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Melbourne House, Volume 1 by Susan Warner

Part 5 out of 6

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The Captain beat his brain to remember, thought he did, and was starting
away, but turned back to see Daisy's eyes open first; fearing lest she
might be alarmed if he were not by her when she came to herself. There
was a bright flash and near peal of thunder at the moment. Juanita
looked up.

"The gentleman will not fear the storm? There is work _here_"--touching
the foot.

The Captain remembered that Daisy herself had directed him to the house,
and dashed away again. The clouds were growing blacker every moment. In
the darkening light Juanita bent over Daisy and saw her eyes open.

"Does my little lady know Juanita?"

Daisy sighed, looked round the room, and then seemed to recollect

"O I am here!" she said. "Where is Capt. Drummond?"

"The gentleman is gone for the doctor, to see to the hurt foot. How is
it now, dear?"

"It hurts me a good deal."

Juanita's first business was to take off the stocking; this could only
be done by cutting it down. When it was removed, a very
sorrowful-looking little foot was seen. Juanita covered it up lightly,
and then turned her attention again to Daisy's pale face.

"What can I give my little lady?"

"I am Daisy Randolph."

"What may I do for Miss Daisy? to give her some comfort."

"Juanita,--I wish you would pray for me again."

"What does Miss Daisy want of the Lord?"

"My foot hurts me very much, and I want to be patient. And, Juanita, I
want to thank him too."

"What for, Miss Daisy?"

"Because--I love him; and he has made me so happy."

"Praise the Lord!" came with a most glad outburst from Juanita's lips;
but then she knelt down, and so uttered her warm petitions for help
needed and so her deep thanksgiving for help rendered, that Daisy was
greatly overcome and poured out her tears as the prayer went on. When it
was ended, Juanita went about her room for a little while, making
certain arrangements that she foresaw would be necessary; then came and
sat down. All this while the storm had been furious; the lightning
hardly ceased, or the thunder, and both were near; but the two inmates
of the little cottage seemed hardly to be conscious what was going on
outside its walls. There was a slight lessening now of the storm's fury.

"Has it gone well with my little lady then, since she gave Juanita the
rose branch?"

This was the new opening of conversation. Daisy hesitated a little what
to answer; not for want of confidence, for there was something about the
fine old woman that had won her completely.

"I don't know"--she said at length, slowly. "It has been very hard to do
right, Juanita."

"But has my little lady kept her Lord's words?"

"Yes, Juanita, I did; but I don't know whether I should, if it hadn't
been for what you said."

"And did she meet the trouble too?"

Juanita saw that she had, for a flush rose on Daisy's poor pale cheeks,
and her face was strangely grave. She did not answer the question
either; only as the flash passed away she looked placidly up and said,

"I am not in trouble now, Juanita."

"Bless the Lord!" was the utterance of Juanita's heart. "The Lord knows
how to deliver out of trouble, Miss Daisy."

"Yes," said Daisy. "O!"--she exclaimed suddenly, with a new light
breaking all over her face--but then she stopped.

"What is it, my love?"

"Nothing--only I am so glad now that my foot is hurt."

Juanita's thanksgiving rose to her lips again, but this time she only
whispered it; turning away, perhaps to hide the moisture which had
sprung to her eyes. For she understood more of the case than Daisy's few
words would have told most people.

Meantime Capt. Drummond and his frisky horse had a ride which was likely
to make both of them remember that thunderstorm. They reached Dr.
Sandford's house; but then the Captain found that the doctor was not at
home; where he was, the servant could not say. The only other thing to
do seemed to be to go on to Melbourne and at least let Daisy have the
counsel of her father and mother. To Melbourne the Captain drove as fast
as his horse's state of mind would permit.

The drawing room was blazing with lights as usual, and full of talkers.

"Hollo!" cried Gary McFarlane, as the Captain entered,--"here he is. We
had given you up for a fossil, Drummond--and no idea of your turning up
again for another thousand years. Shouldn't have known where to look
for you either, after this storm--among the aqueous or the igneous
rocks. Glad to see you! Let me make you acquainted with Dr. Sandford."

"I am glad to see you, sir," said the Captain involuntarily, as he shook
hands with this latter.

"You haven't left Daisy somewhere, changed into a stone lily?" pursued

"Yes," said the Captain. "Dr. Sandford, I am going to ask you to get
ready to ride with me. Mr. Randolph, I have left Daisy by the way. She
has hurt her foot--I threw down a stone upon it--and the storm obliged
her to defer getting home. I left her at a cottage near Crum Elbow. I am
going to take Dr. Sandford to see what the foot wants."

Mr. Randolph ordered the carriage, and then told his wife.

"Does it storm yet?" she asked.

"The thunder and lightning are ceasing, but it rains hard."

The lady stepped out of the room to get ready, and in a few minutes she
and her husband, Capt. Drummond and the doctor, were seated in the
carriage and on their way to Mrs. Benoit's cottage. Capt. Drummond told
how the accident happened; after that he was silent; and so were the
rest of the party, till the carriage stopped.

Mrs. Benoit's cottage looked oddly, when all these grand people poured
into it. But the mistress of the cottage never looked more like herself,
and her reception of the grand people was as simple as that she had
given to Daisy. Little Daisy herself lay just where her friend the
Captain had left her, but looked with curious expression at the others
who entered with him now. The father and mother advanced to the head of
the couch; the Captain and Juanita stood at the foot. The doctor kept
himself a little back.

"Are you suffering, Daisy?" Mr. Randolph asked.

The child's eyes went up to him. "Papa--_yes_!"

She had begun quietly, but the last word was given with more than quiet
expression, and the muscles about her lips quivered. Mr. Randolph
stooped and pressed his own lips upon them.

"I have brought Dr. Sandford to look at your foot, Daisy. He will see
what it wants."

"Will he hurt me, papa?" said the child apprehensively.

"I hope not. No more than is necessary."

"It hurts to have anybody touch it, papa."

"He must touch it, Daisy. Can't you bear it bravely?"

"Wait, papa!"--

And again the child clasped her two hands over her face and was still.
Mr. Randolph had no idea what for, though he humoured her and waited.
The Captain knew, for he had seen more of Daisy that day, and he looked
very grave indeed. The black woman knew, for as Daisy's hands fell from
her face, she uttered a deep, soft "Amen!" which no one understood but
one little heart.

"Papa--I am ready. He may look now."

Juanita removed the covering from the foot, and the doctor stepped
forward. Daisy's eyes rested on him, and she saw gratefully a remarkably
fine and pleasant countenance. Mrs. Randolph's eyes rested on the foot,
and she uttered an exclamation. It was the first word she had uttered.
Everybody else was still, while the doctor passed his hands over and
round the distressed ankle and foot, but tenderly, and in a way that
gave Daisy very little pain. Then he stepped back and beckoned Juanita
to a consultation. Juanita disappeared, and Dr. Sandford came up to Mr.
Randolph and spoke in a low tone. Then Mr. Randolph turned again to

"What is it, papa?" asked the child.

"Daisy, to make your foot well, Dr. Sandford will be obliged to do
something that will hurt you a little--will you try and bear it? He will
not be long about it."

"What is the matter with my foot, papa?"

"Something that the doctor can set right in a few minutes--if you will
try and bear a little pain."

A little pain! And Daisy was suffering so much all the while! Again her
lip trembled.

"Must he touch me, papa?"

"He must touch you."

Daisy's hands were clasped to her face again for a minute; after that
she lay quite still and quiet. Mr. Randolph kept his post, hardly taking
his eye off her; Mrs. Randolph sat down where she had stood; behind the
head of Daisy's couch, where her little daughter could not see her; and
all the party indulged in silence. At length the doctor was ready and
came to the foot, attended by Juanita; and Mr. Randolph took one of
Daisy's hands in his own. With the other the child covered her eyes, and
so lay, perfectly still, while the doctor set the ankle bone which had
been broken. As the foot also itself had been very much hurt, the
handling of necessity gave a great deal of pain, more than the mere
setting of the broken bone would have caused. Mr. Randolph could feel
every now and then the convulsive closing of Daisy's hand upon his;
other than that she gave no sign of what she was suffering. One sign of
what another person was feeling, was given as Dr. Sandford bound up the
foot and finished his work. It was given in Juanita's deep breathed
"Thank the Lord!" The doctor glanced up at her with a slight smile of
curiosity. Capt. Drummond would have said "Amen," if the word had not
been so unaccustomed to his mouth.

