ragged edges and look torn where the rock is broken and crumbling; that one over there, on that clump of dandelions, is laughing back at itself and is the happiest thing in the whole world; those on the dock leaves just slide and slide and keep on sliding; and there is a little bit of a one over there, apart from the rest, sitting still on a toadstool, just as if it thought that it was the only thing anywhere, and that nothing else mattered."
"Each one is different, isn't it?" said the Dream.
"Just as different as can be. There aren't two of them the least bit alike, and they keep all the time changing, too. Some of them you can scarcely keep track of at all, they flicker from one thing to another so fast,—all except the one on the toadstool."
"And some of them you like better than the others?"
Marjorie laughed. "Why, of course I do, only I wouldn't have thought of putting it that way. I love the one on the dandelions. It is happy and good and cheery and gentle, and laughs right back into the soul of itself. I could just hug that one, and when it makes me
