CHAPTER V._Daisy（#27949）

IN THE KITCHEN.

I was ill for days. It was not due to one thing, doubtless, nor one

sorrow, but the whole together. My aunt sent to Baytown for the old

family physician. He came up and looked at me, and decided that I

ought to "play" as much as possible!

"She isn't a child that likes play," said my aunt.

"Find some play that she does like, then. Where are her father and

mother?"

"Just sailed for Europe, a few weeks ago."

"The best thing would be for her to sail after them," said the old

doctor. And he went.

"We shall have to let her do just as they did at Melbourne," said my

aunt.

"How was that?" said Miss Pinshon.

"Let her have just her own way."

"And what was that?"

"Oh, queer," said my aunt. "She is not like other children. But

anything is better than to have her mope to death."

"I shall try and not have her mope," said Miss Pinshon.

But she had little chance to adopt her reforming regimen for some

time. It was plain I was not fit for anything but to be let alone,

like a weak plant struggling for its existence. All you can do with it

is to put it in the sun; and my aunt and governess tacitly agreed upon

the same plan of treatment for me. Now, the only thing wanting was

sunshine; and it was long before that could be had. After a day or two

I left my bed, and crept about the house, and out of the house under

the great oaks, where the material sunshine was warm and bright

enough, and caught itself in the grey wreaths of moss that waved over

my head, and seemed to come bodily to woo me to life and cheer. It lay

in the carpet under my feet, it lingered in the leaves of the thick

oaks, it wantoned in the wind, as the long draperies of moss swung and

moved gently to and fro; but the very sunshine is cold where the ice

meets it; I could get no comfort. The thoughts that had so troubled me

the evening after my long talk with Preston were always present with

me; they went out and came in with me; I slept with them, and they met

me when I woke. The sight of the servants was wearying. I shunned

Darry and the stables. I had no heart for my pony. I would have liked

to get away from Magnolia. Yet, be I where I might, it would not alter

my father's position towards these seven hundred people. And towards

how many more? There were his estates in Virginia.

One of the first things I did, as soon as I could command my fingers

to do it, was to write to him. Not a remonstrance. I knew better than

to touch that. All I ventured, was to implore that the people who

desired it might be allowed to hold prayer-meetings whenever they

liked, and Mr. Edwards be forbidden to interfere. Also I complained

that the inside of the cabins were not comfortable; that they were

bare and empty. I pleaded for a little bettering of them. It was not a

long letter that I wrote. My sorrow I could not tell, and my love and

my longing were equally beyond the region of words. I fancy it would

have been thought by Miss Pinshon a very cold little epistle, but Miss

Pinshon did not see it. I wrote it with weak trembling fingers, and

closed it and sealed it and sent it myself. Then I sank into a

helpless, careless, listless state of body and mind, which was very

bad for me; and there was no physician who could minister to me. I

went wandering about, mostly out of doors, alone with myself and my

sorrow. When I seemed a little stronger than usual, Miss Pinshon tried

the multiplication table; and I tried, but the spring of my mind was

for the time broken. All such trials came to an end in such weakness

and weariness, that my governess herself was fain to take the book

from my hands and send me out into the sunshine again.

It was Darry at last who found me one day, and, distressed at my

looks, begged that I would let him bring up my pony. He was so earnest

that I yielded. I got leave, and went to ride. Darry saddled another

horse for himself and went with me. That first ride did not help me

much; but the second time a little tide of life began to steal into my

veins. Darry encouraged and instructed me; and when we came cantering

up to the door of the house, my aunt, who was watching there, cried

out that I had a bit of a tinge in my cheeks, and charged Darry to

bring the horses up every day.

With a little bodily vigour a little strength of mind seemed to come;

a little more power of bearing up against evils, or of quietly

standing under them. After the third time I went to ride, having come

home refreshed, I took my Bible and sat down on the rug before the

fire in my room to read. I had not been able to get comfort in my

Bible all those days; often I had not liked to try. Right and wrong

never met me in more brilliant colours or startling shadows than

within the covers of that book. But to-day, soothed somehow, I went

along with the familiar words as one listens to old music, with the

soothing process going on all along. Right _was_ right, and glorious,

and would prevail some time; and nothing could hinder it. And then I

came to words which I knew, yet which had never taken such hold of me

before.

"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works

and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

"_That_ is what I have to do!" I thought immediately. "That is my

part. That is clear. What _I_ have to do, is to let my light shine.

