CHAPTER XXXIX. BREAKING UP

CHAPTER I.

DAISY'S QUESTION.

A little girl was coming down a flight of stairs that led up

from a great hall, slowly letting her feet pause on each

stair, while the light touch of her hand on the rail guided

her. The very thoughtful little face seemed to be intent on

something out of the house, and when she reached the bottom,

she still stood with her hand on the great baluster that

rested on the marble there, and looked wistfully out of the

open door. So the sunlight came in and looked at her; a little

figure in a white frock and blue sash, with the hair cut short

all over a little round head, and a face not only just now

full of some grave concern, but with habitually thoughtful

eyes and a wise little mouth. She did not seem to see the

sunlight which poured all over her, and lit up a wide, deep

hall, floored with marble, and opening at the other end on

trees and flowers, which showed the sunlight busy there too.

The child lingered wistfully. Then crossed the hall, and went

into a matted, breezy, elegant room, where a lady lay

luxuriously on a couch, playing with a book and a leaf-cutter.

She could not be _busy_ with anything in that attitude. Nearly

all that was to be seen was a flow of lavender silk flounces,

a rich slipper at rest on a cushion, and a dainty little cap

with roses on a head too much at ease to rest. By the side of

the lavender silk stood the little white dress, still and

preoccupied as before — a few minutes without any notice.

"Do you want anything, Daisy?"

"Mamma, I want to know something."

"Well, what is it?"

"Mamma" — Daisy seemed to be engaged on a very puzzling

question — "what does it mean to be a Christian?"

"_What?_" said her mother, rousing herself up for the first

times to look at her.

"To be a Christian, mamma?"

"It means, to be baptised and go to church, and all that,"

said the lady, turning back to her book.

"But mamma, that isn't all I mean."

"I don't know what you mean. What has put it into your head?"

"Something Mr. Dinwiddie said."

"What absurd nonsense! Who is Mr. Dinwiddie?"

"You know him. He lives at Mrs. Sandford's."

"And where did he talk to you?"

"In the little school in the woods. In his Sunday-school.

Yesterday."

"Well, it's absurd nonsense, your going there. You have

nothing to do with such things. Mr. Randolph? —"

An inarticulate sound, testifying that he was attending, came

from a gentleman who had lounged in and was lounging through

the room.

"I won't have Daisy go to that Sunday-school any more, down

there in the woods. Just tell her she is not to do it, will

you? She is getting her head full of the most absurd nonsense.

Daisy is just the child to be ruined by it."

"You hear, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph, indolently, as he

lounged finally out of the room by an open window; which, as

did all the windows in the room, served for a door also. By

the door by which she had entered, Daisy silently withdrew

again, making no effort to change the resolution of either of

her parents. She knew it would be of no use; for excessively

indulgent as they both were in general, whenever they took it

upon them to exercise authority, it was unflinchingly done.

Her father would never even hear a supplication to reconsider

a judgment, especially if pronounced at the desire of her

mother. So Daisy knew.

It was a disappointment, greater than anybody thought or would

have guessed, that saw her. She went out to the large porch

before the door, and stood there, with the same thoughtful

look upon her face, a little cast down now. Still she did not

shed tears about the matter, unless one time when Daisy's hand

went up to her brow rather quick, it was to get rid of some

improper suggestion there. More did not appear, either before

or after the sudden crunching of the gravel by a pair of light

wheels, and the coming up of a little Shetland pony, drawing a

miniature chaise.

"Hollo, Daisy! come along; he goes splendidly!"

So shouted the driver, a boy somewhat bigger than Daisy.

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere — down to the church, if you'll be quick. Never mind

your hat!"

He waited, however, while Daisy dashed into the house and out

again, and then stepped into the low chaise beside him. Then

the eager intimation was given to the pony, which set off as

if knowing that impatience was behind him. The smooth, wide,

gravelled road was as good and much better than a plank

flooring; the chaise rolled daintily on under the great trees;

the pony was not forgetful, yet ever and anon a touch of his

owner's whip came to remind him, and the fellow's little body

fairly wriggled from side to side in his efforts to get on.

