds, she trem-
blingly called upon the protecting angel.
"Save me save me I" she said; "place
me where I can be safe from the storm."
The lily yet drifted about, but the spirit
had left it, and now dwelt with a daisy
close beside a garden-fence. Soon the
storm passed away, and the daisy thought
she was happy indeed. She peeped
through the fence,-what a display of
garden beauty met her eye! Butterflies
and humming-birds glanced about among
the brightly tinted flowers, and -the daisy
rejoiced in the exceeding loveliness of the
sight. But suddenly an envious thought

~li~ t,



stole into her heart, and clouded her pure
white brow. Yes; even there, with the
sunlight all around, and the glad blue eye
of heaven looking smilingly down upon
her, she murmured.
Why," said she, half aloud, why
must I live beyond the garden inclosure?
Why come the butterflies not to me, as to
yonder tulip? How beautiful it must be
to live in a garden !"
Scarcely were the words uttered, when
the flower-angel hovered near, and the
complaining spirit floated into the tulip's
heart. The sun tipped the bright petals
with gold, and the butterflies and gay
insects gathered around.
Rear not thy head so proudly," said a
haughty crown imperial; I am thy queen !
Thou'rt but a simple tulip; bend thy head
before me !"


"I! I bend to a flower breathed the
tulip. Nay; kind angel, let me be the
queen! I will ask nothing more! and the
spirit passed from the tulip to the haughty
But the butterflies and humming-birds
fled from before her tainted breath. She
saw them sporting with the other flowers,
while she was alone. She felt that she
was not loved by those around her; she
saw that she was avoided by all. The
spirit that once dwelt in the violet needed
love, and now that it was not hers, how
she wept The sun was low; she thought
of her forest home, of her violet life; and
she bent her head, and prayed. Night
came. The violet again nestled among
the dewy grass of the forest. The cool
green leaves bent over her lovingly; and


the angel kissed the flower, for he knew
by her grateful smile that she never again
would murmur.


T was near the close
Sof a warm afternoon
in June, and the
school-children were
Growing weary with
being shut up so
S 1 long. Indeed, some
of the smallest ones
upon the front seats
were fast asleep, with their flushed cheeks
laid upon their desks. The teacher her-
self was as tired, as the rest of the dull
routine of arithmetic, grammar, and
geography," and she longed to open the
3 33


door and set all the little imprisoned
ones free.
But as much as she wished to give
them all their liberty, she knew it would
not do; so she cast about in her mind
for something pleasant and instructive to
talk about, so that the last hour of school
might not drag so heavily.
Upon her table was a sweet bouquet of
June roses, placed there by the loving
hands of some of her little pupils, Se-
lecting one of them, she held it up and
said :-
"Children, you may close your books
and put them away quietly, and we will
have a little talk about these flowers."
They obeyed most cheerfully.
The look of weariness passed away
from all the faces in the room, and one
after another the little sleepers awoke, as

rJ'I ,'


if they knew something was to be said
that they would be glad to hear.
What do I hold in my hand?" asked
the teacher.
Some of the children answered "a
rose;" some, "a flower;" and one little bit
of a girl said "a posy."
"You are all right," said the teacher;
"it is a rose, a beautiful red rose, and
here under the leaves is a little baby rose.
We call it a bud.
"How wonderful that within this soft,
green covering so many leaves are folded,
snug and tight We know that they are
all there, because by and by it opens, and
the brightly colored rose-leaves slowly
unfold, until after a while we have the
full-blown rose, rich with fragrance and
sweet to look upon.
"What causes the tiny bud to turn into


the beautiful rose? Could you do this
wonderful thing, my children? Could I?
Could your fathers and mothers? Could
the wisest man that ever lived?"
"No no answered the little ones
to all these questions.
"No," continued the teacher; "there is
but one who has the power to do this.
His name is God.
"He sends the bright sunshine, the re-
freshing dew, and the soft summer air to
the little bud, and in some mysterious
way, that we cannot understand, they
cause it to expand into a lovely rose.
"What lesson shall we learn from this,
my little ones? Shall it not teach us that
if our kind heavenly Father takes so
much care of all the little buds, how cer-
tain it is that he watches over us, and


tenderly guards the smallest and weakest
of his children?
"Let us not forget to thank him for his
loving kindness, and try and have our lives
so bright, and sweet, and beautiful, that he
will delight to look upon us, even as we
rejoice at the sight of a fair flower-garden."
So the teacher ended her little talk
about the rosebud, and when she dis-
missed school, the children went out more
quietly than usual, and as they walked
homeward the sweet wild roses by the
wayside, with their dainty pink leaves,
spoke to them in a new language, even of.
the love and the tenderness of our Father
in heaven.

