"Miss Daisy, Mr. Randolph said I was to go with you anywhere you went to take care of you."
"Then come down to the beach, June; I'll be there."
Daisy stole down stairs and slipped out of the first door she came to. What she wanted was to get away from seeing anybody; she did not wish to see her mother, or Preston, or Captain Drummond, or Ransom; and she meant even if possible to wander off and not be at home for dinner. She could not bear the thought of the dinner-table, with all the faces round it. She stole out under the shrubbery, which soon hid her from view of the house.
It was a very warm day, the sun beating hot wherever it could touch at all. Daisy went languidly along under cover of the trees, wishing to go faster, but not able, till she reached the bank. There she waited for June to join her, and together they went down to the river shore. Safe there from pursuit, on such a day, Daisy curled herself down in the shade with her back against a stone, and then began to think. She felt very miserable; not merely for what had passed, but for a long stretch of trouble that she saw lying before her. Indeed where or how it was to end, Daisy had no idea. Her father indeed, she felt pretty sure would not willingly allow his orders to come in conflict with what she thought her duty; though if he happened to do it unconsciously, Daisy would not follow that train of thought. But here she was now, at this moment, engaged in a trial of strength with her mother; very unequal, for Daisy felt no power at all for the struggle, and yet she could not yield!
Where was it to end? and how many other like occasions of difference might arise, even after this one should somehow have been settled? Had the joy of being a servant of Jesus so soon brought trouble with it? Daisy had put the trunk of a large tree between her and June; but the mulatto woman, where she sat, heard the stifled sobs of the child. June's items of intelligence, picked up by eye and ear, had given her by this time an almost reverent feeling towards Daisy; she regarded her as hardly earthly; nevertheless, this sort of distress must not be suffered to go on, and she was appointed to prevent it.
"Miss Daisy it is luncheon time," she said, without moving. Daisy gave no response. June waited, and then came before her and repeated her words.
"I am not going in."
"But you want your dinner, Miss Daisy."
"No, I don't, June. I don't want to go in."
June looked at her a minute. "I'll get you your luncheon out here, Miss Daisy. You'll be faint for want of something to eat. Will you have it out here?"
"You needn't say where I am, June."
June went off, and Daisy was left alone. Very weary and exhausted, she sat leaning her head against the stone at her side, in a sort of despairing quiet. The little ripple of the water on the pebbly shore struck her ear; it was the first thing eye or ear had perceived to be pleasant that day. Daisy's thoughts went to the hand that had made the glittering river, with all its beauties and wonders; then they went to what Mr. Dinwiddie had said, that God will help His people when they are trying to do any difficult work for Him; He will take care of them; He will not forsake them. Suddenly it filled Daisy's soul like a flood, the thought that Jesus loves His people; that she was His little child and that He loved her; and all His wisdom and power and tenderness were round her and would keep her. Her trouble seemed to be gone, or it was like a cloud with sunlight shining all over it. The very air was full of music, to Daisy's feeling, not her sense. There never was such sunlight, or such music either, as this feeling of the love of Jesus. Daisy kneeled down by the rock, and rested her forehead against it, to pray for joy.
She was there still, when June came back, and stopped and looked at her, a vague expression of care sitting in her black eyes, into which now an unwonted moisture stole. June had a basket, and as soon as Daisy sat down again, she came up and began to take things out of it. She had brought everything for Daisy's dinner. There was a nice piece of beefsteak, just off the gridiron; and rice and potatoes; and a fine bowl of strawberries for dessert. June had left nothing; there was the roll and the salt, and a tumbler and a carafe of water. She set the other things about Daisy, on the ground and on the rock, and gave the plate of beefsteak into her hand.
"Miss Daisy, what will you do for a table?"
"It's nicer here than a table. How good you are, June. I didn't know I wanted it."
"I know you do, Miss Daisy."
And she went to her sewing, and sewed perseveringly, whileDaisy eat her dinner.
"June, what o'clock is it."
"It's after one, ma'am."
"You haven't had your own dinner?"
June mumbled something, of which nothing could be understood except that it was a general abnegation of all desire or necessity for dinner on her own part.
"But you have not had it?" said Daisy.
"No, ma'am. They've done dinner by this time."
"June, I have eaten up all the beefsteak there is nothing left but some potato, and rice, and strawberries; but you shall have some strawberries."
June in vain protested. Daisy divided the strawberries into two parts, sugared them both, broke the remaining roll in two, and obliged June to take her share. When this was over, Daisy seated herself near June, and laid her head against her knee. She could hardly hold it up.
"June," she said presently, "I think those people in the eleventh chapter of Hebrews you know."
"Yes, Miss Daisy."
"I think they were very happy, because they knew that Jesus loved them."
June made no audible answer; she mumbled something; and Daisy sat still. Presently her soft breathing made June look over at her; Daisy was asleep. In her hand, in her lap, lay a book. June looked yet further, to see what book it was. It was Mr. Dinwiddie's Bible.
June sat up and went on with her work, but her face twitched.
Daisy was at the dinner-table. After having a good sleep on June's knee, she had come home, and dressed as usual, and she was in her place when the dessert was brought on. Mr. Randolph, from his distant end of the table, watched her a little; he saw that she behaved just as usual; she did not shun anybody, though her mother shunned her. A glove covered her right hand, yet Daisy persisted in using that hand rather than attract notice, though from the slowness of her movements it was plain it cost her some trouble. Gary McFarlane asked why she had a glove on, and Mr. Randolph heard Daisy's perfectly quiet and true answer, that "her hand was wounded, and had to wear a glove," given without any confusion or evasion. He called his little daughter to him, and giving her a chair by his side, spent the rest of his time in cracking nuts and preparing a banana for her; doing it carelessly, not as if she needed but as if it pleased him to give her his attention.
After dinner, Daisy sought Preston, who was out on the lawn, as he said, to cool himself; in the brightness of the setting sun to be sure, but also in a sweet light air which was stirring.
"Phew! it's hot. And you, Daisy, don't look as if the sun and you had been on the same side of the earth to-day. What do you want now?"
"I want a good talk with you, Preston."
"I was going to say 'fire up,' " said Preston, "but, no, don't do anything of that sort! If there is any sort of talking that has a chilly effect, I wish you'd use it."
