no longer be enamelled with lovely hues.  And so it is in the world of souls, Our Lord’s living garden.  He has been pleased to create great Saints who may be compared to the lily and the rose, but He has also created lesser ones, who must be content to be daisies or simple violets flowering at His Feet, and whose mission it is to gladden His Divine Eyes when He deigns to look down on them.  And the more gladly they do His Will the greater is their perfection.

I understood this also, that God’s Love is made manifest as well in a simple soul which does not resist His grace as in one more highly endowed.  In fact, the characteristic of love being self-abasement, if all souls resembled the holy Doctors who have illuminated the Church, it seems that God in coming to them would not stoop low enough.  But He has created the little child, who knows nothing and can but utter feeble cries, and the poor savage who has only the natural law to guide him, and it is to their hearts that He deigns to stoop.  These are the field flowers whose simplicity charms Him; and by His condescension to them Our Saviour shows His infinite greatness.  As the sun shines both on the cedar and on the floweret, so the Divine Sun illumines every soul, great and small, and all correspond to His care—­just as in nature the seasons are so disposed that on the appointed day the humblest daisy shall unfold its petals.

You will wonder, dear Mother, to what all this is leading, for till now I have said nothing that sounds like the story of my life; but did you not tell me to write quite freely whatever came into my mind?  So, it will not be my life properly speaking, that you will find in these pages, but my thoughts about the graces which it has pleased Our Lord to bestow on me.

I am now at a time of life when I can look back on the past, for my soul has been refined in the crucible of interior and exterior trials.  Now, like a flower after the storm, I can raise my head and see that the words of the Psalm are realised in me:  “The Lord is my Shepherd and I shall want nothing.  He hath set me in a place of pasture.  He hath brought me up on the water of refreshment.  He hath converted my soul.  He hath led me on the paths of justice for His own Name’s sake.  For though I should walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils for Thou are with me."[6]

Yes, to me Our Lord has always been “compassionate and merciful, long-suffering and plenteous in mercy."[7]

And so it gives me great joy, dear Mother, to come to you and sing His unspeakable mercies.  It is for you alone that I write the story of the little flower gathered by Jesus.  This thought will help me to speak freely, without troubling either about style or about the many digressions that I shall make; for a Mother’s heart always understands her child, even when it can only lisp, and so I am sure of being understood and my meaning appreciated.

If a little flower could speak, it seems to me that it would tell us quite simply all that God has done for it, without hiding any of its gifts.  It would not, under the pretext of humility, say that it was not pretty, or that it had not a sweet scent, that the sun had withered its petals, or the storm bruised its stem, if it knew that such were not the case.