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"They're somewhere far away," Marigold replied. "I like to imagine that they're in a big field full of flowers, especially lilacs, and little rivers running everywhere, and apple trees... apple trees that are in blossom, but also have the apples on them. Wouldn't it be nice if apple trees were like that?" She sighed, and looked out the window at the approaching storm clouds. "There's rain there, too," she said, "but it's always the nice kind of rain. It never stops you from doing what you want to do. It comes only when you want it to come. And of course there's a house there, with a warm fire to sit by while the wind is howling outside."
Marigold fell silent for a little while, contemplating with a little sorrow, some pleasure, and a good degree of dreaminess this far away place. When she spoke again to Snaveling, her face had turned sour. "Old Mrs. Hilldweller who lives across the road from my old home says that my mother and father are in the graveyard. I suppose that's where they're buried, but I know they can't be there. I don't know how I know, but it doesn't seem possible. My mamma would be terribly unhappy underground and my papa would be so unhappy that she was unhappy that he would just break out of the ground to let her free, whether he was dead or not."
She smiled in an amused fashion at this thought, and then her expression changed to one of deep earnestness. "You may be wondering if I understand what I'm talking about," she said. "Maybe it doesn't sound like it, but I do know what I'm talking about. I do know my parents are dead. And I cried a long while when it happened. But I find it easier to be happy even when they're gone. And it makes me happier to think that they're in some beautiful place, and not merely buried underneath the ground. But... I do still miss them sometimes." Little Marigold sighed. Perhaps she missed them sometimes, she reflected, but it was altogether certain that she really and truly did miss them all the time.
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