And if the light shines, perhaps it will fall on something. But what

_I_ have to do, is to shine. God has given me nothing else."

It was a very simple child's thought; but it brought wonderful comfort

with it. Doubtless, I would have liked another part to play. I would

have liked--if I could--to have righted all the wrong in the world; to

have broken every yoke; to have filled every empty house, and built up

a fire on every cold hearth: but that was not what God had given me.

All He had given me, that I could see at the minute, was to shine.

What a little morsel of a light mine was, to be sure!

It was a good deal of a puzzle to me for days after that, _how_ I was

to shine. What could I do? I was a little child: my only duties some

lessons to learn: not much of that, seeing I had not strength for it.

Certainly, I had sorrows to bear; but bearing them well did not seem

to me to come within the sphere of _shining_. Who would know that I

bore them well? And shining is meant to be seen. I pondered the

matter.

"When's Christmas, Miss Daisy?"

Margaret asked this question one morning as she was on her knees

making my fire. Christmas had been so shadowed a point to me in the

distance, I had not looked at it. I stopped to calculate the days.

"It will be two weeks from Friday, Margaret."

"And Friday's to-morrow?" she asked.

"The day after to-morrow. What do you do at Christmas, Margaret? all

the people?"

"There ain't no great doings, Miss Daisy. The people gets four days,

most of 'em."

"Four days--for what?"

"For what they like; they don't do no work, those days."

"And is that all?"

"No, Miss Daisy, 'tain't just all; the women comes up to the

house--it's to the overseer's house now--and every one gets a bowl o'

flour, more or less, 'cordin' to size of family--and a quart of

molasses, and a piece o' pork."

"And what do they do to make the time pleasant?" I asked.

"Some on 'em's raised eggs and chickens; and they brings 'em to the

house and sells 'em; and they has the best dinner. Most times they

gets leave to have a meetin'."

"A prayer-meeting?" I said.

"Laws, no, Miss Daisy! not 'cept it were Uncle Darry and _his_ set.

The others don't make no count of a prayer-meetin'. They likes to have

a white-folks' meetin' and 'joy theirselves."

I thought very much over these statements; and for the next two weeks

bowls of flour and quarts of molasses, as Christmas doings, were mixed

up in my mind with the question, how I was to shine? or rather,

alternated with it; and plans began to turn themselves over and take

shape in my thoughts.

"Margaret," said I, a day or two before Christmas, "can't the people

have those meetings you spoke of without getting leave of Mr.

Edwards?"

"Can't have meetin's, no how!" Margaret replied decidedly.

"But if _I_ wanted to see them, couldn't they, some of them, come

together to see me?"

"To see Miss Daisy! Reckon Miss Daisy do what she like. 'Spect Mass'

Ed'ards let Miss Daisy 'lone!"

I was silent, pondering.

"Maria cook wants to see Miss Daisy bad. She bid me tell Miss Daisy

won't she come down in de kitchen, and see all the works she's a-doin'

for Christmas, and de glorifications?"

"I? I'll come if I can," I answered.

I asked my aunt and got easy leave; and on Christmas eve I went down

to the kitchen. That was the chosen time when Maria wished to see me.

There was an assembly of servants gathered in the room, some from out

of the house. Darry was there; and one or two other fine-looking men

who were his prayer-meeting friends. I supposed they were gathered to

make merry for Christmas eve; but, at any rate, they were all eager to

see me, and looked at me with smiles as gentle as have ever fallen to

my share. I felt it and enjoyed it. The effect was of entering a warm,

genial atmosphere, where grace and good-will were on every side; a

change very noticeable from the cold and careless habit of things

upstairs. And _grace_ is not a misapplied epithet; for these children

of a luxurious and beauty-loving race, even in their bondage, had not

forgotten all traces of their origin. As I went in, I could not help

giving my hand to Darry; and then, in my childish feeling towards

them, and in the tenderness of the Christmas-tide, I could not help

doing the same by all the others who were present. And I remember now

the dignity of mien in some, the frank ease in others, both graceful

and gracious, with which my civility was met. If a few were a little

shy, the rest more than made it up by their welcome of me, and a sort

of politeness which had almost something courtly in it. Darry and

Maria together gave me a seat, in the very centre and glow of the

kitchen light and warmth; and the rest made a half circle around,

leaving Maria's end of the room free for her operations.