"I have read of such talk, but I don't think I know how to do it," said Daisy. "I read the other day of somebody's being 'frozen with a look.'
Preston went off into a fit of laughter, and rolled himself over on the grass, declaring that it was a splendid idea; then he sat up and asked Daisy again what she wanted? Daisy cast a glance of her eye to see that nobody was too near.
"Preston, you know you were going to teach me."
"Oh ay! about the Spartans."
"I want to learn everything," said Daisy. "I don't know much."
Preston looked at the pale, delicate child, whose doubtful health he knew had kept her parents from letting her "know much"; and it was no wonder that when he spoke again, he used a look and manner that were caressing, and even tender.
"What do you want to know, Daisy?"
"I want to know everything," whispered Daisy; "but I don't know what to begin at."
"No!" said Preston, " 'everything' seems as big as the world, and as hard to get hold of."
"I want to know geography," said Daisy.
"Yes. Well you shall. And you shall not study for it neither; which you can't."
"Yes I can."
"No you can't. You are no more fit for it, little Daisy but look here! I wish you would be a red daisy."
"Then what else, Preston?"
"Nothing else. Geography is enough at once."
"Oh, no, it isn't. Preston, I can't do the least little bit of a sum in the world."
"Can't you? Well I don't see that that is of any very great consequence. What sums doyouwant to do?"
"But I want to know how."
"Why?"
"Why, Preston, you know Ioughtto know how. It might be very useful, and I ought to know."
"I hope it will never be of any use to you," said Preston; "but you can learn the multiplication table if you like."
"Then will you show it to me?"
"Yes; but what has put you in such a fever of study, littleDaisy? It excites me, this hot weather."
"Then won't you come in and show me the multiplication table now, Preston?"
In came Preston, laughing, and found an arithmetic for Daisy; and Daisy, not laughing, but with a steady seriousness, sat down on the verandah in the last beams of the setting sun to learn that "twice two is four."
The same sort of sweet seriousness hung about all her movements this week. To those who knew what it meant, there was something extremely touching in the gentle gravity with which she did everything, and the grace of tenderness which she had for everybody. Daisy was going through great trouble. Not only the trouble of what was past, but the ordeal of what was to come. It hung over her like a black cloud, and her fears were like muttering thunder. But the sense of right, the love of the Master in whose service she was suffering, the trust in His guiding hand, made Daisy walk with that strange, quiet dignity between the one Sunday and the other. Mr. Randolph fancied sometimes when she was looking down, that he saw the signs of sadness about her mouth; but whenever she looked up again, he met such quiet, steady eyes, that he wondered. He was puzzled; but it was no puzzle that Daisy's cheeks grew every day paler, and her appetite less.
"I do not wish to flatter you" said Mrs. Gary, one evening "but that child has very elegant manners! Really, I think they are very nearly perfect. I don't believe there is an English court beauty who could show better."
"The English beauty would like to be a little more robust in her graces," remarked Gary McFarlane.
"That is all Daisy wants," her aunt went on; "but that will come, I trust, in time."
"Daisy would do well enough," said Mrs. Randolph, "if she could get some notions out of her head."
"What, you mean her religious notions? How came she by them, pray?"
"Why, there was a person here a connexion of Mrs. Sandford's that set up a Sunday school in the woods; and Daisy went to it for a month or two, before I thought anything about it, or about him. Then I found she was beginning to ask questions, and I took her away."
"Is asking questions generally considered a sign of danger?" said Gary McFarlane.
"What was that about her singing the other night?" said Mrs. Gary "that had something to do with the same thing, hadn't it?"
"Refused to sing an opera song because it was Sunday."
"Ridiculous!" said Mrs. Gary. "I'll try to make her see it so herself if I get a chance. She is a sensible child."
Mr. Randolph was walking up and down the room, and had not spoken a word. A little time after, he found himself nearly alone with Mrs. Randolph, the others having scattered away. He paused near his wife's sofa.
"Daisy is failing," he said. "She has lost more this week than she had gained in the two months before."
Mrs. Randolph made no answer, and did not even move her handsome head, or her delicate hands.
"Can't you get out of this business, Felicia?"
"In the way that I said I would. You expect your words to be obeyed, Mr. Randolph; and I expect it for mine."
Mr. Randolph resumed his walk.
"Daisy has got some things in her head that must get out of it. I would as lieve not have a child, as not to have her mind me."
Mr. Randolph passed out upon the verandah, and continuing his walk there, presently came opposite the windows of the library. There he saw Daisy seated at the table, reading. Her hand was over her brow, and Mr. Randolph did not feel satisfied with the sober lines of the little mouth upon which the lamplight shone. Once, too, Daisy's head went down upon her book, and lay there a little while. Mr. Randolph did not feel like talking to her just then, or he would have liked to go in and see what she was studying. But while he stood opposite the window, Captain Drummond came into the library.
"You here, Daisy! What are you busy about?" he said, kindly."What are you studying now?"
"I am reading the History of England, Captain Drummond."
"How do you like it?"
"I have not got very far. I do not like it very much."
"Where are you?"
"I have just got to where it tells about Alfred."
"Why do you read it, Daisy? Is it a lesson?"
"No, Captain Drummond, but I think proper to read it."
"It is proper," said the Captain. "Come, Daisy, suppose we go down on the sand-beach to-morrow, and we will play out the Saxon Heptarchy there as we played out the Crimea. Shall we?"
Daisy's face changed. "Oh, thank you, Captain Drummond! that will be nice! Shall we?"
"If you will, I will," said the Captain.
Mr. Randolph moved away.
The next day, after luncheon, Daisy followed her father when he left the table. She followed till they were got quite away from other ears.
"Papa, I would like to go to Mrs. Harbonner's again. You saidI must not go without leave."
"Who is Mrs. Harbonner?"
"Papa, it is the place where I took the ham, do you remember? Joanna has enquired about her, and found that she is respectable."
"What do you want to go there again for, Daisy?"
"Joanna has found some work for her, papa. She would not have the ham unless she could work to pay for it. I want to see her to tell her about it."
Mr. Randolph had it on his tongue to say that somebody else might do that; but looking down at Daisy, the sight of the pale face and hollow eyes stopped him. He sat down, and drew Daisy up to his side.
"I will let you go."
"Thank you, papa!"
"Do you know," said Mr. Randolph, "that your mother is going to ask you to sing that song again when Sunday evening comes?"