"I wish you wouldn't whip him so." said Daisy, "he's doing as

well as he can."

"What do girls know about driving!" was the retort from the

small piece of masculine science beside her.

"Ask papa," said Daisy, quietly.

"Well, what do they know about horses, anyhow!"

"I can _see_," said Daisy, whose manner of speech was somewhat

slow and deliberate, and in the choice of words, like one who

had lived among grown people. "I can observe."

"See that, then!" — And a cut, smarter than ordinary, drove

the pony to his last legs, namely, a gallop. Away they went;

it was but a short-legged gallop after all; yet they passed

along swiftly over the smooth gravel road. Great, beautiful

trees overshadowed the ground on either side with their long

arms; and underneath, the turf was mown short, fresh and

green. Sometimes a flowering bush of some sort broke the

general green with a huge spot of white or red flowers;

gradually those became fewer, and were lost sight of; but the

beautiful grass and the trees seemed to be unending. Then a

gray rock here and there began to show itself. Pony got

through his gallop, and subsided again to a waddling trot.

"This whip's the real thing," said the young driver,

displaying and surveying it as he spoke; "that _is_ a whip now,

fit for a man to use."

"A man wouldn't use it as you do," said Daisy. "It is cruel."

"That's what _you_ think. I guess you'd see papa use a whip once

in a while."

"Besides, you came along too fast to see anything."

"Well, I told you I was going to the church, and we hadn't

time to go slowly. What did you come for?"

"I suppose I came for some diversion," said Daisy, with a

sigh.

"Ain't Loupe a splendid little fellow?"

"Very; I think so."

"Why, Daisy, what ails you? there is no fun in you to-day.

What's the matter?"

"I am concerned about something. There is nothing the matter."

"Concerned about Loupe, eh!"

"I am not thinking about Loupe. Oh, Ransom! stop him; there's

Nora Dinwiddie; I want to get out."

The place at which they were arrived had a little less the air

of carefully kept grounds, and more the look of a sweet wild

wood; for the trees clustered thicker in patches, and grey

rock, in large and in small quantities, was plenty about among

the trees. Yet still here was care; no unsightly underbrush or

rubbish of dead branches was anywhere to be seen; and the

greensward, where it spread, was shaven and soft as ever. It

spread on three sides around a little church, which, in green

and gray, seemed almost a part of its surroundings. A little

church, with a little quaint bell-tower and arched doorway,

built after some old, old model; it stood as quietly in the

green solitude of trees and rocks, as if it and they had grown

up together. It was almost so. The walls were of native

greystone in its natural roughness; all over the front and one

angle the American ivy climbed and waved, mounting to the

tower; while at the back, the closer clinging Irish ivy

covered the little "apse," and creeping round the corner, was

advancing to the windows, and promising to case the first one

in a loving frame of its own. It seemed that no carriage-road

came to this place, other than the dressed gravelled path

which the pony-chaise had travelled, and which made a circuit

on approaching the rear of the church. The worshippers must

come humbly on foot; and a wicket in front of the church led

out upon a path suited for such. Perhaps a public road might

be not far off, but at least here there was no promise of it.

In the edge of the thicket, at the side of the church, was the

girl whose appearance Daisy had hailed.

"I sha'n't wait for you," cried her brother, as she sprang

down.