The kitchen was all aglow with the most splendid fire of pine knots it

was ever my lot to see. The illumination was such as threw all

gaslights into shade. We were in a great stone-flagged room,

low-roofed, with dark cupboard door; not cheerful, I fancy, in the

mere light of day: but nothing could resist the influence of those

pine-knot flames. Maria herself was a portly fat woman, as far as

possible from handsome; but she looked at me with a whole world of

kindness in her dark face. Indeed, I saw the same kindness more or

less shining out upon me in all the faces there. I cannot tell the

mixed joy and pain that it, and they, gave me. I suppose I showed

little of either, or of anything.

Maria entertained me with all she had. She brought out for my view her

various rich and immense stores of cakes and pies and delicacies for

the coming festival; told me what was good and what I must be sure and

eat; and what would be good for me. And then, when that display was

over, she began to be very busy with beating of eggs in a huge wooden

bowl; and bade Darry see to the boiling of the kettle at the fire;

and sent Jem, the waiter, for things he was to get upstairs; and all

the while talked to me. She and Darry and one or two more talked, but

especially she and Theresa and Jem; while all the rest listened and

laughed and exclaimed, and seemed to find me as entertaining as a

play. Maria was asking me about my own little life and experiences

before I came to Magnolia; what sort of a place Melbourne was, and how

things there differed from the things she and the rest knew and were

accustomed to at the South; and about my old June, who had once been

an acquaintance of hers. Smiling at me the while, between the thrusts

of her curiosity, and over my answers, as if for sheer pleasure she

could not keep grave. The other faces were as interested and as

gracious. There was Pete, tall and very black, and very grave, as

Darry was also. There was Jem, full of life and waggishness, and

bright for any exercise of his wits; and grave shadows used to come

over his changeable face often enough too. There was Margaret, with

her sombre beauty; and old Theresa with her worn old face. I think

there was a certain indescribable reserve of gravity upon them all,

but there was not one whose lips did not part in a white line when

looking at me, nor whose eyes and ears did not watch me with an

interest as benign as it was intent. I had been little while seated

before the kitchen fire of pine knots before I felt that I was in the

midst of a circle of personal friends; and I feel it now, as I look

back and remember them. They would have done much for me, every one.

Meanwhile Maria beat and mixed and stirred the things in her wooden bowl;

and by and by ladled out a glassful of rich-looking, yellow, creamy

froth--I did not know what it was, only it looked beautiful--and

presented it to me.

"Miss Daisy mus' tell Mis' Felissy Maria hain't forgot how to make

it--'spect she hain't, anyhow. Dat's for Miss Daisy's Christmas."

"It's very nice!" I said.

"Reckon it is," was the capable answer.

"Won't you give everybody some, Maria?" For Jem had gone upstairs with

a tray and glasses, and Maria seemed to be resting upon her labours.

"Dere'll come down orders for mo', chile; and 'spose I gives it to de

company, what'll Mis' Lisa do wid Maria? I have de 'sponsibility of

Christmas."

"But you can make some more," I said, holding my glass in waiting.

"Do, Maria."

"'Spose hain't got de 'terials, hey?"

"What do you want? Aunt Gary will give it to you." And I begged Jem to

go up again and prefer my request to her for the new filling of

Maria's bowl. Jem shrugged his shoulders, but he went; and I suppose

he made a good story of it; for he came down with whatever was

wanted--my Aunt Gary was in a mood to refuse me nothing then--and

Maria went anew about the business of beating and mixing and

compounding.

There was great enjoyment in the kitchen. It was a time of high

festival, what with me and the egg supper. Merriment and jocularity, a

little tide-wave of social excitement, swelled and broke on all sides

of me; making a soft ripply play of fun and repartee, difficult to

describe, and which touched me as much as it amused. It was very

unlike the enjoyment of a set of white people holding the same social

and intellectual grade. It was the manifestation of another race, less

coarse and animal in their original nature, more sensitive and more

demonstrative, with a strange touch of the luxurious and refined for

a people whose life has had nothing to do with luxury, and whom

refinement leaves on one side as quite beyond its sphere. But blood is

a strange thing; and Ham's children will show luxurious and aesthetic

tastes, take them where you will.

"Chillen, I hope you's enjoyed your supper," Maria said, when the last

lingering drops had been secured, and mugs and glasses were coming

back to the kitchen table.

Words and smiles answered her. "We's had a splendid time, Aunt Maria,"

said one young man as he set down his glass. He was a worker in the

garden.