The smile vanished from Daisy's face; it grew suddenly dark; and a shuddering motion was both seen and felt by Mr. Randolph, whose arm was round her.
"Daisy," said he, not unkindly, "do you know that I think you a little fool?"
She lifted her eyes quickly, and in their meeting with her father's there was much much that Mr. Randolph felt without stopping to analyse, and that made his own face as suddenly sober as her own. There was no folly in that quick grave look of question or appeal; it seemed to carry the charge in another direction.
"You think it is not right to sing such a song on a Sunday?" he asked.
"No, papa."
"But, suppose, by singing it, you could do a great deal of good, instead of harm."
"How, papa?"
"I will give you a hundred dollars for singing it, which you may spend as you please for all the poor people about Melbourne or Crum Elbow."
It was very singular to him to see the changes in Daisy's face. Light and shadow came and went with struggling quickness. He expected her to speak, but she waited for several minutes; then she said in a troubled voice, "Papa, I will think of it."
"Is that all, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, disappointed.
"I am going to Mrs. Harbonner's, papa, and I will think, and tell you."
Mr. Randolph was inclined to frown and suspect obstinacy; but the meek little lips which offered themselves for a kiss disarmed him of any such thought. He clasped Daisy in his arms, and gave her kisses, many a one, close and tender. If he had known it, he could have done nothing better for the success of his plan; under the pressure of conscience Daisy could bear trouble in doing right, but the argument of affection went near to trouble her conscience. Daisy was obliged to compound for a good many tears, before she could get away and begin her drive. And when she did, her mind was in a flutter. A hundred dollars! how much good could be done with a hundred dollars. Why, would it not be right to do something, even sing such a song on Sunday, when it was sung for such a purpose and with such results? But Daisy could not feel quite sure about it; while at the same time the prospect of getting quit of her difficulties by this means escaping her mother's anger, and the punishment with which it was sure to be accompanied, and also pleasing her father shook Daisy's very soul. What should she do? She had not made up her mind when she got to the little brown house where Mrs. Harbonner lived.
She found mother and daughter both in the little bare room; the child sitting on the floor and cutting pieces of calico and cloth into strips, which her mother was sewing together with coarse thread. Both looked just as when Daisy had seen them before slim and poor and uncombed; but the room was clean.
"I thought you warn't coming again," said Mrs. Harbonner.
"I couldn't come till to-day," said Daisy, taking a chair. "I came as soon as I could." Partly from policy, partly because she felt very sober, she left it to Mrs. Harbonner to do most of the talking.
"I never see more'n a few folks that thought much of doing what they said they'd do without they found their own account in it. If I was living in a great house, now, I'd have folks enough come to see me."
Daisy did not know what answer to make to this, so she made none.
"I used to live in a better house once," went on Mrs. Harbonner; "I didn't always use to eat over a bare floor. I was well enough, if I could ha' let well alone; but I made a mistake, and paid for it; and what's more, I'm paying for it yet. 'Taintmyfault, that Hephzibah sits there cuttin' rags, instead of going to school."
Again Daisy did not feel herself called upon to decide on the mistakes of Mrs. Harbonner's past life; and she sat patiently waiting for something else that she could understand.
"What are you come to see me for now?" said the lady. "I suppose you're going to tell me you haven't got no work for me to do, and I must owe you for that ham?"
"I have got something for you to do," said Daisy. "The boy has got it at the gate. The housekeeper found some clothes to make and you said that was your work."
"Tailoring," said Mrs. Harbonner. "I don't know nothing about women's fixtures, except what'll keep me and Hephzibah above the savages. I don't suppose I could dress a doll so's it would sell."
"This is tailoring work," said Daisy. "It is a boy's suit and there will be more to do if you like to have it."
"Where is it? at the gate, did you say? Hephzibah, go and fetch it in. Who's got it?"
"The boy who is taking care of the horses."
"I declare, have you got that little covered shay there again? it's complete! I never see a thing so pretty! And Hephzibah says you drive that little critter yourself. Ain't you afraid?"
"Not at all," said Daisy. "The pony won't do any harm."
"He looks skeery," said Mrs. Harbonner. "I wouldn't trust him. What a tremendous thick mane he's got! Well, I s'pect you have everything you want, don't you?"
"Of such things " said Daisy.
"That's what I meant. Gracious! I s'pose every one of us has wishes whether they are in the air or on the earth. Wishes is the butter to most folks' bread. Here, child."
She took the bundle from Hephzibah, unrolled it, and examined its contents with a satisfied face.
"What didyoucome along with this for?" she said, suddenly, to Daisy. "Why didn't you send it?"
"I wanted to come and see you," said Daisy, pleasantly.
"What ails you? You ain't so well as when you was here before," said Mrs. Harbonner, looking at her narrowly.
"I am well," said Daisy.
"You ain't fur from bein' something else then. I suppose you're dyin' with learning while my Hephzibah can't get schooling enough to read her own name. That's the way the world's made up!"
"Isn't there a school at Crum Elbow?" said Daisy.
"Isn't there! And isn't there a bench for the rags? No, myHephzibah don't go to show none."
Mrs. Harbonner was so sharp and queer, though not unkindly towards herself, that Daisy was at a loss how to go on; and, moreover, a big thought began to turn about in her head.
"Poverty ain't no shame, but it's an inconvenience," said Mrs. Harbonner. "Hephzibah may stay to home and be stupid, when she's as much right to be smart as anybody. That's what I look at; it ain't having a little to eat now and then."
"Melbourne is too far off for her to get there, isn't it?" said Daisy.
"What should she go there for?"
"If she could get there," said Daisy, "and would like it, I would teach her."
"Youwould?" said Mrs. Harbonner. "What would you learn her?"
"I would teach her to read," said Daisy, colouring a little; "and anything else I could."
"La, she can read," said Mrs. Harbonner, "but she don't know nothing, for all that. Readin' don't tell a person much, without he has books. I wonder how long it would hold out, if you begun? 'Taint no use to begin a thing and then not go on."
"But could she get to Melbourne?" said Daisy.
"I don't know. Maybe she can. Who'd she see at your house?"
"Nobody, but the man at the lodge, or his mother."
"Who's that?"
"He's the man that lives in the lodge, to open the gate."
"Open the gate, hey? Who pays him for it?"