"No — go — I don't want you," — and Daisy made few steps over

the greensward to the thicket. Then it was, "Oh, Nora! how do

you do? what are you doing?" — and "Oh, Daisy! I'm getting

wintergreens." Anybody who has ever been nine, or ten, or

eleven years old, and gone in the woods looking for

wintergreens, knows what followed. The eager plunging into the

thickest of the thicket; the happy search of every likely bank

or open ground in the shelter of some rock; the careless,

delicious straying from rock to rock, and whithersoever the

bank or the course of the thicket might lead them. The

wintergreens sweet under foot, sweet in the hands of the

children, the whole air full of sweetness. Naturally their

quest led them to the thicker and wilder grown part of the

wood; prettier there, they declared it to be, where the ground

became broken, and there were ups and downs, and rocky dells

and heights, and to turn a corner was to come upon something

new. They did not note nor care where they went, intent upon

business and pleasure together, till they came out suddenly

upon a little rocky height, where a small spot was shaded with

cedars and set with benches around and under them. The view

away off over the tops of the trees to other heights and hills

in the distance was winningly fair, especially as the sun

showed it just now in bright, cool light and shadow. It was

getting near sundown.

"Look where we are!" cried Nora, "at the Sunday-school!"

Daisy seated herself without answering.

"I think," went on Nora, as she followed the example, "it is

the very prettiest place for a Sunday-school that there ever

was."

"Have you been in other Sunday-schools?" asked Daisy.

"Yes, in two."

"What were they like?"

"Oh, they were in a church, or in some sort of a room. I like

being out-of-doors best; don't you?"

"Yes, I think so. But was the school just like this in other

things?"

"Oh, yes; only once I had a teacher who always asked us what

we thought about everything. I didn't like that."

"What you thought about everything?" said Daisy.

"Yes; every verse and question, she would say, 'What do you

think about it?' and I didn't like that, because I never

thought anything."

Whereat Daisy fell into a muse. Her question recurred to her;

but it was hardly likely, she felt, that her little companion

could enlighten her. Nora was a bright, lively, spirited

child, with black eyes and waves of beautiful black hair;

neither at rest; sportive energy and enjoyment in every

motion. Daisy was silent.

"What is supposed to be going on here?" said a stronger voice

behind them, which brought both their heads round. It was to

see another head just making its way up above the level of

their platform; a head that looked strong and spirited as the

voice had sounded; a head set with dark hair, and eyes that

were too full of light to let you see what colour they were.

Both children came to their feet, one saying, "Marmaduke!" the

other, "Mr. Dinwiddie!"

"What do two such mature people do when they get together? I

should like to know," said the young man as he reached the

top.

"Talking, sir," said Daisy.

"Picking wintergreens," said the other, in a breath.

"Talking! I dare say you do. If both things have gone on

together, like your answers," said he, helping himself out of

Nora's stock of wintergreens, — "you must have had a basket of

talk."

"_That_ basket isn't full, sir," said Daisy.

"My dear," said Mr. Dinwiddie, diving again into his sister's,

"that basket never is; there's a hole in it somewhere."

"You are making a hole in mine," said Nora, laughing. "You

sha'n't do it, Marmaduke; they're for old Mrs. Holt, you

know."

"Come along, then," said her brother; "as long as the baskets

are not full the fun isn't over."

And soon the children thought so. Such a scrambling to new

places as they had then; such a harvest of finest wintergreens

as they all gathered together; till Nora took off her sun-

bonnet to serve for a new basket. And such joyous, lively,

rambling talk as they had all three, too; it was twice as good

as they had before; or as Daisy, who was quiet in her

epithets, phrased it, "it was nice." By Mr. Dinwiddie's help

they could go faster and further than they could alone; he

could jump them up and down the rocks, and tell them where it

was no use to waste their tine in trying to go.

They had wandered, as it seemed to them, a long distance —

they knew not whither — when the children's exclamations

suddenly burst forth, as they came out upon the Sunday-school

place again. They were glad to sit down and rest. It was just

sundown, and the light was glistening, crisp and clear, on the

leaves of the trees and on the distant hill-points. In the

west a mass of glory that the eye could not bear was sinking

towards the horizon. The eye could not bear it, and yet every

eye turned that way.

"Can you see the sun?" said Mr. Dinwiddie.

"No, sir," — and "No, Marmaduke."

"Then why do you look at it?"

"I don't know!" laughed Nora; but Daisy said: "Because it is

so beautiful, Mr. Dinwiddie."