Mrs. Randolph rose then, and inquired of the doctor what would be the
best means of removing Daisy?

"She must not be moved," the doctor said.

"Not to-night?"

"No, madam; nor to-morrow, nor for many days."

"Must she be left _here_?"

"If she were out in the weather, I would move her," said the doctor;
"not if she were under a barn that would shed the rain."

"What harm would it do?"

The doctor could not take it upon him to say.

"But I cannot be with her here," said Mrs. Randolph; "nor anybody else,
that I can see."

"Juanita will take care of her," said the doctor. "Juanita is worth an
army of nurses. Miss Daisy cannot be better cared for than she will be."

"Will you undertake the charge?" said Mrs. Randolph, facing round upon
Daisy's hostess.

"The Lord has given it to me, madam,--and I love to do my Lord's work,"
was Juanita's answer. She could not have given a better one, if it had
been meant to act as a shot, to drive Mrs. Randolph out of the house.
The lady waited but till the doctor had finished his directions which he
was giving to the black woman.

"I don't see," then she said to her husband, "that there is anything to
be gained by my remaining here any longer; and if we are to go, the
sooner we go the better, so that Daisy may be quiet. Dr. Sandford says
that is the best thing for her."

"Capt. Drummond will see you home," said her husband. "I shall stay."

"You can't do anything, in this box of a place."

"Unless the child herself desires it, there is no occasion for your
remaining here over night," said the doctor. "She will be best in quiet,
and sleep, if she can. You might hinder, if your presence did not help
her to this."

"What do you say, Daisy?" said her father tenderly, bending over
her;--"shall I stay or go? Which do you wish?"

"Papa, you would not be comfortable here. I am not afraid."

"Do you want me to go?" said her father, putting his face down to hers.
Daisy clasped her two arms round his neck and kissed him and held him
while she whispered,

"No, papa, but maybe you had better. There is no place for you, and I am
not afraid."

He kissed her silently and repeatedly, and then rose up and went to look
at the storm. It had ceased; the moon was struggling out between great
masses of cloud driving over the face of the sky. Mrs. Randolph stood
ready to go, putting on her "capuche" which she had thrown off, and
Juanita laying her shawl round her shoulders. The doctor stood waiting
to hand her to the carriage. The Captain watched Daisy, whose eye was
wistfully fixed on her mother. He watched, and wondered at its very
grave, soft expression. There was very little affection in the Captain's
mind at that moment towards Mrs. Randolph.

The carriage was ready, and the lady turned round to give a parting look
at the child. A cold look it was, but Daisy's soft eye never changed.

"Mamma," said she whisperingly, "won't you kiss me?"

Mrs. Randolph stooped instantly and gave the kiss; it could not be
refused, and was fully given; but then she immediately took Doctor
Sandford's arm and went out of the house. The Captain reverently bent
over Daisy's little hand, and followed her.

The drive was a very silent one till Dr. Sandford was left at his own
door. So soon as the carriage turned again, Mrs. Randolph broke out.

"How long did he say, Mr. Randolph, the child must be left at that
woman's cottage?"

"He said she must not be moved for weeks."

"She might as well stay forever," said Mrs. Randolph,--"for the effect
it will have. It will take a year to get Daisy back to where she was! I
wish fanatics would confine their efforts to children that have no one
else to care for them."

"What sort of fanaticism has been at work here, Mrs. Randolph?" the
Captain enquired.

"The usual kind, of course; religious fanaticism. It seems to be

"I have been in dangerous circumstances to day, then," said the Captain.
"I am afraid I have caught it. I feel as if something was the matter
with me."

"It will not improve you," said Mrs. Randolph drily.

"How has it wrought with Daisy?"

"Changed the child so that I do not recognize her. She never set up her
own will before; and now she is as difficult to deal with as possible.
She is an impersonation of obstinacy."

"Perhaps, after all, she is only following orders," said the Captain
with daring coolness. "A soldier's duty makes him terribly obstinate
sometimes. You must excuse me,--but you see I cannot help appreciating
military qualities."

"Will you be good enough to say what you mean?" the lady asked with
sufficient displeasure of manner.

"Only, that I believe in my soul Daisy takes her orders from higher
authority than we do. And I have seen to-day--I declare! I have seen a
style of obedience and soldierly following, that would win any sort of a
field--ay, and die in it!" added the Captain musingly. "It is the sort
of thing that gets promotion from the ranks."

"How did all this happen to-day?" asked Mr. Randolph, as the lady was
now silent. "I have heard only a bit of it."

In answer to which, Capt. Drummond went into the details of the whole
day's experience; told it point by point, and bit by bit; having a
benevolent willingness that Daisy's father and mother should know, if
they would, with what sort of a spirit they were dealing. He told the
whole story; and nobody interrupted him.

"It is one thing," said the Captain thoughtfully as he concluded,--"it
is one thing to kneel very devoutly and say after the minister, 'Lord,
have mercy upon us, and write all these laws in our hearts;'--I have
done that myself; but it gives one an entirely different feeling to see
some one in whose heart they are written!"

"There is only one thing left for you, Capt. Drummond," said Mrs.
Randolph slightly; "to quit the army and take orders."

"I am afraid, if I did, you would never want to see me settled in Mr.
Pyne's little church over here," the Captain answered, as he helped the
lady to alight at her own door.

"Not till Daisy is safely married," said Mrs. Randolph laughing.


Till the sound of the carriage wheels had died away in the distance,
Juanita stood at the door looking after them; although the trees and the
darkness prevented her seeing anything along the road further than a few
yards. When the rustle of the breeze among the branches was the only
thing left to hear, beside the dripping of the rain drops shaken from
the leaves, Juanita shut the door and came to Daisy. The child was lying
white and still, with her eyes closed. Very white and thin the little
face looked, indeed; and under each eyelid lay a tear glistening, that
had forced its way so far into notice. Juanita said not a word just
then; she bustled about and made herself busy. Not that Juanita's busy
ways were ever bustling in reality; she was too good a nurse for that;
but she had several things to do. The first was to put up a screen at
the foot of Daisy's couch. She lay just a few feet from the door, and
everybody coming to the door and having it opened, could look in if he
pleased; and so Daisy would have no privacy at all. That would not do;
Juanita's wits went to work to mend the matter. Her little house had
been never intended for more than one person. There was another room in
it, to be sure, where Mrs. Benoit's own bed was; so that Daisy could
have the use and possession of this outer room all to herself.

Juanita went about her business too noiselessly to induce even those
closed eyelids to open. She fetched a tolerably large clothes-horse from
somewhere--some shed or out-building; this she set at the foot of the
couch, and hung an old large green moreen curtain over it. Where the
curtain came from, one of Mrs. Benoit's great locked chests knew; there
were two or three such chests in the inner room, with more treasures
than a green moreen curtain stowed away in them. The curtain was too
large for the clothes-horse to hold up; it lay over the floor. Juanita
got screws and cords; fixed one screw in the wall, another in the
ceiling, and at last succeeded in stretching the curtain neatly on the
cords and the clothes-horse, where she wanted it to hang. That was done;
and Daisy's couch was quite sheltered from any eyes coming to the door
that had no business to come further. When it was finished, and the
screws and cords put away, Juanita came to Daisy's side. The eyes were
open now.

"That is nice," said Daisy.

"It'll keep you by yourself, my little lady. Now what will she have?"

"Nothing--only I am thirsty," said Daisy.

Juanita went to the well for some cold water, and mixed with it a
spoonful of currant jelly. It was refreshing to the poor little dry

"What will my love have next?"

"I don't know," said Daisy--"my foot aches a good deal, and all my leg.
I think--Juanita--I would like it if you would read to me."

Juanita took a somewhat careful survey of her, felt her hands, and
finally got the book.

"Is there too much air for my love from that window?"

"No, it is nice," said Daisy. "I can see the stars so beautifully, with
the clouds driving over the sky. Every now and then they get between me
and the stars--and then the stars look out again so bright. They seem
almost right over me. Please read, Juanita."

Mrs. Benoit did not consider that it made much difference to Daisy where
she read; so she took the chapter that came next in the course of her
own going through the New Testament. It was the eighth chapter of Mark.
She read very pleasantly; not like a common person; and with a slight
French accent. Her voice was always sweet, and the words came through it
as loved words. It was very pleasant to Daisy to hear her; the long
chapter was not interrupted by any remark. But when Mrs. Benoit paused
at the end of it, Daisy said,

"How can anybody be ashamed of him, Juanita?"