"Den I hope's we's all willin' to gib de Lord t'anks for His goodness.

Dere ain't a night in de year when it's so proper to gib de Lord

t'anks, as it be dis precious night."

"It's to-morrow night, Aunt Maria," said Pete. "To-morrow's Christmas

night."

"I don't care! One night's jus' as good as another, you Pete. And now

we's all together, you see, and comfortable together; and I feel like

giving t'anks, I do, to de Lord, for all His mercies."

"What's Christmas, anyhow?" asked another.

"It's jus' de crown o' all the nights in de year. You Solomon, it's a

night dat dey keeps up in heaven. You know nothin' about it, you poor

critter. I done believe you never hearn no one tell about it. Maybe

Miss Daisy wouldn't read us de story, and de angels, and de shepherds,

and dat great light what come down, and make us feel good for

Christmas; and Uncle Darry, he'll t'ank de Lord."

The last words were put in a half-questioning form to me, rather

taking for granted that I would readily do what was requested. And

hardly anything in the world, I suppose, could have given me such

deep gratification at the moment. Margaret was sent upstairs to fetch

my Bible; the circle closed in around the fire and me; a circle of

listening, waiting, eager, interested faces, some few of them shone

with pleasure, or grew grave with reverent love, while I read slowly

the chapters that tell of the first Christmas night. I read them from

all the gospels, picking the story out first in one, then in another;

answered sometimes by low words of praise that echoed but did not

interrupt me--words that were but some dropped notes of the song that

began that night in heaven, and has been running along the ages since,

and is swelling and will swell into a great chorus of earth and heaven

by and by. And how glad I was in the words of the story myself, as I

went along. How heart-glad that here, in this region of riches and

hopes not earthly, those around me had as good welcome, and as open

entrance, and as free right as I. "There is neither bond nor free."

"And base things of this world, and things which are despised, hath

God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things

that are."

I finished my reading at last, amid the hush of my listening audience.

Then Maria called upon Darry to pray, and we all kneeled down.

It comes back to me now as I write--the hush and the breathing of the

fire, and Darry's low voice and imperfect English. Yes, and the

incoming tide of rest and peace and gladness which began to fill the

dry places in my heart, and rose and swelled till my heart was full. I

lost my troubles and forgot my difficulties. I forgot that my father

and mother were away, for the sense of loneliness was gone. I forgot

that those around me were in bonds, for I felt them free as I, and

inheritors of the same kingdom. I have not often in my life listened

to such a prayer, unless from the same lips. He was one of those that

make you feel that the door is open to their knocking, and that they

always find it so. His words were seconded--not interrupted, even to

my feelings--by low-breathed echoes of praise and petition, too soft

and deep to leave any doubt of the movement that called them forth.

There was a quiet gravity upon all when we rose to our feet again. I

knew I must go; but the kitchen had been the pleasantest place to me

in all Magnolia. I bade them good-night, answered with bows and

curtseys and hearty wishes; and as I passed out of the circle, tall

black Pete, looking down upon me with just a glimmer of white between

his lips, added, "Hope you'll come again."

A thought darted into my head which brought sunshine with it. I seemed

to see my way begin to open.

The hope was warm in my heart as soon as I was awake the next morning.

With more comfort than for many days I had known, I lay and watched

Margaret making my fire. Then suddenly I remembered it was Christmas,

and what thanksgivings had been in heaven about it, and what should be

on earth; and a lingering of the notes of praise I had heard last

night made a sort of still music in the air. But I did not expect at

all that any of the ordinary Christmas festivities would come home to

me, seeing that my father and mother were away. Where should Christmas

festivities come from? So, when Margaret rose up and showed all her

teeth at me, I only thought last night had given her pleasure, and I

suspected nothing, even when she stepped into the next room and

brought in a little table covered with a shawl, and set it close to my

bedside. "Am I to have breakfast in bed?" I asked. "What is this

for?"

"Dunno, Miss Daisy," said Margaret, with all her white teeth

sparkling;--"'spose Miss Daisy take just a look, and see what 'pears

like."

I felt the colour come into my face. I raised myself on my elbow and

lifted up cautiously one corner of the shawl. Packages--white paper

and brown paper--long and short, large and small! "O Margaret, take

off the shawl, will you!" I cried; "and let me see what is here."