;I ri II II

7 iii.



OTHER," said little
Willie, who had been
for some time sitting
quite still in his rock-
ing-chair looking at
a new picture-book,
"here is a picture that
I don't understand.
Won't you tell me about it?"
"Yes, darling," said the kind mother,
laying aside her work and looking at the
picture which Willie had brought to her.
"You have been good and still so long I


shall be glad to tell you about your pic-
tures now. There is quite a story to this
picture,- don't you think so? "
"Yes, mother, only I can't find out
what it is. I wish I could read pictures
as you do."
The good mother smiled, and, taking
her little boy in her lap, began to explain
the pretty engraving.
"In the first place," said she, "I see
that it is late in the fall, perhaps in the
beginning of winter, although I see there
is no snow upon the ground."
How do you know that? asked Wil-
"Because," answered the mother, "the
trees seem to be bare, and the sky looks
dark and gloomy.",
"But the little girl has bare arms and
feet," said Willie.


"Yes, she is probably poor, for her
clothes look old and thin. She has been
in the forest to gather a fagot."
"What is a fagot? asked Willie.
"A fagot is a bundle of sticks," an-
swered the mother. This is a good and
kind little girl, I know, and she does all
that she can to help her mother."
"I should like to go into the woods to
gather a fagot for you," said Willie, "only
I shouldn't want to meet such a great dog.
See how frightened the poor little girl
looks, and how the dog opens his great
mouth, as if he was going to eat her "
"These boys, that you see," continued
the mother, going on with her explana-
tion, "have been fishing in the water, a
little of which you can see just beyond
the trees."
"And what a lot of fishes they have


caught too !" said Willie. "When I go
into the woods to gather you a fagot, I
will take my fishing-rod and see if a can
catch some fishes,- that is, if I can have a
'truly' hook, and not a bent pin. But
what is the largest boy holding up his
hand for?"
"I am afraid," said the mother, "that
he has been setting his dog upon that
poor little girl. Some children, even
when quite small, seem to enjoy giving
pain to those younger and weaker than
themselves. It shows a very mean and
wicked spirit to do so, and such a boy
will be almost sure to grow up into a bad
man. I always shudder when I see chil-
dren pulling the wings from flies and other
insects, tormenting dogs and cats, or
troubling any creature when there is no
need of it."


-, \- -,.
-r- ;*


"But what is the other boy doing,
mother? asked Willie, with his eyes still
fixed upon the picture. "He looks kinder
than the other one, and I guess he is say-
ing, Oh, don't set the dog upon the poor
little girl!'"
"Yes," said the mother; "you read the
picture nicely. He seems to be begging
the other boy not to be so cruel, and he is
running to call off the dog."
I 'am afraid the little girl will lose her
sticks," said Willie; "one end of the rope
seems to be dragging on the ground. If
she drops them, I hope that kind boy will
help her pick them up again."
"I dare say he will," said the mother.
"And now I need not ask my Willie
which boy he had rather be like when he
grows older."
Of course, like the good, kind boy,"


said Willie; "for nobody could love any
one who was cruel and wicked."
"And remember, my dear little boy,"
continued the mother, "that a blessing is
pronounced in the Bible upon those who
are kind to others, in these sweet words,
which you may learn to repeat: -
"'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall
obtain mercy.'"


EAR little Red Riding-
hood! there she
She holds on her hood
with her dimpled
SHer basket she brings
S-for her grandame
To enter she has but the bobbin to pull.
O little Red Riding-hood! why stand you there,
Peeping out from beneath your wild tresses of hair?

Those tresses! how glossy this morning they lay,
From your forehead so carefully all brushed away,
4 49


When your kind mother bade you all day to be
And, kissing you, tied on your little red hood!
But ah! from the path to the forest you strayed,
With the wolf, sly and wicked, -you talked and
you played.

Ah, little Red Riding-hood! well may you stand,
Half fearing to reach to the bobbin your hand;
No kindly old grandame will welcome you in;
The wolf's cruel jaws with her crimson blood
Oh, pause on the threshold! Beware, oh, beware!
He waits for poor little Red Riding-hood there!