"Papa pays him, and he lives in the lodge."
"I shouldn't think it would take a man to open a gate. Why,Hephzibah could do it as well as anybody."
Daisy did not see the point of this remark, and went on."Hephzibah wouldn't see anybody else, but me."
"Well, I believe you mean what you say," said Mrs. Harbonner, "and I hope you will when you're twenty years older but I don't believe it. I'll let Hephzibah come over to you on Sundays I know she's jumpin' out of her skin to go she shall go on Sundays, but I can't let her go other days, 'cause she's got work to do; and anyhow it would be too fur. What time would you like to see her?"
"As soon as it can be after afternoon church, if you please. I couldn't before."
"You're a kind little soul!" said the woman. "Do you like flowers?"
Daisy said yes. The woman went to a back door of the room, and, opening it, plucked a branch from a great rosebush that grew there.
"We hain't but one pretty thing about this house," said she, presenting it to Daisy, "but that's kind o' pretty."
It was a very rich and delicious white rose, and the branch was an elegant one, clustered with flowers and buds. Daisy gave her thanks and took leave.
"As we have opportunity, let us do good unto all men." There was a little warm drop of comfort in Daisy's heart as she drove away. If she could not go to Sunday-school herself, she might teach somebody else, yet more needy; that would be the next best thing. Sunday afternoon it looked bright to Daisy; but then her heart sank; Sunday evening would be near. What should she do? She could not settle it in her mind what was right; between her mother's anger and her father's love, Daisy could not see what was just the plumb-line of duty. Singing would gain a hundred dollars' worth of good; and not singing would disobey her mother and displease her father; but then came the words of one that Daisy honoured more than father and mother "Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath day;" and she could not tell what to do.
Daisy had gone but a little way out of the village, when she suddenly pulled up. Sam was at the side of the chaise immediately.
"Sam, I want a glass of water; where can I get it?"
"Guess at Mrs. Benoit's, Miss Daisy. There's a fine spring of cold water."
"Who is Mrs. Benoit?"
"It's Juanita Miss Daisy has heard of Mrs. St. Leonard's Juanita. Mr. St. Leonard built a house for her, just the other side o' them trees."
Daisy knew who Juanita was. She had been brought from the West Indies by the mother of one of the gentlemen who lived in the neighbourhood; and upon the death of her mistress had been established in a little house of her own. Daisy judged that she would be quite safe in going there for water.
"If I turn into that road, can I go home round that way, Sam?"
"You can, Miss Daisy; but it's a ways longer."
"I like that;" said Daisy.
She turned up the road that led behind the trees, and presently saw Juanita's cottage. A little grey stone house, low-roofed, standing at the very edge of a piece of woodland, and some little distance back from the road. Daisy saw the old woman sitting on her doorstep. A grassy slope stretched down from the house to the road. The sun shone up against the grey cottage.
"You take care of Loupe, Sam, and I'll go in," said Daisy a plan which probably disappointed Sam, but Daisy did not know that. She went through a little wicket and up the path.
Juanita did not look like the blacks she had been accustomed to see. Black she was not, but of a fine olive dark skin; and though certainly old, she was still straight and tall, and very fine in her appearance and bearing. Daisy could see this but partially while Juanita was sitting at her door; she was more struck by the very grave look her face wore just then. It was not turned towards her little visitor, and Daisy got the impression that she must be feeling unhappy.
Juanita rose, however, with great willingness to get the water, and asked Daisy into her house. Daisy dared not, after her father's prohibition, go in, and she stood at the door till the water was brought. Then, with a strong feeling of kindness towards the lonely and perhaps sorrowful old woman, and remembering to "do good as she had opportunity," Daisy suddenly offered her the beautiful rose-branch.
"Does the lady think I want pay for a glass of water?" said the woman, with a smile that was extremely winning.
"No," said Daisy, "but I thought, perhaps, you liked flowers."
"There's another sort of flowers that the Lord likes," said the woman looking at her; "they be His little children."
Daisy's heart was tender, and there was something in Juanita's face that won her confidence. Instead of turning away, she folded her hands unconsciously, and said, more wistfully than she knew, "I want to be one!"
"Does my little lady know the Lord Jesus?" said the woman, with a bright light coming into her eye.
Daisy's heart was sore as well as tender; the question touched two things, the joy that she did know Him, and the trouble that following Him had cost her; she burst into tears. Then, turning away, and with a great effort throwing off the tears, she went back to the chaise. There stood Sam, with the pony's foot in his hand.
"Miss Daisy, this fellow has kicked one of his shoes half off; he can't go home so; it's hanging. Could Miss Daisy stop a little while at Mrs. Benoit's, I could take the pony to the blacksmith's it ain't but a very little ways off and get it put on, in a few minutes."
"Well, do, do, Sam," said Daisy after she had looked at the matter; and while he took Loupe out of harness, she turned back to Juanita.
"What is gone wrong?" said the old woman.
"Nothing is wrong," said Daisy; "only the pony has got his shoe off, and the boy is taking him to the blacksmith's."
"Will my lady come into my house?"
"No, thank you. I'll stay here."
The woman brought out a low chair for her, and set it on the grass; and took herself her former place on the sill of the door. She looked earnestly at Daisy; and Daisy on her part had noticed the fine carriage of the woman, her pleasant features, and the bright handkerchief which made her turban. Through the open door she could see the neat order of the room within, and her eye caught some shells arranged on shelves; but Daisy did not like to look, and she turned away. She met Juanita's eye; she felt she must speak.
"This is a pleasant place."
"Why does my lady think so?"
"It looks pleasant," said Daisy. "It is nice. The grass is pretty, and the trees; and it is a pretty little house, I think."
The woman smiled. "I think it be a palace of beauty," she said, "for Jesus is here."
Daisy looked, a little wondering but entirely respectful; the whole aspect of Juanita commanded that.
"Does my little lady know, that the presence of the King makes a poor house fine?"
"I don't quite know what you mean," said Daisy, humbly.
"Does my little lady know that the Lord Jesus loves His people?"
"Yes," said Daisy, "I know it."
"But she know not much. When a poor heart say any time, 'Lord, I am all Thine!' then the Lord comes to that heart, and He makes it the house of a King for He comes there Himself. And where Jesus is, all is glory. Do not my little lady read that in the Bible?"