The last verse of the chapter has these words--

"Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me, and of my words, in this
adulterous and sinful generation; of him also shall the Son of man be
ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy

"How _can_ anybody be ashamed of him, Juanita?"

"They not see the glory of the Lord, my lady."

"But _we_ do not see it yet."

"My love will see it. Juanita has seen it. This little house be all full
of glory sometimes, when Jesus is here."

"But that is because you love him, Juanita."

"Praise the Lord!" echoed the black woman. "He do shew his glory to his
people, before he come with the holy angels."

"I don't see how anybody can be _ashamed_ of him," Daisy repeated,
uttering the words as if they contained a simple impossibility.

"My little lady not know the big world yet. There be ways, that the Lord
know and that the people not know."

"What do you mean, Juanita?"

"My lady will find it," said the black woman folding her arms. "When all
the world go one way, then folks not like to go another way and be
looked at; they be ashamed of Christ's words then, and they only think
they do not want to be looked at."

A colour came all over Daisy's face--a suffusion of colour; and tears
swam in her eyes.

"I didn't like to be looked at, the other night!" she said, in a
self-accusing tone.

"Did my love turn and go with the world?"

"No, I didn't do that."

"Then Jesus won't turn away neither," said the black woman.

"But I ought not to have felt so, Juanita."

"Maybe. My love is a little child. The good Lord shall 'stablish her and
keep her from evil. Now she must not talk no more, but trust the Lord,
and go to sleep."

"I can't sleep, Juanita--my leg aches so."

"That will be better. Is my love thirsty again?"

"Very thirsty! I wish I had some oranges."

"They would be good," said Juanita, bringing another glass of jelly and
water for Daisy. And then she sat down and sang softly; hymns in French
and English; sweet and low, and soothing in their simple and sometimes
wild melody. They soothed Daisy. After a time, wearied and exhausted by
all her long day of trial, she did forget pain in slumber. The eyelids
closed, and Juanita's stealthy examination found that quiet soft
breathing was really proving her fast asleep. The singing ceased; and
for a while nothing was to be heard in the cottage but the low rush and
rustle of the wind which had driven away the storm clouds, and the
patter of a dislodged rain drop or two that were shaken from the leaves.
Daisy's breathing was too soft to be heard, and Juanita almost held her
own lest it should be too soon disturbed. But the pain of the hurt foot
and ankle would not suffer a long sleep. Daisy waked up with a sigh.

"Are you there, Juanita?"

"I am here."

"What o'clock is it?"

Juanita drew back the curtain of the window by Daisy's couch, that the
moonlight might fall in and shew the face of the little clock. It was

"It won't be morning in a great while, will it?" said Daisy.

"Does my lady want morning?"

"My foot hurts me dreadfully, Juanita--the pain shoots and jumps all up
my leg. Couldn't you do something to it?"

"My dear love, it will be better by and by--there is no help now for it,
unless the Lord sends sleep. I s'pose it must ache. Can't Miss Daisy
remember who sends the pain?"

The child answered her with a curious smile. It was not strange to the
black woman; she read it and knew it and had seen such before; to
anybody that had not, how strange would have seemed the lovingness that
spread over all Daisy's features and brightened on her brow as much as
on her lips. It was not patient submission; it was the light of joyful
affection shining out over all Daisy's little pale face.

"Ay, it isn't hard with Jesus," said the black woman with a satisfied
face. "And the Lord is here now,--praise his name!"

"Juanita--I have been very happy to-day," said Daisy.

"Ay? how has that been, my love?"

"Because I knew he was taking care of me. It seemed that Jesus was so
near me all the time. Even all that dreadful ride."

"The Lord is good!" said the black woman with strong expression. "But my
love must not talk."

She began to sing again.

"O what shall I do, my Saviour to praise!
So faithful and true, so plenteous in grace.
So good to deliver, so strong to redeem
The weakest believer that hangs upon him."

"O that's good, Juanita!" said Daisy. "Hush!--Juanita, it is very late
for anybody to be out riding!"

"Who is out riding, Miss Daisy?"

"I don't know--I hear a horse's feet. Don't you hear?--there!"

"It's some young gentleman, maybe, going home, from a dinner-party."

"Don't draw the curtain, Juanita, please! I like it so, I can look out.
The moonlight is nice. Somebody is very late, going home from a dinner

"They often be. Miss Daisy, the moonlight will hinder you sleeping, I am

"I can't sleep. It's so good to look out! Juanita--there's that horse's
feet, stopping just here."

Juanita went to her door, and perceived that Daisy spoke truth. Somebody
down at her little wicket had dismounted and was fastening his horse to
the fence. Then a figure came up the walk in the moonlight.

"Juanita!" cried Daisy with an accent of joy, though she could not see
the figure from where she lay,--"it's papa!"

"Is she asleep?" said the voice of Mr. Randolph the next minute softly.

"No, sir. She knows it's you, sir. Will his honour walk in?"

Mr. Randolph with a gentle footfall came in and stood by the side of the

"Daisy--my poor little Daisy!"--he said.


This one word was rich in expression; joy and love so filled it. Daisy
added nothing more. She put her arms round her father's neck as he
stooped his lips to her face, held him fast and returned his kisses.

"Cannot you sleep?" The question was very tenderly put.

"I did sleep, papa."

"I did not wake you?"

"No, papa. I was awake, looking at the moonlight."

"Pain would not let you sleep, my poor darling?"

The sympathy was a little too trying. Tears started to the child's eyes.
She said with a most gentle, loving accent, "I don't mind, papa. It will
be better by and by. I am very happy."

An indignant question as to the happiness which had been so rudely
shaken, was on Mr. Randolph's lips. He remembered Daisy must not be
excited; nevertheless he wondered, for he saw the child's eyes full, and
knew that the brow was drawn with pain; and the poor little thin face
was as white as a sheet. What did she mean by talking about being happy?

"Daisy, I have brought you some oranges."

"Thank you, papa!--May I have one now?"

Silently and almost sternly Mr. Randolph stood and pared the orange with
a fruit knife--he had thought to bring that too--and fed Daisy with it,
bit by bit. It was pleasant and novel to Daisy to have her father serve
her so; generally others had done it when there had been occasion. Mr.
Randolph did it nicely, while his thoughts worked.

"What are you going to do to-night, papa?" she said when the orange was
finished and he stood looking at her.

"Stay here with you."

"But papa, how can you sleep?"

"I can do without sleeping, if it is necessary. I will take a chair here
in the doorway, and be near if you want anything."

"O shall not want anything, papa, except what Juanita can give me."

He stood still watching her. Daisy looked up at him with a loving face;
a wise little face it always was; it was gravely considerate now.

"Papa, I am afraid you will be uncomfortable."

"Can nobody bear that but you?" said Mr. Randolph, stooping down to kiss

"I am very happy, papa," said the child placidly; while a slight tension
of her forehead witnessed to the shooting pains with which the whole
wounded limb seemed to be filled.

"If Mr. Randolph pleases--" said the voice of Juanita,--"the doctor
recommended quiet, sir."

Off went Mr. Randolph at that, as if he knew it very well and had
forgotten himself. He took a chair and set it in the open doorway, using
the door-post as a rest for his head; and then the cottage was silent.
The wind breathed more gently; the stars shone out; the air was soft
after the storm; the moonlight made a bright flicker of light and shade
over all the outer world. Now and then a grasshopper chirruped, or a
little bird murmured a few twittering notes at being disturbed in its
sleep; and then came a soft sigh from Daisy.

On noiseless foot the black woman stole to the couch. Daisy was weeping;
her tears were pouring out and making a great wet spot on her pillow.

"Is my love in pain?" whispered the black woman.

"It's nothing--I can't help it," said Daisy.

"Where is it--in the foot?"

"It's all over, I think; in my head and everywhere. Hush, Juanita; never

Mrs. Benoit, however, tried the soothing effect of a long gentle
brushing of Daisy's head. This lasted till Daisy said she could bear it
no longer. She was restless.

"Will my love hear a hymn?"

"It will wake papa."

