At the intersection of Elm Street and Lawrence Avenue was a small patch of soil where the sidewalk was cracked. In the soil lived one small flower - a daisy.

The daisy, whose name was Eleanor, was quite young. She was six inches tall, just tall enough for her to peek past the sidewalk at cars and bicycles and children who walked to and from the elementary school at the top of the hill on Elm Street.

Eleanor lived a quiet and pleasant life until one Friday afternoon in late June when a small crowd of schoolkids gathered to watch a fist fight between two fourth grade boys.

Toward the end of the fight, the larger boy pushed the smaller to the sidewalk and rolled him over on his back, bending Eleanor at the stem.

Among the crowd was a young girl named Cilla. She was nine years old and wore her short blonde hair tied with a yellow ribbon that matched her sun dress.

Cilla tugged on her next oldest sister's sleeve and pointed at Eleanor.

"We must save her," Cilla said, and turned to run home. Her sister soon followed.

Twenty minutes later, after the fight ended and the crowd dispersed, Cilla and her sister returned with a small pot and trowel they'd borrowed from their mother's garden.

Cilla dug in the soil and lifted Eleanor into the pot. She brought her home and, with the help of her sister, planted Eleanor in the back corner of the yard near the oak that held the tire swing and the tree house where Cilla often had tea with her best friend Bernice.

Cilla's sister brought water and sprinkled it on Eleanor's petals. Cilla kissed Eleanor and told her she'd visit after dinner.

Two hours later, Cilla sat in the grass beside Eleanor and told her stories about her sisters and Bernice and Bernice's older brother Tatum who owned a sling shot.

After dark, Cilla sang the love song she often heard playing on her oldest sister's record player.

"Daisy, it's all right. It's all right. It's all right. Believe me, daisy, it's all right," she sang.

Cilla lay in the grass until her mother told her it was time for bed.

By the next morning, Eleanor's stem was healed, and this made Cilla clap her hands and shout.

Cilla watered Eleanor every morning and sat with her every evening to sing and tell stories.

She loved Eleanor, and she felt quite sure that Eleanor loved her back.

In late August, Cilla's parents told her they were moving to the city. Cilla's father had gotten a job as manager of a toy factory.

Cilla was excited, but sad to leave her daisy, and on moving day, as she looked back at her house through the rear window of her parents' station wagon, she shed a tear and wondered if she'd ever see Eleanor again.

She would.