Daisy is seven years old when she climbs into her pony-chaise one winter morning, bent on gathering wintergreens with a friend. What she finds instead is a harder question: why do some children have warm homes and others do not? In this 1864 novel, Susan Warner traces the formation of a young conscience with the precision of a writer who remembered childhood fully. Daisy is not a saint. She is curious, sometimes willful, and genuinely puzzled by the gap between what she is told about Christianity and what she sees in the world. When she encounters a poor family, her attempts to reconcile her privileged life with her desire to do good become the quiet engine of the narrative. Warner's achievement lies in taking seriously what many adults dismiss as childhood naivety: the real, aching work of figuring out what it means to be good.