Mrs. Benoit cared nothing for that. Her care was her poor little charge.
She began immediately one of the hymns that were always ready on her
tongue, and which were wonderfully soothing to Daisy. Juanita was old,
but her voice was sweet yet and clear; and she sang with a deal of quiet

"'A few more days or years at most,
My troubles will be o'er;
I hope to join the heavenly host
On Canaan's happy shore.
My raptured soul shall drink and feast
In love's unbounded sea;
The glorious hope of endless rest
Is ravishing to me.'"

Mr. Randolph raised his head from leaning against the door-post, and
turned it to listen; with a look of lowering impatience. The screen of
the hanging curtain was between him and the couch, and the look did
nobody any harm.

"'O come, my Saviour, come away,
And bear me to the sky!
Nor let thy chariot wheels delay--
Make haste and bring it nigh:
I long to see thy glorious face,
And in thy image shine;
To triumph in victorious grace,
And be forever thine.'"

Mr. Randolph's chair here grated inharmoniously on the floor, as if he
were moving; but Juanita went on without heeding it.

"'Then will I tune my harp of gold
To my eternal King.
Through ages that can ne'er be told
I'll make thy praises ring.
All hail, eternal Son of God,
Who died on Calvary!
Who bought me with his precious blood,
From endless misery.'"

Mr. Randolph stood by Mrs. Benoit's chair.

"My good woman," he said in suppressed tones, "this is a strange way to
put a patient to sleep."

"As your honour sees!" replied the black woman placidly. Mr. Randolph
looked. Daisy's eyes were closed; the knitted brow had smoothed itself
out in slumber; the deep breath told how profound was the need that
weakness and weariness had made. He stood still. The black woman's hand
softly drew the curtain between Daisy's face and the moonlight, and then
she noiselessly withdrew herself almost out of sight, to a low seat in a
corner. So Mr. Randolph betook himself to his station in the doorway;
and whether he slept or no, the hours of the night stole on quietly. The
breeze died down; the moon and the stars shone steadily over the lower
world; and Daisy slept, and her two watchers were still. By and by,
another light began to break in the eastern horizon, and the stars grew
pale. The morning had come.

The birds were twittering in the branches before Daisy awoke. At the
first stir she made, her father and Mrs. Benoit were instantly at her
side. Mr. Randolph bent over her and asked tenderly how she felt.

"I feel hot, papa."

"Everybody must do that," said Mr. Randolph. "The breeze has died away
and the morning is very close."

"Papa, have you been awake all night?"

He stooped down, and kissed her.

"You must go home and get some breakfast and go to sleep," Daisy said,
looking at him lovingly with her languid eyes.

"Shall I bring you anything from home, Daisy?" he said, kissing her

The child looked a little wistfully, but presently said no; and Mr.
Randolph left her to do as she had said. Mrs. Benoit was privately glad
to have him out of the way. She brought water and bathed Daisy's face
and hands, and gave her a delicate breakfast of orange; and contrived to
be a long while about it all, so as to rest and refresh her as much as
possible. But when it was all done, Daisy was very hot and weary and in
much pain. And the sun was only in the tops of the trees yet. The black
woman, stood considering her.

"It will be a hot day, Miss Daisy--and my little lady is suffering
already, when the dew is not dried off the grass. Can she say, 'Thank
the Lord?'"

Daisy first smiled at her; then the little pale face grew grave, the
eyelids fell, and the black woman saw tears gathering beneath them. She
stood looking somewhat anxiously down at the child; till after a few
minutes the eyelids were raised again and the eyes gave her a most meek
and loving response, while Daisy said faintly, "Yes, Juanita."

"Bless the Lord!" said Juanita with all her heart. "Then my love can
bear it, the hot day and the pain and all. When his little child trust
him, Jesus not stay far off. And when he giveth quietness, then who can
make trouble?"

"But I have a particular reason, Juanita. I am very glad of my hurt
foot; though it does ache."

"The aching will not be so bad by and by," said the woman, her kindly
face all working with emotion.

She stood there by Daisy's couch and prayed. No bathing nor breakfast
could so soothe and refresh Daisy as that prayer. While she listened and
joined in it, the feeling of yesterday came all back again; that
wonderful feeling that the Lord Jesus loves even the little ones that
love him; that he will not let a hair of their heads be hurt; that he is
near, and keeps them, and is bringing them to himself by everything that
he lets happen to them. Greatly refreshed and comforted, Daisy lay quiet
looking out of the open window, while Juanita was busy about, making a
fire and filling her kettle for breakfast. She had promised Daisy a cup
of tea and a piece of toast; and Daisy was very fond of a cup of tea and
did not ordinarily get it; but Mrs. Benoit said it would be good for her
now. The fire was made in a little out-shed, back of the cottage where
it would do nobody any harm, even in hot weather. Daisy was so quieted
and comforted, though her leg was still aching, that she was able to
look out and take some pleasure in the sparkling morning light which
glittered on the leaves of the trees and on the blades of grass; and to
hearken to the birds which were singing in high feather all around the
cottage. The robins especially were very busy whistling about in and
under the trees; and a kildeer quite near from time to time sung its
soft sweet song; so soft and tender, it seemed every time to say in
Daisy's ears--"What if I am sick and in pain and weary? Jesus sends
it--and he knows--and he is my dear Saviour." It brought the tears into
Daisy's eyes at length; the song of the kildeer came so close home into
her heart.

Juanita had gone to make the tea. While the kettle had been coming to a
boil, she had put her little cottage into the nicest of order; and even
filled a glass with some roses and set it on the little table. For, as
she said to Daisy, they would have company enough that day, and must be
in trim. She had gone now to make the tea, and Daisy lay contentedly
looking out of the window, when she heard the swift tread of horses'
feet again. Could her father be back from Melbourne already? Daisy could
not raise herself up to look. She heard the feet stop in the road before
the cottage; then listened for somebody's step coming up to it. She
heard the step, but it was none of Mr. Randolph's; it was brisk and firm
and measured. She guessed it was somebody's step whose feet had been

Juanita came to open the door at the knock, and Daisy heard her saying
something about the doctor's orders, and keeping quiet, and no
excitement. Daisy could not stand that.

"O Capt. Drummond--come in! come in!" she cried. And in came the
Captain. He looked wonderfully sober at his poor little playfellow. But
Daisy looked all smiles at him.

"Is your furlough over? Are you going, Capt. Drummond?"

"I am off, Daisy."

"I am so glad you came to see me!" she said, putting out her little hand
to him. The Captain took it and held it and seemed almost unable to

"Daisy, I would have run the risk of being cashiered, rather than not
have done it."

"What is that?"

"Cashiered? Having my epaulettes pulled off."

"Do you care a great deal for your epaulettes?" said Daisy.

The Captain laughed, with the water standing in his eyes. Yes,
absolutely, his bright sparkling eyes had drops in them.

"Daisy, I have brought you our land fish--that we had such trouble for."

"The trilobite! O did you?" exclaimed Daisy as he placed it before her.
"I wanted to see it again, but I was afraid you wouldn't have time
before you went." She looked at it eagerly.

"Keep it Daisy; and keep a little bit of friendship for me with it--will
you? in case we meet again some day."

"O Capt. Drummond--don't you want it?"

"No; but I want you to remember the conditions."

"When will you come to Melbourne again?"

"Can't say, Daisy; I am afraid, not till you will have got the kingdom
of England quite out of all its difficulties. We were just going into
the battle of Hastings, you know; don't you recollect?"

"How nice that was!" said Daisy regretfully. "I don't think I shall ever
forget about the Saxon Heptarchy, and Egbert, and Alfred."

"How about forgetting _me_?"

"You know I couldn't," said Daisy with a most genial smile. "O Capt.
Drummond!"--she added, as a flash of sudden thought crossed her face.

"What now, Daisy?"

The child looked at him with a most earnest, inquisitive wistful gaze.
The Captain had some difficulty to stand it.

"O Capt. Drummond," she repeated,--"are you going to be ashamed of


The young soldier was strangely enough confused by this simple question.
His embarrassment was even evident. He hesitated for a reply, and it did
not readily dome. When it came, it was an evasion.

"That is right, Daisy," he said; "stand by your colours. He is a poor
soldier that carries them behind his back in the face of the enemy. But
whatever field you die in, I should like to be alongside of you."