T was getting too dark
to see well; so I put
S aside my work and
leaned back in my lit-
S- tle sewing-chair. My
little Carrie closed
her picture-book, and
climbing into my lap,
laid her head upon
my shoulder while I slowly rocked her to
and fro.
You know this is my story time, dear
mother," said she, "and I want to hear


about something that you did when yon
were a little girl."
Well, dear," said I, "I will tell some-
thing of which I was thinking this very
I was about nine years old, and I at-
tended the grammar school in L. At the
beginning of every term the teacher gave
us clean white cards, upon which, every
Saturday, he marked numbers, showing
how our behavior and lessons had been
through the week. Thus, number one
was best; number two, good; number
three, bad; number four, very bad."
"0 mother," interrupted little Carrie,
"I hope you were never marked four."
No, dear, I never had more than two
marked against my name, and I was going
to tell you about the first number two I
ever received.


It was near the close of the term, and I
was much pleased with the row of ones
on my card. If we received the highest
number through the whole term, our
teacher had our cards framed and hung
upon the wall of the school-room for the
committee and visitors to look at on ex-
amination day, and I often found myself
thinking how proud and delighted I should
be to carry home my card in its neat little
frame, and I had already selected the place
in the parlor where I would have it hung.
But one unfortunate Saturday almost all
the class, and I among the rest, found a
two marked against our names. I have
forgotten now why it was; perhaps we had
whispered during the week, or perhaps
our lessons had not been prepared as well
as usual; but, whatever the cause had been,
the two was there, and great was our


grief. I was not only grieved, but angry,
thinking the teacher was to blame for giv-
ing me the number.
Quick as thought, when I reached my
seat after I received my card (and I might
say quicker than thought, for .if I had
stopped to think, I should never have
done it), I tore my card in pieces and
put them into my pocket. My seat-mate
saw it, and opened her blue eyes wide
with astonishment. I do not know how I
had dared to do it, for I trembled when
it was done, and such a feeling of wretched-
ness came over me as I never can describe.
On my way home I threw the torn card
into a little pool of water which was be-
side the street.
I dreaded to enter the house, lest some
one should ask to see my card, and, after
staying out as long as I could, I went in

:' ,-A

. :-


and took my seat at the dinner-table,
without speaking.
"Every time I was addressed I trembled
in fear that my card would be mentioned;
but the dinner hour passed and no one
spoke of it. Saturday afternoon was
usually a very happy time with me, for
my dolls and play-house and story-books
kept me busy enough; but now, instead
of playing, I went to my room, and,
throwing myself upon my bed, I wept
until I had no more tears left. I have
wished since that I had opened my heart
to my kind mother; but I felt that I had
done too dreadful a thing to speak of.
At length Saturday afternoon and Sun-
day wore away, and Monday morning
came, and with it the certainty that I
must go back to school, and account in
some way for my missing card. The rules


of the school were very strict. It was
considered a great fault even to soil a
card; what, then, would my punishment
be when it was known that I had de-
stroyed mine!
When our class was called to recite in
the morning, our teacher passed around to
collect the cards. When he had nearly
reached me I went to my seat, and pre-
tended to be looking carefully over my
books as if searching for my card. When
I went back to my class I hoped he would
forget to ask me for it; but no he turned
tome at once, with the dreaded question,
'Where is your card?'--'At home,' I
faltered, hardly knowing what I said. -
'Will you' bring it this afternoon?' he
continued. I nodded my head for an
answer, while a blush of shame over-
spread my face at the thought that I had

M2. I


told two falsehoods. What could I do
now? After the recitation was over I
returned to my seat with my heart heavier
than ever it was before, for oh, how I had
added to its burden in the last few mo-
ments! I well remember saying to my-
self, 'This cannot go on any longer. I
cannot tell any more falsehoods;' and in
the spirit with which the prodigal son
said, 'I will arise and go to my father and
will say unto him, Father, I have sinned
against heaven and before thee,' I resolved
to go to my teacher and tell him the whole
story. I supposed my punishment would
be very severe; but I thought that any-
thing would be better than the anguish I
was suffering.
After school was dismissed, I saw that
the teacher still sat at his desk busily
writing; so I lingered until all the scholars


had gone, and then I went tremblingly up
to him; and, as well as I could speak
through my sobs and tears, I confessed
my sin and begged his forgiveness. When
I had finished my story he was silent a
while, and I stood, like a culprit as I was,
awaiting my doom. I shall never forget
his calm, quiet answer, when at length he
"'Well, if I give you a new card, do
you.think you will take good care of it?'
Dear man I could have fallen at his
feet for very gratitude, and I have no
words with which to tell you how light
a heart was mine as I bounded towards
home. You may be very sure that I
never forgot the lesson which I learned
from my torn card."

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