There was a good deal. But "From Papa" caught my eye on a little

parcel. I seized it and unfolded. From papa, and he so far away! But I

guessed the riddle before I could get to the last of the folds of

paper that wrapped and enwrapped a little morocco case. Papa and

mamma, leaving me alone, had made provision beforehand, that when this

time came I might miss nothing except themselves. They had thought and

cared and arranged for me; and now they were thinking about it,

perhaps, far away somewhere over the sea. I held the morocco case in

my hand a minute or two before I could open it. Then I found a little

watch; my dear little watch! which has gone with me ever since, and

never failed nor played tricks with me. My mother had put in one of

her own chains for me to wear with it.

I lay a long time looking and thinking, raised up on my elbow as I was,

before I could leave the watch and go on to anything else. Margaret

spread round my shoulders the shawl which had covered the Christmas

table; and then she stood waiting, with a good deal more impatience and

curiosity than I showed. But such a world of pleasure and pain gathered

round that first "bit of Christmas"--so many, many thoughts of one and

the other kind--that I for awhile had enough with that. At last I closed

the case, and keeping it yet in one hand, used the other to make more

discoveries. The package labelled "From Mamma," took my attention next;

but I could make nothing of it. An elegant little box, that was all,

which I could not open; only it felt so very heavy that I was persuaded

there must be something extraordinary inside. I could make nothing of it:

it was a beautiful box; that was all. Preston had brought me a little

riding whip, both costly and elegant. I could not but be much pleased

with it. A large, rather soft package, marked with Aunt Gary's name,

unfolded a riding cap to match; at least, it was exceeding rich and

stylish, with a black feather that waved away in curves that called forth

Margaret's delighted admiration. Nevertheless, I wondered, while I

admired, at my Aunt Gary's choice of a present. I had a straw hat which

served all purposes, even of elegance, for my notions. I was amazed to

find that Miss Pinshon had not forgotten me. There was a decorated pen,

wreathed with a cord of crimson and gold twist, and supplemented with two

dangling tassels. It was excessively pretty, as I thought of Aunt Gary's

cap; and _not_ equally convenient. I looked at all these things while

Margaret was dressing me; but the case with the watch, for the most part,

I remember I kept in my hand.

"Ain't you goin' to try it on and see some how pretty it looks, Miss

Daisy?" said my unsatisfied attendant.

"The cap?" said I. "Oh, I dare say it fits. Aunt Gary knows how big my

head is."

"Mass' Preston come last night," she went on; "so I reckon Miss

Daisy'll want to wear it by and by."

"Preston come last night!" I said. "After I was in bed?"--and feeling

that it was indeed Christmas, I finished getting ready and went

downstairs. I made up my mind I might as well be friends with

Preston, and not push any further my displeasure at his behaviour. So

we had a comfortable breakfast. My aunt was pleased to see me, she

said, look so much better. Miss Pinshon was not given to expressing

what she felt; but she looked at me two or three times without saying

anything, which I suppose meant satisfaction. Preston was in high

feather, making all sorts of plans for my divertisement during the

next few days. I, for my part, had my own secret cherished plan, which

made my heart beat quicker whenever I thought of it. But I wanted

somebody's counsel and help; and on the whole I thought my Aunt Gary's

would be the safest. So after breakfast I consulted Preston only about

my mysterious little box, which would not open. Was it a paper weight?

Preston smiled, took up the box and performed some conjuration upon

it, and then--I cannot describe my entranced delight--as he set it

down again on the table, the room seemed to grow musical. Softest,

most liquid sweet notes came pouring forth one after the other,

binding my ears as if I had been in a state of enchantment; binding

feet and hands and almost my breath, as I stood hushed and listening

to the liquid warbling of delicious things, until the melody had run

itself out. It was a melody unknown to me; wild and dainty; it came

out of a famous opera, I was told afterward. When the fairy notes sunk

into silence, I turned mutely towards Preston. Preston laughed.

"I declare!" he said,--"I declare! Hurra! you have got colour in your

cheeks, Daisy; absolutely, my little Daisy! there is a real streak of

pink there where it was so white before."

"_What_ is it?" said I.

"Just a little good blood coming up under the skin."

"Oh no, Preston--_this_; what is it?"

"A musical box."

"But where does the music come from?"

"Out of the box. See, Daisy; when it has done a tune and is run out,

you must wind it up, so,--like a watch."