He spoke gravely. And he asked no leave this time, but clasping Daisy's
hand he bent down and kissed her forehead twice and earnestly; then he
did not say another word, but strode away. A little flush rose on
Daisy's brow, for she was a very particular little lady as to who
touched her; however she listened attentively to the sound of the
retreating hoofs which carried the Captain off along the road; and when
Juanita at last came in with her little tray and a cup of tea, she found
Daisy's face set in a very thoughtful mood and her eyes full of tears.
The face did not even brighten at her approach.

"Miss Daisy," said the black woman, "I thought you wanted a cup of tea?"

"So I do, Juanita. I want it very much."

Mrs. Benoit made remarks to herself upon the wise little face that met
her with such a sober greeting. However she made none aloud; she
supported Daisy nicely with one arm and set the little tray before her.
The tea was excellent; the toast was in dainty, delicate, thin brown
strips. Daisy took it soberly.

"Does it seem good to my love?"

"O yes, Juanita!" said the child looking up gratefully; "it is _very_
good; and you make the prettiest toast I ever saw."

The black woman smiled, and bade her eat it and not look at it.

"But I think it tastes better for looking pretty, Juanita."

"The Lord knows," said the woman; "and he made the trees in the garden
of Eden to be pleasant to the eyes, as well as good for food."

"I am glad he did," said Daisy. "How pleasant the trees have been to my
eyes this morning. Then I was sick and could not do anything but look at
them; but they are pleasant to my eyes too when I am well. It is very
painful to have one's friends go away, Juanita."

"Has my love lost friends?" said Mrs. Benoit, wondering at this speech.

"Yes," said Daisy. "Mr. Dinwiddie is gone; and now Capt. Drummond. I
have got hardly anybody left."

"Was Mr. Dinwiddie Miss Daisy's friend?"

Such a bright, warm, glad flash of a smile as Juanita got in answer! It
spoke for the friendship on one side.

"But he is gone," said Daisy. "I wish I could see him again. He is gone,
and I never shall!"

"Now Miss Daisy, you will lie still and be quiet, my love, until
somebody else comes. The doctor says that's the way. Mr. Dinwiddie is
about his Master's work, wherever he is; and you want to do the same?"

"How can I, Juanita, lying here? I cannot do anything."

"Does my love think the good Lord ever give his servants no work to do
for him?"

"Why _here_, Juanita--I can only lie here and be still. What can I do?"

"My love pray the dear Master to shew her; and now not talk just now."

Daisy lay still. The next comer was the doctor. He came while the
morning was still early; made his examinations; and Daisy made hers. He
was a very fine-looking man. Thick locks of auburn hair, thrown back
from his face; a noble and grave countenance; blue eye keen and steady;
and a free and noble carriage; there was enough about Dr. Sandford to
engage all Daisy's attention and interest. She gave him both, in her
quiet way; while he looked not so much at her as at her condition and

"It is going to be a hot day," he remarked to Juanita who attended upon
him. "Keep her quiet. Do not let more than one other person be here at
once. Say I order it."

"Will his honour say it to Miss Daisy's father and mother?"

"I shall not see them this morning. You are armed with my authority,
Juanita. Nobody is to be here to talk and excite her; and only one at a
time beside you. Have you got fruit for her? Let her live on that as
much as she likes; and keep the house empty."

"I will tell papa--" said Daisy.

"How do you do?" said the doctor. It was the first question he had
addressed to her; and the first attention he had given her otherwise
than as a patient. Now the two looked at each other.

"I am better, a little, thank you," said the child. "May I ask

"Ask it."

"Shall I be a long while here?"

"You will be a week or two--till your foot gets strong again."

"Will a week or two make it strong?"

The two pairs of eyes looked into each other. The thoughtful grey eyes
of the child, and the impenetrable blue orbs of the man. There was
mutual study; some mutual recognition.

"You must be a good child and try to bear it."

"Will you come and see me again?" said Daisy.

"Do you desire it?"

"You would not come unless it was necessary," said Daisy; "and if it is
necessary, I should like to have you."

The lips of the young man curled into a smile that was very pleasant,
albeit a little mocking in its character.

"I think it will be necessary, little one; but if I come to see you, you
must be under my orders."

"Well, I am," said Daisy.

"Keep still, then; do not talk to anybody any more than is needful to
relieve your impatience."

The doctor went away, and Daisy lay still musing. The morning had gone
on a little further, when carriage wheels stopped at the gate.

"There's mamma--" said Daisy.

It was very unconsciously on her part that the tone of these two words
conveyed a whole volume of information to Juanita's keen wits. It was no
accent of joy, like that which had announced her father last night;
neither was it fear or dread; yet the indefinable expression of the two
words said that "mamma" had been a trouble in Daisy's life, and might be
again. Juanita went to have the door open; and the lady swept in. Mr.
Randolph was behind her. She came to Daisy's side and the mother and
child looked at each other; Daisy with the tender, wistful eyes of last
night, Mrs. Randolph with a vexed air of dissatisfaction. Yet after
looking at her a moment she stooped down and kissed Daisy. The child's
eye went to her father then. Mrs. Randolph stood in his way; he came
round to the head of the couch, behind Daisy, and bent over her.

"Papa, I can't see you there."

"You can feel, Daisy--" said Mr. Randolph, putting his lips to her face.
"How do you do?"

"This is a most maladroit arrangement of Capt. Drummond's!" said the
lady. "What can we do to rectify it? A most stupid place for the child
to be."

"She will have to bear the stupidity--and we too. Daisy, what would you
like to have to help it along?"

"Papa, I am not stupid."

"You will be, my little daughter, I am afraid, before the weeks are
over. Will you have June come to be with you?"

"Papa," said Daisy slowly,--"I think it would not be considerate."

"Are you comfortable?" said Mr. Randolph smiling, though his looks
expressed much concern.

"No, papa."

"What is the matter?"

"It is hot, papa; and my leg aches; not so much as it did last night
sometimes; but it aches."

"It is a cool, fresh morning," said Mrs. Randolph. "She is hot because
she is lying in this place."

"Not very cool, with the mercury at eighty-four before eight o'clock.
You are cool because you have been driving fast."

"Mr. Randolph, this is no proper place for the child to be. I am
convinced she might be moved with safety."

"I cannot risk the doctor's convictions against yours, Felicia. That
question must be given up."

"He says I am under his orders, papa."

"Undeniable, Daisy. That is true doctrine. What orders does he give

"To eat fruit, and keep quiet, papa. He says there must not be more than
one person here at a time, besides Juanita."

"I suppose he does not mean to forbid your mother," said Mrs. Randolph,
a good deal incensed. "I will see about that. Here, my good woman--where
are you?--Will you let your cottage to me for the time that this child
is confined here--and remove somewhere else yourself, that I may put the
people here I want about her?"

"Oh mamma!--" said Daisy. But she stopped short; and Mrs. Randolph did
not attend to her. Mr. Randolph looked round to see Juanita's answer.

"My lady shall put here who she will please," the woman said, standing
before her visiters with the most unruffled face and demeanour.

"And you will leave me the house at once?"

"No, my lady. My lady shall have the house. Juanita will not be in the

"You do not seem to understand, my good woman, that I want to be here
myself and have my people here. I want the whole house."

"My lady shall have it--she is welcome--nobody shall find Juanita
trouble them," the black woman said with great sweetness.

"What will you do with yourself?"

"A little place be enough for me, my lady. My spirit lives in a large

Mrs. Randolph turned impatiently away. The manner of the woman was so
inexpressibly calm and sweet, the dignity of her beautiful presence was
so immovable, that the lady felt it in vain to waste words upon her.
Juanita was a hopeless case.

"It is no use for me to be here then," she said. "Mr. Randolph, you may
make your own arrangements."

Which Mr. Randolph did. He held a consultation with Juanita, as to what
was wanting and what she would do; a consultation with which he was
satisfied. Juanita was left in full charge, with authority to do for
Daisy precisely according to Dr. Sandford's instructions, in all
matters. Mrs. Randolph meanwhile had a talk with her poor pale little
daughter, upon more or less the same subjects; and then the father and
mother prepared to go home to breakfast.

"Shall I send you June?" said Mrs. Randolph.

"No, mamma; I think not."

"Be patient a little while, Daisy," said her father kissing her; "and
you will be able to have books and company too. Now for a little while
you must keep quiet."

"Juanita will keep me quiet, papa."

"I will come and see you again by and by."