"I don't remember" said Daisy.
The woman got up, went into the cottage, and brought out a large-print Testament which she put into Daisy's hands, open at the fourteenth chapter of John. Daisy read with curious interest the words to which she was directed: "Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love Me, he will keep My words: and My Father will love him, and We will come unto him and make Our abode with him."
Daisy looked at the promise, with her heart beating under troublesome doubts; when the voice of Juanita broke in upon them by saying, tenderly, "Does my little lady keep the Lord's words?"
Down went the book, and the tears rushed into Daisy's eyes. "Don't call me so," she cried, "I am Daisy Randolph; and I do want to keep His words! and I don't know how."
"What troubles my love?" said the woman, in the low tones of a voice that was always sweet. "Do not she know what the words of the Lord be?"
"Yes," said Daisy, hardly able to make herself understood, "but "
"Then do 'em," said Juanita. "The way is straight. What He say, do."
"But suppose " said Daisy.
"Suppose what? What do my love suppose?"
"Wouldn't it make it right, if it would do a great deal of good?"
This confused sentence Juanita pondered over. "What does my love mean?"
"If it would do a great deal of good wouldn't that make it right to do something?"
"Right to do something that the Lord say not do?"
"Yes."
"If you love Jesus, you not talk so," said Juanita, sorrowfully. But that made Daisy give way altogether.
"Oh, I do love Him! I do love Him!" she cried; "but I don't know what to do." And tears came in a torrent.
Juanita was watchful and thoughtful. When Daisy had very soon checked herself, she said in the same low, gentle way in which she had before spoken, "What do the Lord say to do that some good thing, or to keep His words?"
"To keep His words."
"Then keep 'em and the Lord will do the good thing Himself; that same or another. He can do what He please; and He tell you, only keep His words. He want you to show you love Him and He tell you how."
Daisy sat quite still to let the tears pass away, and the struggle in her heart grow calm; then when she could safely she looked up. She met Juanita's eye. It was fixed on her.
"Is the way straight now?" she asked.
Daisy nodded, with a little bit of a smile on her poor little lips.
"But there is trouble in the way?" said Juanita.
"Yes," said Daisy, and the old woman saw the eyes redden again.
"Has the little one a good friend at home to help?"
Daisy shook her head.
"Then let Jesus help. My little lady keep the Lord's words, and the sweet Lord Jesus will keep her." And rising to her feet, and clasping her hands, where she stood, Juanita poured forth a prayer. It was for her little visitor. It was full of love. It was full of confidence too; and of such clear simplicity as if, like Stephen, she had seen the heavens open. But the loving strength of it won Daisy's heart; and when the prayer was finished she came close to the old woman and threw her arms round her as she stood, and wept with her face hid in Juanita's dress. Yet the prayer had comforted her too, greatly. And though Daisy was very shy of intimacies with strangers, she liked to feel Juanita's hand on her shoulder; and after the paroxysm of tears was past, she still stood quietly by her, without attempting to increase the distance between them; till she saw Sam coming down the lane with the pony.
"Good-bye," said Daisy, "there's the boy."
"My lady will come to see old Juanita again?"
"I am Daisy Randolph. I'll come," said the child, looking lovingly up. Then she went down the slope to Sam.
"The blacksmith couldn't shoe him, Miss Daisy he hadn't a shoe to fit. He took off the old shoe so Miss Daisy please not drive him hard home."
Daisy wanted nothing of the kind. To get home soon was no pleasure; so she let Loupe take his own pace, anything short of walking; and it was getting dusk when they reached Melbourne. Daisy was not glad to be there. It was Friday night; the next day would be Saturday.
Mrs. Randolph came out into the hall to see that nothing was the matter, and then went back into the drawing-room. Daisy got her dress changed, and came there too, where the family were waiting for tea. She came in softly, and sat down by herself at a table somewhat removed from the others, who were all busily talking and laughing. But presently Captain Drummond drew near, and sat down at her side.
"Have you had a good drive, Daisy?"
"Yes, Captain Drummond."
"We missed our history to-day, but I have been making preparations. Shall we go into the Saxon Heptarchy to-morrow you and I and see if we can get the kingdom settled?"
"If you please. I should like it very much."
"What is the matter with you, Daisy?"
Daisy lifted her wise little face, which indeed looked as if it were heavy with something beside wisdom, towards her friend; she was not ready with an answer.
"You aren't going to die on the field of battle yet, Daisy?" he said, half lightly, and half he knew not why.
It brought a rush of colour to the child's face; the self- possession must have been great which kept her from giving way to further expression of feeling. She answered with curious calmness, "I don't think I shall, Captain Drummond."
The Captain saw it was a bad time to get anything from her, and he moved away. Preston came the next minute.
"Why, Daisy," he whispered, drawing his chair close, "where have you been all day? No getting a sight of you. What have you been about?"
"I have been to Crum Elbow this afternoon."
"Yes, and how late you stayed. Why did you?"
"Loupe lost a shoe. I had to wait for Sam to go to the blacksmith's with him."
"Really. Did you wait in the road?"
"No. I had a place to wait."
"I dare say you are as hungry as a bear," said Preston. "Now here comes tea and waffles, Daisy; you shall have some waffles and cream. That will make you feel better."
"Cream isn't good with waffles," said Daisy.
"Yes, it is. Cream is good with everything. You shall try. I know! I am always cross myself when I am hungry."
"I am not hungry, Preston; and I don't think I am cross."
"What are you, then? Come, Daisy, here is a cup of tea, and here is a waffle. First the sugar there, then the cream. So."
"You have spoiled it, Preston."
"Eat it and confess you are hungry and cross too."
Daisy could have laughed, only she was too sore-hearted, and would surely have cried. She fell to eating the creamed waffle.
"Is it good?"
"Very good!"
"Confess you are hungry and cross, Daisy."
"I am not cross. And Preston, please! don't!" Daisy's fork fell; but she took it up again.
"What is the matter, then, Daisy?"
Daisy did not answer; she went on eating as diligently as she could.
"Is it that foolish business of the song?" whispered Preston."Is that the trouble, Daisy?"
"Please don't, Preston!"
"Well, I won't, till you have had another waffle. Sugar and cream, Daisy?"
"Yes."
"That's brave! Now eat it up and tell me, Daisy, isthatthe trouble with you?"