He wound it up and set it on the table again. And again a melody came

forth, and this time it was different; not plaintive and thoughtful,

but jocund and glad; a little shout and ring of merriment, like the

feet of dancers scattering the drops of dew in a bright morning; or

like the chime of a thousand little silver bells rung for laughter. A

sort of intoxication came into my heart. When Preston would have wound

up the box again, I stopped him. I was full of the delight. I could

not hear any more just then.

"Why, Daisy, there are ever so many more tunes."

"Yes. I am glad. I will have them another time," I answered. "How very

kind of mamma!"

"Hit the right thing this time, didn't she? How's the riding cap,

Daisy?"

"It is very nice," I said. "Aunt Gary is very good; and I like the

whip _very_ much, Preston."

"That fat little rascal will want it. Does the cap fit, Daisy?"

"I don't know," I said. "Oh yes, I suppose so."

Preston made an exclamation, and forthwith would have it tried on to

see how it looked. It satisfied him; somehow it did not please me as

well; but the ride did, which we had soon after; and I found that my

black feather certainly suited everybody else. Darry smiled at me, and

the house servants were exultant over my appearance.

Amid all these distracting pleasures, I kept on the watch for an

opportunity to speak to Aunt Gary alone. Christmas day I could not. I

could not get it till near the next day.

"Aunt Gary," I said, "I want to consult you about something."

"You have always something turning about in your head," was her

answer.

"Do you think," said I slowly, "Mr. Edwards would have any objection

to some of the people coming to the kitchen Sunday evenings to hear me

read the Bible?"

"To hear _you_ read the Bible!" said my aunt.

"Yes, Aunt Gary; I think they would like it. You know they cannot read

it for themselves."

"_They_ would like it. And you would be delighted, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Aunt Gary. I should like it better than anything."

"You are a funny child! There is not a bit of your mother in

you--except your obstinacy."

And my aunt seemed to ponder my difference.

"Would Mr. Edwards object to it, do you think? Would he let them

come?"

"The question is whether _I_ will let them come. Mr. Edwards has no

business with what is done in the house."

"But, Aunt Gary, you would not have any objection."

"I don't know, I am sure. I wish your father and mother had never left

you in my charge; for I don't know how to take care of you."

"Aunt Gary," I said, "please don't object! There is nobody to read the

Bible to them--and I should like to do it very much."

"Yes, I see you would. There--don't get excited about it--every Sunday

evening, did you say?"

"Yes, ma'am, if you please."

"Daisy, it will just tire you; that's what it will do. I know it, just

as well as if I had seen it. You are not strong enough."

"I am sure it would refresh me, Aunt Gary. It did the other night."

"The other night?"

"Christmas eve, ma'am."

"Did you read to them then?"

"Yes, ma'am; they wanted to know what Christmas was about."

"And you read to them. You are the oddest child!"

"But Aunt Gary, never mind--it would be the greatest pleasure to me.

Won't you give leave?"

"The servants hear the Bible read, child, every morning and every

night."

"Yes, but that is only a very few of the house servants. I want some

of the others to come--a good many--as many as can come."

"I wish your mother and father were here!" sighed my aunt.

"Do you think Mr. Edwards would make any objection?" I asked again,

presuming on the main question being carried. "Would he let them

come?"

"Let them come!" echoed my aunt. "Mr. Edwards would be well employed

to interfere with anything the family chose to do."

"But you know he does not let them meet together, the people, Aunt

Gary; not unless they have his permission."

"No, I suppose so. That is his business."

"Then will you speak to him, ma'am, so that he may not be angry with

the people when they come?"

"I? No," said my aunt. "I have nothing to do with your father's

overseer. It would just make difficulty, maybe, Daisy; you had better

let this scheme of yours alone."

I could not without bitter disappointment. Yet I did not know how

further to press the matter. I sat still and said nothing.

"I declare, if she isn't growing pale about it!" exclaimed my aunt. "I

know one thing, and that is, your father and mother ought to have

taken you along with them. I have not the least idea how to manage

you; not the least. What is it you want to do, Daisy?"

I explained over again.

"And now if you cannot have this trick of your fancy you will just

fidget yourself sick! I see it. Just as you went driving all about

Melbourne without company to take care of you. I am sure I don't know.

It is not in my way to meddle with overseers--How many people do you

want to read to at once, Daisy?"

"As many as I can, Aunt Gary. But Mr. Edwards will not let two or

three meet together anywhere."

"Well, I dare say he is right. You can't believe anything in the world

these people tell you, child. They will lie just as fast as they will

speak."

"But if they came to see _me_, Aunt Gary?" I persisted, waiving the