"Papa, I want to tell you one thing. I want to speak to you and mamma
before you go."

Mr. Randolph saw that the child's face flushed as if she were making
some effort. He bent down over her again.

"Is it something of interest, Daisy?"

"Yes, papa. To me."

"Don't talk of it now then. Lie still and do not talk at all. By and by
you will tell me what it is."


Mr. and Mrs. Randolph departed.

"Daisy will be ruined forever!" So said the lady as soon as she was in
the carriage.

"I hope not."

"You take it coolly, Mr. Randolph. That woman is exactly the sort to
infect Daisy; and you have arranged it so that she will have full

"What is the precise danger you apprehend?" said Mr. Randolph. "I have
not heard it put into words."

"Daisy will be unmanageable. She is nearly that now."

"I never saw a more docile child in my life."

"That is because you take her part, Mr. Randolph. You will find it out
in time, when it is too late; and it will be your own doing."


"Daisy will be a confirmed piece of superstition. You will see. And you
will not find her docile then. If she once takes hold of anything, she
does it with great obstinacy."

"But what is she taking hold of now? After all, you do not tell me,"
said Mr. Randolph carelessly.

"Of every sort of religious fanatical notion, you will find, Mr.
Randolph! She will set herself against everything I want her to do,
after the fashion of those people, who think nothing is right but their
own way. It will be a work of extreme difficulty, I foresee, to do
anything with her after these weeks in this black woman's house. I
would have run any risk in removing her, rather than let it be so."

"Well, we shall see," said Mr. Randolph. "I cannot quite take your view
of the matter. I would rather keep the child--even for my own private
comfort--than lose her to prevent her from becoming religious."

Mrs. Randolph indignantly let this statement of opinion alone.

Little Daisy had a quiet day, meanwhile. The weather grew excessively
hot; her broken ankle pained her; it was a day of suffering. Obliged to
lie quite still; unable to change her position even a little, when the
couch became very hot under her; no air coming in at the open window but
what seemed laden with the heats of a furnace, Daisy lay still and
breathed as well as she could. All day Juanita was busy about her;
moistening her lips with orange juice, bathing her hands, fanning her,
and speaking and singing sweet words to her, as she could attend to
them. The child's eyes began to go to the fine black face that hovered
near her, with an expression of love and trust that was beautiful to
behold. It was a day that tried poor little Daisy's patience; for along
with all this heat, and weary lying still in one position, there were
shoots and twitches of pain that seemed to come from the broken ankle
and reach every part of her body; and she could not move about or turn
over to ease them by some change.

At last the weary hours began to grow less oppressive. The sun got low
in the sky; the air came with a little touch of freshness. How good it
was to see the sun lost behind the woods on the other side the road.
Juanita kindled her fire again and put on the kettle; for Daisy was to
have another cup of tea, and wanted it very much. Then, before the
kettle had boiled, came the doctor.

It was a pleasant variety. Dr. Sandford's face was a good one to see
come in anywhere, and in Daisy's case very refreshing. It was so noble a
face; the features fine, manly, expressive; with a sedate gravity that
spoke of a character above trifling. His calm, forceful eye was very
imposing; the thick auburn locks of his hair, pushed back as they were
from, his face, were beautiful to Daisy's imagination. Altogether he
fastened her attention whenever he came within reach of it; she could
not read those grave lines of his face; she puzzled over them. Dr.
Sandford's appearance was in some way bewitching to her. Truly many
ladies found it so.

He examined now the state of her foot; gave rapid comprehensive glances
at everything; told his orders to Mrs. Benoit. Finally, paused before
going, and looked into the very wise little eyes that scanned him so

"Is there anything you want, Daisy?" he said with a physician's

"No, sir,--I thank you."

"Mrs. Benoit takes good care of you?"

"Very good."

The manner of Daisy's speech was like her looks; childlike enough, and
yet with a deliberate utterance unlike a child.

"What do you think about, as you lie there all day?" he said.

The question had been put with a somewhat careless curiosity; but at
that he saw a pink flush rise and spread itself all over Daisy's pale
face; the grey eyes looked at him steadily, with no doubt of some
thoughts behind them. Dr. Sandford listened for her answer. What _was_
the child thinking about? She spoke at last with that same sweet

"I have been thinking, Dr. Sandford, about what Jesus did for me."

"What was that?" said the doctor in considerable surprise.

"Because it was so hard for me to keep still to-day, I thought--you
know--how it must have been--"

The flush deepened on the cheeks, and Daisy's eyes were swimming full of
tears. Dr. Sandford looked, in much surprise; perhaps he was at some
pains to comprehend what all this meant.

"How it must have been when?" said he, bending over Daisy's couch.

"You know, Dr. Sandford," she said tenderly. "When he was on the
cross--and couldn't move----"

Daisy gave way. She put her hands over her face. The doctor stood erect,
looking at her; glanced his grave eyes at Mrs. Benoit and at her again;
then made a step towards Juanita.

"No excitement is permitted," he said. "You must keep her from it. Do
you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Juanita said. But her face was all alight.

"Have you been reading some of those stories to her?"

"I have not been reading to her at all to-day, if his honour pleases."

"Daisy," said Dr. Sandford, coming back to the couch, "what put such
thoughts into your head?"

"I felt so badly to-day." She spoke with her usual collectedness again.

"Well, try and not mind it. You will feel better in a day or two. Do you
know when that happened that you were talking about?"

"Yes, sir."

"When was it?"

"More than eighteen hundred years ago."

"Do you think it is worth your while to be troubled for what happened
eighteen hundred years ago?"

"I think it is just the same as if it happened now," said Daisy, without
moving her eyes.

"Do you? By what power of reasoning?"

"I don't think I know how to reason," said Daisy. "It is feeling."

"How does feeling manage it?"

Daisy discerned the tone of the question, looked at her questioner, and
answered with tender seriousness:

"I know the Lord Jesus did that for me; and I know he is in heaven now."

The doctor kept silence a minute. "Daisy," said he, "you are under my
orders at present. You must mind me. You are to take a cup of tea, and a
piece of toast, if you like; then you are to go to sleep and keep quiet,
and not think of anything that happened more than an hour ago. Will

"I will try to be quiet," said Daisy.

She and the doctor looked at each other in a dissatisfied manner, she
wistfully, he disapprovingly, and then the doctor went out. Daisy's eyes
followed, straining after him as long as they could; and when she could
see him no longer they filled with tears again. She was looking as
intent and wistful as if she might have been thirty years old instead of
nine or ten, when Juanita came to her side with the tea she had been

The tea and toast did Daisy good; and she was ready to enjoy a visit
from, her father, who spent the evening with her. But he would not let
her talk. The next day was hot again; however Daisy felt better. The
heat was more bearable. It was a very quiet day.

Both she and Juanita obeyed orders and did not talk much; nevertheless
Juanita sang hymns a great deal, and that was delightful to Daisy. She
found Juanita knew one hymn in particular that she loved exceedingly; it
was the one that had been sung in the little church the day she had
heard Mr. Dinwiddie preach; it fell in with the course of Daisy's
thoughts; and several times in the day she had Juanita sing it over.
Daisy's eyes always filled when she heard it; nevertheless Juanita could
not resist her pleading wish.

"O the Lamb! the loving Lamb!--
The Lamb on Calvary.
The Lamb that was slain, but lives again,
To intercede for me."

"I am so happy, Juanita," Daisy said after one of these times. "I am so

"What makes it so, my love?"

"O because that is true--because he lives up there to take care of me."

"Bless the Lord!" said the black woman.

Towards evening of that day, Juanita had left the room to make her fire
and attend to some other things, when Daisy heard her own name hailed
softly from the window. She turned her head, and there was Preston's
bright face.

"My poor, poor little Daisy!"

"How do you do, Preston?" said Daisy, looking as clear as a moonbeam.

"There you are a prisoner!"

"It is a very nice prison."

"Don't, my dear Daisy! I'll believe you in anything else, you know; but
in this I am unable. Tied by your foot for six weeks, perhaps! I should
like to shoot Capt. Drummond."

"It was not Capt. Drummond's fault."

"Is it bad, Daisy?"

"My foot? It has been pretty bad."

"Poor Daisy! And that was all because you would not sing."

"Because I would not sing, Preston!"

"Yes, that is the cause of all the trouble that has been in the house.
Now, Daisy, you'll give it up?"

"Give what up?"