He spoke affectionately, as he almost always did to her; andDaisy did not throw him off.
"You don't understand it, Preston," she said.
"Daisy, I told you my uncle and aunt would not like that sort of thing."
Daisy was silent, and Preston wondered at her. Mrs. Gary drew near at this moment, and placed herself opposite Daisy's tea- cup, using her eyes in the first place.
"What are you talking about?" said she.
"About Daisy's singing, ma'am."
"That's the very thing," said Mrs. Gary, "that I wanted to speak about. Daisy, my dear, I hope you are going to sing it properly to your mother the next time she bids you?"
Daisy was silent.
"I wanted to tell you, my dear," said Mrs. Gary, impressively, "what a poor appearance your refusal made, the other evening. You could not see it for yourself; but it made you seem awkward, and foolish, and ill-bred. I am sure everybody would have laughed, if it had not been for politeness towards your mother; for the spectacle was ludicrous, thoroughly. You like to make a graceful appearance, don't you?"
Daisy answered in a low voice, "Yes, ma'am; when I can."
"Well, you can, my dear, for your behaviour is generally graceful, and unexceptionable; only the other night it was very rough and uncouth. I expected you to put your finger in your mouth the next thing, and stand as if you had never seen anybody. And Daisy Randolph! the heiress of Melbourne and Cranford!"
The heiress of Melbourne and Cranford lifted to her aunt's face a look strangely in contrast with the look bent on her; so much worldly wisdom was in the one, so much want of it in the other. Yet those steady grey eyes were not without a wisdom of their own; and Mrs. Gary met them with a puzzled feeling of it.
"Do you understand me, Daisy, my dear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you see that it is desirable never to look ridiculous, and well-bred persons never do?"
"Yes, aunt Gary."
"Then I am sure you won't do it again. It would mortify me for your father and mother."
Mrs. Gary walked away. Daisy looked thoughtful.
"Will you do it, Daisy?" whispered Preston.
"What?"
"Will you sing the song for them next time? You will, won't you?"
"I'll do what I can" said Daisy. But it was said so soberly, that Preston was doubtful of her. However, he, like Captain Drummond, had got to the end of his resources for that time; and seeing his uncle approach, Preston left his seat.
Mr. Randolph took it, and drew Daisy from her own to a place in his arms. He sat then silent a good while, or talking to other people; only holding her close and tenderly. Truth to tell, Mr. Randolph was a little troubled about the course things were taking; and Daisy and her father were a grave pair that evening.
Daisy felt his arms were a pleasant shield between her and all the world; if they might onlykeepround her! And then she thought of Juanita's prayer, and of the invisible shield, of a stronger and more loving arm, that the Lord Jesus puts between His children and all real harm.
At last Mr. Randolph bent down his head, and brought his lips to Daisy's, asking her if she had had a nice time that afternoon.
"Very, papa!" said Daisy, gratefully; and then added, after a little hesitation, "Papa, do you know old Juanita? Mrs. St. Leonard's woman, that Mr. St. Leonard built a little house for?"
"I do not know her. I believe I have heard of her."
"Papa, would you let me go into her house? She has some beautiful shells that I should like to see."
"How do you know?"
"I saw them, papa, through the doorway of her house, I waited there while Sam went with Loupe to the blacksmith's."
"And you did not go in?"
"No, sir you said I must not, you know."
"I believe Juanita is a safe person, Daisy. You may go in, if ever you have another opportunity."
"Thank you, papa."
"What are you going to do with the hundred dollars?" said Mr.Randolph, putting his head down, and speaking softly.
Daisy waited a minute, checked the swelling of her heart, forbade her tears, steadied her voice to speak; and then said, "I sha'n't have them, papa."
"Why not?"
"I can't fulfil the conditions." Daisy spoke again, after waiting a minute.
"Don't you mean to sing?"
Every time Daisy waited. "I can't, papa."
"Your mother will require it."
Silence, only Mr. Randolph saw that the child's breath went and came under excitement.
"Daisy, she will require it."
"Yes, papa" was said, rather faintly.
"And I think you must do it."
No response from Daisy; and no sign of yielding.
"How do you expect to get over it?"
"Papa, won't you help me?" was the child's agonised cry. She hid her face in her father's breast.
"I have tried to help you. I will give you what will turn your fancied wrong deed into a good one. It is certainly right to do charitable things on Sunday."
There was silence, and it promised to last some time. Mr. Randolph would not hurry her: and Daisy was thinking, "If ye love Me, keep My commandments.If ye love Me."
"Papa," said she at last, very slowly, and pausing between her words, "would you be satisfied, if I should disobey you for a hundred dollars?"
This time it was Mr. Randolph that did not answer, and the longer he waited the more the answer did not come. He put Daisy gently off his knee, and rose at last without speaking. Daisy went out upon the verandah, and sat down on the step; and there the stars seemed to say to her "If a man love Me, he will keep My words." They were shining very bright; so was that saying to Daisy. She sat looking at them, forgetting all the people in the drawing-room; and though troubled enough, she was not utterly unhappy. The reason was, she loved her King.
Somebody came behind her, and took hold of her shoulders. "My dear little Daisy!" said the voice of Preston, "I wish you were an India-rubber ball, that I might chuck you up to the sky and down again a few times!"
"Why? I don't think it would be nice."
"Why? why, because you want shaking; you are growing dull, yes, absolutely you are getting heavy! you, little Daisy! of all people in the world. It won't do."
"I don't think such an exercise would benefit me," said Daisy.
"I'd find something else then. Daisy, Daisy," said he, shakingher shoulders gently, "this religious foolery is spoiling you.Don't you go and make yourself stupid. Why I don't know you.What is all this ridiculous stuff? You aren't yourself."
"What do you want me to do, Preston?" said Daisy, standing before him, not without a certain childish dignity. It was lost on him.
"I want you to be my own little Daisy," said he, coaxingly. "Come! say you will, and give up these outlandish notions you have got from some old woman or other. What is it they want you to do? sing? Come, promise you will. Promise me!"
"I will sing any day but Sunday."
"Sunday? Now, Daisy! I'm ashamed of you. Why, I never heard such nonsense. Nobody has such notions but low people. It isn't sensible. Give it up, Daisy, or I shall not know how to love you."
"Good night, Preston "
"Daisy, Daisy! come and kiss me, and be good."
