One day, as she was flying around, hurriedly painting the wildflowers, in the middle of a forest she came upon a garden with not a single flower in it. The whole garden looked very pale and gloomy and there was a little odd-looking hut in the middle.

Since there were no flowers to paint, in the garden, she flew away. But as she was passing over the garden’s boundary, she heard someone sobbing. “Who’s crying?”

Daffodeelia looked around to see who it was. But, there was no one to be seen. She heard it again. It had to have come from the colorless garden, she thought. But it looked abandoned and not a flower was in sight. A huge fence made with thorny sticks went all the way around the garden.

Daffodeelia peeped through the fence, to see who was so unhappy.

“Oh, no! Please, Daffodeelia, don’t go in,” the wildflowers shouted, all at once.

“Why? Why shouldn’t I go in?” Daffodeelia asked.

“Daffodeelia, that garden belongs to a witch. She doesn’t like any flowers in her garden. And she doesn’t let anyone enter. Not even a single little bee is allowed in. If she sees you, you’ll be in big trouble!” the wildflowers cried. The blubbering sound, which had quit, started again when the flowers spoke up.

“Oh no, someone is crying. I must go and see what I can do.”

Daffodeelia peeped through the fence once more.

“Oh, there you are!”

She could finally see it was a tiny little flower, who was crying underneath a bush. The flower looked pale and fragile. She cried so much that Daffodeelia couldn’t bear it.

“Little flower, why are you crying?” she asked, gently.

The little flower lifted her head and looked at Daffodeelia, with tear-filled eyes.

“I feel very lonely. No one comes to keep me company, because I am so pale and ugly. The bees and butterflies visit all the other flowers, but do not come to me, because I’m not pretty. I don’t have any color at all!”

The little whitish flower sobbed and sobbed. Daffodeelia felt sorry for her.

Oh, don’t cry, little flower. I’ll give you beautiful colors. Then, you also will be pretty, like the others. And the bees and butterflies will come to you too,” she said.

Just as she was about to creep under the fence, to go to the little flower, all the wildflowers shouted again.

“Oh, no, Daffodeelia... don’t go in! The witch hates flowers and colors. That’s why that plain little flower is hiding under the bush. If you go in, you’ll get caught by the witch.”

“But, please... I want to help that poor flower. She is so sad. I want to give her color and make her happy,” Daffodeelia said.

Well, then, you wait here until I go and see whether the witch is still sleeping,” said a hummingbird that had been watching from a branch. He flew towards the witch’s hut at once and came back chirping.

“Hurry up! Hurry up! The witch is still sleeping. Go in and paint the flower before she wakes up,” said the bird.

Daffodeelia was very happy. She sneaked through the fence, into the witch’s garden and went to the whitish, little flower.

“Daffodeelia, be careful... be careful!” the flowers and the butterflies shouted, as she went in. The whitish flower was very happy. Her face was flushed with happiness. Daffodeelia knelt down beside her and started to paint. She had barely touched the flower when, she was pulled by her feet by someone.

“Oh, noooo!” she cried.

It was the witch of the colorless garden. She had woken up, and came to see what was going on. “What are you doing over here?” the witch growled.

“I... I... I just came to paint this little flower,” Daffodeelia stammered, in fear. 

“What? You want to paint a flower? I’ll paint you instead!”

The witch held her by the wings and sat right down on top of the little flower. And then she grabbed Daffodeelia’s bucket and poured all the paint onto her head.

“Oh, noooo! Please...”

The paint dripped down her head. The strands of her golden hair were splashed with paint. And when she shook her head, little drips of paint scattered all over.

Just then, an amazing thing happened. The little drips from her hair that had splashed on the ground, popped up magically, as lovely little golden flowers.

The whole garden was soon covered with them. Some of the drips that had landed on the witch’s nose, also popped up as golden flowers.

The witch, who hated flowers, got very angry. Her cottage also was covered with the golden flowers. She couldn’t stop the flowers from blossoming. She couldn’t bear their lovely fragrance, either. She plopped the paint bucket on Daffodeelia’s head and went away, angrily.

Bees and butterflies fluttered all around her. She waved her hands, trying to beat them away, but she couldn’t. The flowers were blooming all over the place and the whole garden turned golden, with the magical flowers.

The witch couldn’t bear it any more, so she packed up her things and left to go to a new forest, far away, kicking at the flowers angrily, as she went.

The sun was rising on the eastern sky. The little golden flowers danced merrily. And the little flower, no longer whitish, also laughed merrily, glowing in golden color. The morning breeze refreshed them and took their lovely fragrance all across the forest. Daffodeelia was very happy. She laughed and flitted among the flowers, singing happily.

The flowers, bees, and butterflies sang along with her. When the sun had risen, she left to go back to fairyland.

The golden flowers waved to her, as she flew away. They looked so beautiful in the sunlight, just like Daffodeelia.

Thereafter, the lovely golden flowers were called “daffodils.”

That’s how daffodils came into this world.

Janaki Sooriyarachchi  Biography.....

Janaki Sooriyarachchi is a young, versatile author-illustrator in Sri Lanka, who started writing early, in her childhood. She wrote her first book, a ballad, when she was 8 years old and her first book was published at the age of 14. Since then, she has authored over 146 story books for children.

The illustrations, computer graphics, as well as the music & lyrics for her children's song books, have also been done by the author herself.
Though a qualified banker by profession employed at Sampath Bank, she is involved in diverse fields of interest.

The ancestral home in the beautiful village of Puhulwella, where she spent her childhood with her maternal grandparents, was the breeding ground to Janaki Sooriyarachchi.

For the rest of this wonderful author's biography please go to the following link:-
http://www.tikiri.com/author.html

Strange to say though, I always thought the daffodil was Welsh .... of course this could be due to the fact that I'm Welsh of course