"Give up your nonsense, and sing."

"_That_?" said Daisy, and a slight flush came into the pale cheeks.

"Aunt Felicia wants you to sing it, and she will make you do it, when
you get well."

Daisy made no answer.

"Don't you see, my dear Daisy, it is foolish not to do as other people

"I don't see what my broken ankle has to do with what you are saying,

"Daisy, what will become of you all these six weeks? We cannot go a
fishing, nor have any fun."

"You can."

"What will you do?"

"I guess I can have books and read, by and by. I will ask Dr. Sandford."

"Suppose I bring some books, and read to you?"

"O Preston! how nice."

"Well, I'll do it then. What shall I bring?"

"I wish you could bring something that would tell about these things."

"These things? What is that?"

"It is a trilobite. Capt. Drummond got it the other day. It was a fish
once, and now it is a stone; and I would like very much to know about

"Daisy, are you serious?"

"Why, yes, Preston."

"My dear little Daisy, do _not_ you go and be a philosopher!"

"Why, I can't; but why shouldn't I?"

"Philosophers are not 'nice,' Daisy, when they are ladies," said
Preston, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Because ladies are not meant to be philosophers."

"But I want to know about trilobites," said Daisy.

"I don't think you do. You would not find the study of fossils

"I think I should--if you would help me, Preston."

"Well, we will see, Daisy. I will do anything for you, if you will do
one thing for me. O Daisy, do! Aunt Felicia has not given it up at

"Good bye, Preston," said Daisy. "Now you must go, and not talk to me
any more this time."

Preston ran off. He was not allowed to come again for a day or two; and
Daisy was not allowed to talk. She was kept very quiet, until it was
found that the broken bone was actually healing and in a fair way to get
well. The pains in it were no longer so trying; the very hot days had
given place to a time of milder weather; and Daisy, under the care of
the old black woman, enjoyed her solitary imprisonment well enough.
Twice a day always her father visited her; once a day, Mrs. Randolph.
Her stay was never very long; Juanita's house was not a comfortable
place for her; but Mr. Randolph gave a large piece of his time and
attention to his suffering little daughter, and was indeed the first one
to execute Preston's plan of reading aloud for her amusement. A new and
great delight to Daisy. She never remembered her father taking such
pains with her before. Then, when her father and mother were gone, and
the cottage was still, Juanita and Daisy had what the latter called
their "good time." Juanita read the Bible and sang hymns and prayed.
There was no time nor pleasure in all the day that Daisy liked so well.

She had gained strength and was in a good way to be well again. The
first morning this was told her, Daisy said:

"Papa, may I speak to you now?"

"About something important, Daisy?"

"Yes, papa, I think so."

"Go on. What is it?"

Juanita was standing near by. The child glanced at her, then at her

"Papa," she said, speaking slowly and with some hesitation,--"I want you
to know--I want to tell you--about me, so that you may understand."

"Are you so difficult to understand, Daisy?"

"No, papa; but I want you to know something. I want you to know that I
am a Christian."

"Well, so are we all," said Mr. Randolph coolly.

"No, papa, but I don't mean that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, papa,--that I belong to the Lord Jesus, and must do what he
tells me."

"What am I to understand by that, Daisy?"

"Nothing, papa; only I thought you ought to know."

"Do you understand what you are saying yourself, my child?"

"Yes, papa."

"What does it mean, Daisy?"

"Only, papa, I want you to know that I belong to the Lord Jesus."

"Does that imply that you will not belong to me any more?"

"O no, papa!"

"Why do you tell it me, then?"

"Papa, Jesus says he will be ashamed of those who are ashamed of him; I
will not be ashamed of him; so I want you to know what I am."

"But, Daisy, you and I must come to an understanding about this," said
Mr. Randolph, taking a chair. "Does this declaration mean that you are
intending to be something different from what I like to see you?"

"I do not know, papa."

"You do not! Does it mean that you are proposing to set up a standard of
action for yourself, independent of me?"

"No, papa."

"What then, Daisy?"

"Papa, I do not quite know what you mean by a _standard_."

"I will change the word. Do you mean that your purpose is to make,
henceforward, your own rules of life?"

"No, papa; I do not mean that."

"What do you mean?"

"Papa," said Daisy, very deliberately, "if I belong to my Saviour,--you
know,--I must follow his rules."

"Daisy, I shall not cease to require obedience to mine."

"No, papa,--but----" said Daisy, colouring.

"But what?"

"I don't know very well how to say what I want, papa; it is difficult."


"Papa, you will not be displeased?"

"That depends upon what you have to say. Daisy."

"Papa, I do not _mean_ to displease you," said the child, her eyes
filling with tears. "But--suppose----"

"Well,--suppose anything."

"Suppose _those_ rules should be different from your rules?"

"I am to be the judge, Daisy. If you set up disobedience to me, on any
pretext, you know the consequences."

Daisy's lip trembled; she put up her hands to her face and burst into
tears. She could not bear that reminder. Her father took one of her
hands down and kissed the little wet cheek.

"Where are you going to find these rules, Daisy," he said kindly, "which
you are going to set up against mine?"

"Papa, I do not set them up."

"Where do you get them?"

"Only in the Bible, papa."

"You are a little child, Daisy; you are not quite old enough to be able
to judge properly for yourself what the rules of that book are. While
you are little and ignorant, I am your judge, of that and everything
else; and your business is to obey me. Do you understand that?"

"But, papa----"


"Papa, I am afraid you will be angry."

"I do not think I shall. You and I had better come to an understanding
about these matters. Say on, Daisy." "I was going to say, papa--"

Daisy was afraid to tell what. Mr. Randolph again stooped and kissed
her; kissed her two or three times.

"Papa, I do not _mean_ to make you angry," said the child with intense
eagerness,--"but--suppose--papa, I mean,--are _you_ a servant of the
Lord Jesus?"

Mr. Randolph drew back. "I endeavour to do my duty, Daisy," he said
coldly. "I do not know what you include in the terms you use."

"Papa, that is what I mean," said Daisy, with a very meek face. "Papa,
if I _am_, and you are _not_, then perhaps you would not think the
things that I think."

"If you are, and I am not, what?"

"_That_, papa--which I wanted you to know I am. A servant of Jesus."

"Then, what?"

"Then, papa, if I am, and you are not,--wouldn't you perhaps not think
about those rules as I must think of them?"

"You mean that our thoughts would disagree?"

"Papa--they might."

"What shall we do, then, Daisy?"

Daisy looked wistfully and somewhat sadly at him. There was more weight
of thought under the little brow than he liked to see there. This would
not do; yet matters must be settled.

"Do you want to be a different little person from what you have been,
Daisy, hitherto?"

"I don't know, papa--I think so."

"How do you wish to be different?"

"I can't tell, papa. I might have to be."

"I want you just as you are, Daisy."

Mr. Randolph stooped his head down again to the too thoughtful little
face. Daisy clasped her arms around his neck and held him close. It was
only by her extraordinary self-command that she kept from tears; when he
raised his head her eyes were perfectly dry. "Will you be my good
little Daisy--and let me do the thinking for you?" said Mr. Randolph

"Papa--I _can't_."

"I will not have you different from what I like you, Daisy."

"Then, papa, what shall I do?"

"Obey me, and be satisfied with that."

"But, papa, I am a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ," said the child,
looking unutterably sober.

"I do not intend my commands shall conflict with any of higher

"Papa--suppose--they _might_?"

"I must be judge. You are a little child; you must take the law from my
mouth, until you are older."

"But, papa, suppose I _thought_ the Bible told me to do what you did not
think it said?"

"I advise you to believe my judgment, Daisy, if you wish to keep the
peace between us. I will not have anymore calling of it in question."

Daisy struggled plainly, though she would not cry; her colour flushed,
her lip quivered. She was entirely silent for a little while, and Mr.
Randolph sat watching her. The struggle lasted some minutes; till she
had overcome it somewhat she would not speak; and it was sharp. Then the
child closed her eyes and her face grew calm. Mr. Randolph did not know
what to think of her.


"What, papa?"

"I do not think we have settled this question yet."

"I do not think we have, papa."

"What is to be done? It will not answer, my little daughter, for you to
set up your will against mine."

"Papa, it is not my will."

"What do you call it, then?"

"Papa, it is not my will at all. It is the will of God."