"Good night" repeated Daisy, without turning; and she walked off.
It half broke June's heart that night to see that the child's eyes were quietly dropping tears all the while she was getting undressed. Preston's last threat had cut very close. But Daisy said not a word; and when, long after June had left her, she got into bed, and lay down, it was not Preston's words, but the reminder of the stars that was with her, and making harmony among all her troubled thoughts "If a man love Me, he will keep My words."
In spite of the burden that lay on Daisy's heart, she and Captain Drummond had a good time the next morning over the Saxon Heptarchy. They went down to the shore for it, at Daisy's desire, where they would be undisturbed; and the morning was hardly long enough. The Captain had provided himself with a shallow tray filled with modelling clay; which he had got from all artist friend living a few miles further up the river. On this the plan of England was nicely marked out, and by the help of one or two maps which he cut up for the occasion, the Captain divided off the seven kingdoms greatly to Daisy's satisfaction and enlightenment. Then, how they went on with the history! introduced Christianity, enthroned Egbert, and defeated the Danes under Alfred. They read from the book, and fought it all out on the clay plan as they went along. At Alfred they stopped a good while, to consider the state of the world in the little island of Britain at that time. The good king's care for his people, his love for study and encouragement of learning; his writing fables for the people; his wax candles to mark time; his building with brick and stone; his founding the English navy, and victories with the same; no less than his valour and endurance in every time of trial; all these things Captain Drummond, whose father had been an Englishman, duly enlarged upon, and Daisy heard them with greedy ears. Truth to tell, the Captain had read up a little for the occasion, being a good deal moved with sympathy for his little friend, who he saw was going through a time of some trial. Nothing was to be seen of that just now, indeed, other than the peculiarly soft and grave expression which Daisy's face had worn all this week; and which kept reminding the Captain to be sorry for her.
They got through with Alfred at last by the way, the Captain had effaced the dividing lines of the seven kingdoms and brought all to one in Egbert's time and now they went on with Alfred's successors. A place was found on the sand for Denmark and Norway to show themselves; and Sweyn and Canute came over; and there was no bating to the interest with which the game of human life went on. In short, Daisy and the Captain having tucked themselves away in a nook of the beach and the tenth and eleventh centuries, were lost to all the rest of the world and to the present time; till a servant at last found them with the information that the luncheon bell had rung, and Mrs. Randolph was ready to go out with the Captain. And William the Conqueror had just landed at Hastings!
"Never mind, Daisy," said the Captain; "we'll go on with it, the next chance we get."
Daisy thanked him earnestly, but the thought that Sunday must come and go first, threw a shadow over her thanks. The Captain saw it; and walked home thinking curiously about the "field of battle" not Hastings.
Daisy did not go in to luncheon. She did not like meeting all the people who felt so gay, while she felt so much trouble. Nor did she like being with her mother, whose manner all the week had constantly reminded Daisy of what Daisy never forgot. The rest of Saturday passed soberly away. There was a cloud in the air.
And the cloud was high and dark Sunday morning, though it was as fair a summer day as might be seen. Some tears escaped stealthily from Daisy's eyes, as she knelt in the little church beside her mother; but the prayers were deep and sweet and strong to her, very much. Sadly sorry was Daisy when they were ended. The rest of the service was little to her. Mr. Pyne did not preach like Mr. Dinwiddie; and she left the church with a downcast heart, thinking that so much of the morning was past.
The rest of the day Daisy kept by herself, in her own room; trying to get some comfort in reading and praying. For the dread of the evening was strong upon her; every movement of her mother spoke displeasure and determination. Daisy felt her heart beating gradually quicker and quicker, as the hours of the day wore on.
"Ye ain't well, Miss Daisy," said June, who had come in as usual without being heard.
"Yes I am, June," said Daisy. But she had started when the woman spoke, and June saw that now a tear sprang.
"Did you eat a good lunch, Miss Daisy?"
"I don't know, June. I guess I didn't eat much."
"Let me bring you something!" said the woman, coaxingly "some strawberries, with some good cream to 'em."
"No I can't, June I don't want them. What o'clock is it?"
"It is just on to five, Miss Daisy."
Five! Daisy suddenly recollected her scholar, whom she had directed to come to her at this hour. Jumping up, she seized her hat, and rushed off down stairs and through the shrubbery, leaving June lost in wonder and concern.
At a Belvedere, some distance from the house, and nearer the gate, Daisy had chosen to meet her pupil; and she had given orders at the Lodge to have her guided thither when she should come. And there she was; Daisy could see the red head of hair before she got to the place herself. Hephzibah looked very much as she did on week days; her dress partially covered with a little shawl; her bonnet she had thrown off; and if the hair had been coaxed into any state of smoothness before leaving home, it was all gone now.
"How do you do, Hephzibah?" said Daisy. "I am glad to see you."
Hephzibah smiled, but unless that meant a civil answer, she gave none. Daisy sat down beside her.
"Do you know how to read, Hephzibah?"
The child first shook her shaggy head then nodded it. What that meant, Daisy was somewhat at a loss.
"Do you know your letters?"
Hephzibah nodded.
"What is that letter?"
Daisy had not forgotten to bring a reading book, and now put Hephzibah through the alphabet, which she seemed to know perfectly, calling each letter by its right name. Daisy then asked if she could read words; and getting an assenting nod again, she tried her in that. But here Hephzibah's education was defective; she could read indeed, after a fashion; but it was a slow and stumbling fashion; and Daisy and she were a good while getting through a page. Daisy shut the book up.
"Now, Hephzibah," said she, "do you know anything about what is in the Bible?"
Hephzibah shook her head in a manner the reverse of encouraging.
"Did you never read the Bible, nor have any one read it to you?"
Another shake.
Daisy thereupon began to tell her little neighbour the grand story which concerned them both so nearly, making it as clear and simple as she could. Hephzibah's eyes were fixed on her intently all the while; and Daisy, greatly interested herself, wondered if any of the interest had reached Hephzibah's heart, and made the gaze of her eyes so unwavering. They expressed nothing. Daisy hoped, and went on, till at a pause Hephzibah gave utterance to the first words (of her own) that she had spoken during the interview. They came out very suddenly, like an unexpected jet of water from an unused fountain.
"Mother says, you're the fus'ratest little girl she ever see!"
