Lizabeth realizes what it means to be ashamed of herself.... what it means to know that your own actions, the acting of anger of frustration can do.... and that is to hurt another person. Lizabeth learns what is it to see the pain in someone else's eyes, to see the one thing they find beautiful destroyed. She comes to see that everyone has their own hurt and burdens to carry.... that everyone needs to be able to find their own way, and their own beauty.
In that humiliating moment I looked beyond myself and into the depths of another person. This was the beginning of compassion, and one cannot have both compassion and innocence.
Miss Lottie died long ago and many years have passed since I last saw her hut, completely barren at last, for despite my wild contrition she never planted marigolds again. Yet, there are times when the image of those passionate yellow mounds returns with a painful poignancy. For one does not have to be ignorant and poor to find that his life is as barren as the dusty yards of our town. And I too have planted
marigolds.