"Take care, Daisy," said her father. "You are not to say that. My will
will never oppose itself to that authority you speak of."

"Papa, I only want to obey that."

"But remember, I must be the judge."

"Papa," said Daisy, eagerly, "won't this do? If I think something is in
the Bible, mayn't I bring it to you to see?"


"And if you think it _is_ there, then will you let me do it?"

"Do what?"

"Do what the Bible says, papa."

"I think I may promise that, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph; though
dubiously, as not quite certain what he was promising; "so long as I am
the judge."

"Then that will do, papa! That is nice."

Daisy's countenance expressed such utter content at this arrangement,
that Mr. Randolph looked grave.

"Now you have talked and excited yourself enough for to-day," he said.
"You must be quiet."

"Mayn't I tell mamma when she comes?"

"What, Daisy?"

"I mean what I have told you, papa."

"No. Wait till to-morrow. Why do you wish to tell her, Daisy?"

"Papa, I think I ought to tell her. I want her to know."

"You have very uncompromising notions of duty. But this duty can wait
till another day."

Daisy had to wait more than a day for her opportunity; her mother's next
visits were too bustling and unsatisfactory, as well as too short, to
promise her any good chance of being heard. At last came a propitious
morning. It was more moderate weather; Daisy herself was doing very well
and suffering little pain; and Mrs. Randolph looked in good humour and
had sat down with her tetting-work as if she meant to make her daughter
something of a visit. Mr. Randolph was lounging at the head of the
couch, out of Daisy's sight.

"Mamma," began the child, "there is something I wish to say to you."

"You have a favourable opportunity, Daisy. I can hear." Yet Daisy looked
a minute at the white hand that was flying the bobbin about. That white

"It isn't much, mamma. It is only--that I wish you to know--that I am a

"That you are _what_?" said Mrs. Randolph coldly.

"A Christian, mamma."

"Pray what does that mean?"

"That I am a servant of Christ, mamma."

"When did you find it out, Daisy?"

"Some time ago, mamma. Some time--a little while--before my birthday."

"You did! What do you think _me_?"

Daisy kept silence.

"Well! why don't you speak? Answer me."

"Mamma, I don't know how to answer you," said Daisy, flushing for an
instant. Her mother's eyes took note of her.

"I shall not ask you a third time, Daisy."

"Mamma," said the child low,--"I do not think you are what I mean by a

"You do not. I supposed that. Now you will go on and tell me what you
mean by 'a Christian.'"

"It means," said Daisy, her eyes filling with tears, "it means a person
who loves the Lord Jesus and obeys him."

"I hope you are gratified, Mr. Randolph," said the lady, "with this
specimen of the new Christianity. Dutiful and respectful are happily
united; along with a pleasant mixture of modesty. What do you expect me
to do, Daisy, with this announcement of yours?"

"Nothing, mamma," said Daisy faintly.

"I suppose you think that my Christianity must accommodate itself to
yours? Did you expect that?" "No, mamma."

"It would be very foolish of you; for the fact will be the other way.
Yours must accommodate itself to mine."

"I only wanted you to know what mine is, mamma."

"Yours is what mine is, Daisy. What I think right for you, that you are
to do. I will not hear a whimper from you again about what you are--do
you understand? Not again. I have listened to you this time, but this is
the last. If I hear another syllable like this, about what you are or
your Christianity, I shall know how to chastise it out of you. You are
nothing at all, but my Daisy; you are a Jewess, if I choose to have it

Mr. Randolph made an uneasy movement; but the lady's white fingers flew
in and out of her tetting-work without regarding him.

"What do you want to do, that you are asking my permission in this
roundabout way? What do you want to do, that you think will not please

Daisy at first hesitated; then Mr. Randolph was surprised to hear her
say boldly--

"I am afraid, a great many things, mamma."

"Well, you know now what to expect. Mr. Randolph," said the lady letting
fall her tetting-work, "if you please, I will go home. The sun will only
be getting hotter, if I stay."

Mr. Randolph stood behind Daisy, bending down and holding her face in
his two hands.

"What would you like me to send you from home, Daisy?"

"Nothing, papa."

"Would you like to have Preston come and see you?"

"If he likes to come, papa."

"He has been only waiting for my permission, and if you say so, I will
give him yours."

"He may come. I should like to see him very much."

"You may have books too, now, Daisy. Do you not want some books?"

"I should like 'Sandford and Merton,' papa; and when Preston comes I'll
tell him what else I want."

Mr. Randolph stood still, smoothing down the hair on each side of the
little round head, while Mrs. Randolph was adjusting herself for her

"Are you ready, Mr. Randolph?"

"Cannot say that I am," said the gentleman, stooping to kiss Daisy's
forehead,--"but I will go with you. One thing I should like understood.
For reasons which are sufficient with me, Daisy is to consider herself
prohibited from making any music on Sundays henceforward, except she
chooses to do it in church. I mention it, lest you should ask her to do
what I have forbidden, and so make confusion."

Mrs. Randolph gave no sort of answer to this speech, and walked off to
the door. Daisy, whose eyes had brightened with joy, clasped her arms
around her father's neck when he stooped again and whispered with an
energetic pressure,

"Thank you, papa!"

Mr. Randolph only kissed her, and went off after his wife. The drive
home was remarkably silent.


It happened that day that Juanita had business on hand which kept her a
good deal of the morning in the out-shed which formed part of her
premises. She came in every now and then to see how Daisy was doing; yet
the morning was on the whole spent by Daisy alone; and when Juanita at
last came in to stay, she fancied the child was looking pale and worn
more than usual.

"My love do not feel well?"

"Yes I do, Juanita--I am only tired. Have you done washing?"

"It is all done. I am ready for whatever my love pleases."

"Isn't washing very disagreeable work, Juanita?"

"I do not think what it be, while it is mine," the woman said
contentedly. "All is good work that I can do for the Lord."

"But _that_ work, Juanita? How can you do that work so?"

"When the Lord gives work, he give it to be done for him. Bless the

"I do not understand, though, Juanita. Please tell me. How can you?"

"Miss Daisy, I don't know. I can do it with pleasure, because it is my
Lord's command. I can do it with thanksgiving, because he has given me
the strength and the power. And I can do it the best I can, so as nobody
shall find fault in his servant. And then, Miss Daisy, I can do it to
get money to send his blessed word to them that sit in darkness--where I
come from. And I can do it with prayer, asking my Lord to make my heart
clean for his glory; like as I make soiled things white again. And I do
it with joy, because I know the Lord hear my prayer."

"I think you are very happy, Juanita," said Daisy.

"When the Lord leads to living fountains of waters, then no more
thirsting,"--said the black woman expressively.

"Then, Juanita, I suppose--if I get tired lying here,--I can do patience

"Jesus will have his people do a great deal of that work," said Mrs.
Benoit tenderly. "And it is work that pleases him, Miss Daisy. My love
is very weary?"

"I suppose, Juanita, if I was really patient, I shouldn't be. Should I?
I think I am impatient."

"My love knows who carries the lambs in his bosom."

Daisy's tired face smoothed itself out at this. She turned her eyes to
the window with a placid look of rest in them.

"Jesus knows where the trouble is," said the black woman. "He knows all.
And he can help too. Now I am going to get something to do Miss Daisy

Before this could be done, there came a heavy clumping step up to the
house and a knock at the door; and then a person entered whom Juanita
did not know. A hard-featured woman, in an old-fashioned black straw
bonnet and faded old shawl drawn tight round her. She came directly
forward to Daisy's couch.

"Well I declare if it ain't true! Tied by the heels, ain't ye?"--was her
salutation. Juanita looked, and saw that Daisy recognized the visiter;
for she smiled at her, half pleasure, half assent to what she said.

"I heerd of it--that is, I heerd you'd gone up to the mountain and broke
something; I couldn't find out what 'twas; and then Hephzibah she said
she would go down to Melbourne Sunday. I said to her, says I,
'Hephzibah, I wouldn't go all that ways, child, for to do nothing;
'tain't likely but that some part of the story's true, if you and me
can't find out which;' but Hephzibah she took her own head and went; and
don't you think, she came back a cryin'?"

"What was that for?" said Daisy, looking very much interested.

"Why she couldn't find you, I guess; and she thought you was killed. But
you ain't, be you?"

"Only my foot and ankle hurt," said Daisy smiling; "and I am doing very
well now."

"And was you broke anywheres?"

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