Daisy was extremely confounded. The thread of her discourse was so thoroughly broken, indeed, that she could not directly begin it again; and in the minute of waiting she saw how low the sun was. She dismissed Hephzibah, telling her to be at the Belvedere the same hour next Sunday.
As the shaggy little red head moved away through the bushes, Daisy watched it, wondering whether she had done the least bit of good. Then another thought made her heart beat, and she turned again to see how low the sun was. Instead of the sun, she saw Gary McFarlane.
"Who is that, Daisy?" said he, looking after the disappearing red head.
"A poor little girl " said Daisy.
"So I should think, very poor! looks so indeed! How came she here?"
"She came by my orders, Mr. McFarlane."
"By your orders! What have you got there, Daisy? Let's see! As sure as I'm alive! a spelling book. Keeping school, Daisy? Don't say no!"
Daisy did not say no, nor anything. She had taken care not to let Gary get hold of her Bible; the rest she must manage as she could.
"This is benevolence!" went on the young man. "Teaching a spelling lesson in a Belvedere with the thermometer at ninety degrees in the shade? What sinners all the rest of us are! I declare, Daisy, you make me feel bad."
"I should not think it, Mr. McFarlane."
"Daisy, you haveà plombenough for a princess, and gravity enough for a Puritan! I should like to see you when you are grown up, only then I shall be an old man, and it will be of no consequence. Whatdoyou expect to do with that little red head? now do tell me."
"She don't know anything, Mr. McFarlane."
"No more don't I! Come Daisy have pity on me. You never saw anybody more ignorant than I am. There are half a dozen things at this moment which I don't know and which you can tell me. Come, will you?"
"I must go in, Mr. McFarlane."
"But tell me first. Come, Daisy! I want to know why is it so much more wicked to sing a song than to make somebody else sing-song? for that's the way they all do the spelling-book, I know. Eh, Daisy?"
"How did you know anything about it, Mr. McFarlane?"
"Come, Daisy, explain. I am all in a fog or else you are.This spelling-book seems to me a very wicked thing on Sunday."
"I will take it, if you please, Mr. McFarlane."
"Not if I know it! I want my ignorance instructed, Daisy. I am persuaded you are the best person to enlighten me but if not, I shall try this spelling-book on Mrs. Randolph. I regard it as a great curiosity, and an important question in metaphysics."
Poor Daisy! She did not know what to do; conscious that Gary was laughing at her all the while, and most unwilling that the story of the spelling-book should get to Mrs. Randolph's ears. She stood hesitating and troubled, when her eye caught sight of Preston near. Springing to him she cried, "Oh, Preston, get my little book from Mr. McFarlane he won't give it to me."
There began then a race of the most uproarious sort between the two young men springing, turning, darting round among the trees and bushes, shouting to and laughing at each other. Daisy another time would have been amused; now she was almost frightened, lest all this boisterous work should draw attention. At last, however, Preston got the spelling-book, or Gary let himself be overtaken and gave it up.
"It's mischief, Preston!" he said; "deep mischief occult mischief. I give you warning."
"What is it, Daisy?" said Preston. "What is it all about?"
"Never mind. Oh, Preston! don't ask anything, but let me have it!"
"There it is then; but Daisy," he said, affectionately, catching her in his arms, "you are going to sing to-night, aren't you?"
"Don't Preston don't! let me go," cried Daisy, struggling to escape from him; and she ran away as soon as he let her, hardly able to keep back her tears. She felt it very hard. Preston and Gary, and her mother and her father, all against her in different ways. Daisy kneeled down by her window-sill in her own room, to try to get comfort and strength; though she was in too great tumult to pray connectedly. Her little heart was beating sadly. But there was no doubt at all in Daisy's mind as to what she should do. "If a man love Me, he will keep My words." She never questioned now about doing that.
The dreaded tea bell rang, and she went down; but utterly unable to eat or drink through agitation. Nobody seemed to notice her particularly, and she wandered out upon the verandah; and waited there. There presently her father's arms came round her before she was aware.
"What are you going to do, Daisy?"
"Nothing, papa," she whispered.
"Are you not going to sing?"
"Papa, I can't!" cried Daisy, dropping her face against his arm. Her father raised it again, and drawing her opposite one of the windows, looked into the dark-ringed eyes and white face.
"You are not well," said he. "You are not fit to be up; and my orders to you, Daisy, are to go immediately to bed. I'll send you some medicine by and by. Good night!"
He kissed her, and Daisy needed no second bidding. She sprang away, getting into the house by another door; and lost no time. Her fear was that her mother might send for her before she could get undressed. But no summons came; June was speedy, thinking and saying it was a very good thing for Daisy to do; and then she went off, and left her alone with the moonlight. Daisy was in no hurry then. She knelt by her beloved window, where the scent of the honeysuckle was strong in the dewy air; and with a less throbbing heart prayed her prayer. But she was not at ease yet; it was very uncertain in her mind how her mother would take this order of her father's; and what would come after, if she was willing to let it pass. So Daisy could not go to sleep, but lay wide awake and fearing in the moonlight, and listening to every sound in the house that came to her ears.
The moonlight shone in peacefully, and Daisy, lying there and growing gradually calmer, began to wonder in herself that there should be so much difficulty made about anybody's doing right. If she had been set on some wrong thing, it would have made but a very little disturbance if any; but now, when she was only trying to do right, the whole house was roused to prevent her. Was it so in those strange old times that the eleventh chapter of Hebrews told of? when men, and women, were stoned, and sawn asunder, and slain with the sword, and wandered like wild animals in sheepskins and goatskins and in dens and caves of the earth? all for the name of Jesus. But if they suffered once, they were happy now. Better anything, at all events, than to deny that name!
The evening seemed excessively long to Daisy, lying there on her bed awake, and listening with strained ears for any sound near her room. She heard none; the hours passed, though so very slowly, as they do when all the minutes are watched; and Daisy heard nothing but dim distant noises, and grew pretty quiet. She had heard nothing else, when, turning her head from the moonlight window, she caught the sight of a white figure at her bedside; and by the noble form and stately proportions Daisy knew instantly whose figure it was. Those soft flowing draperies had been before her eyes all day. A pang shot through the child, that seemed to go from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.
"Are you awake, Daisy?"
"Yes, mamma," she said, feebly.
"Get up. I want to speak to you."