"Once when I was in Ireland," said the gentleman, "I was

looking, near sunset, at some curious old ruins. They were

near a very poor little village where I had to pass the night.

There had been a little chapel or church of some sort, but it

had crumbled away; only bits of the walls were standing, and

in place of the floor there was nothing but grass and weeds,

and one or two monuments that had been under shelter of the

roof. One of them was a large square tomb in the middle of the

place. It had been very handsome. The top of it had held two

statues, lying there with hands upraised in prayer, in memory

of those who slept beneath. But it was so very old — he

statues had been lying there so long since the roof that

sheltered them was gone, that they were worn away so that you

could only just see that they had been statues; you could just

make out the remains of what had been the heads and where the

hands had been. It was all rough and shapeless now."

"What had worn the stone so?" asked Daisy.

"The weather — the heat and the cold, and the rain, and the

dew."

"But it must have taken a great while?"

"A very great while. Their names were forgotten — nobody knew

whose monument or what church had been there."

"More than a hundred years?" asked Nora.

"It had been many hundred."

"Oh, Duke!"

"What's the matter? Don't you believe that people died many

hundred years ago?"

"Yes; but —"

"And they had monuments erected to them, and they thought

their names would live forever; but these names were long

gone, and the very stone over their grave was going. While I

sat there, thinking about them, and wondering what sort of

people they were in their lifetime, the sun, which had been

behind a tree, got lower, and the beams came striking across

the stone and brightening up those poor old worn heads and

hands of what had been statues. And with that the words rushed

into my head, and they have never got out since, — '_Then_ shall

the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their

Father.' "

"When, Mr. Dinwiddie?" said Daisy, after a timid silence.

"When the King comes!" said the young man, still looking off

to the glowing west, — "the time when He will put away out of

His kingdom all things that offend Him. You may read about it,

if you will, in the thirteenth chapter of Matthew, in the

parable of the tares."

He turned round to Daisy as he spoke, and the two looked

steadily into one another's faces; the child wondering very

much what feeling it could be that had called an additional

sparkle into those bright eyes the moment before, and brought

to the mouth, which was always in happy play, an expression of

happy rest. He, on his part, queried what lay under the

thoughtful, almost anxious, search of the little one's quiet

grey eyes.

"Do you know," he said, "that you must go home? The sun is

almost down."

So home they went — Mr. Dinwiddie and Nora taking care of

Daisy quite to the house. But it was long after sundown then.

"What has kept you?" her mother asked, as Daisy came in to the

tea-table.

"I didn't know how late it was, mamma."

"Where have you been?"

"I was picking wintergreens with Nora Dinwiddie."

"I hope you brought me some," said Mr. Randolph.

"Oh, I did, papa; only I have not put them in order yet."

"And where did you and Nora part?"

"Here, at the door, mamma."

"Was she alone?"

"No, ma'am — Mr. Dinwiddie found us in the wood, and he took

her home, and he brought me home first."

Daisy was somewhat of a diplomatist. Perhaps a little natural

reserve of character might have been the beginning of it, but

the habit had certainly grown from Daisy's experience of her

mother's somewhat capricious and erratic views of her

movements. She could not but find out that things which to her

father's sense were quite harmless and unobjectionable, were

invested with an unknown and unexpected character of danger or

disagreeableness in the eyes of her mother; neither could

Daisy get hold of any chain of reasoning by which she might

know beforehand what would meet her mother's favour and what

would not. The unconscious conclusion was, that reason had

little to do with it; and the consequence, that without being

untrue, Daisy had learned to be very uncommunicative; about

her thoughts, plans, or wishes. To her mother, that is; she

was more free with her father, though the habit, once a habit,

asserted itself everywhere. Perhaps, too, among causes, the

example of her mother's own elegant manner of showing truth

only as one shows a fine picture, — in the best light, — might

have had its effect. Daisy's diplomacy served her little on

the present occasion.

"Daisy!" said her mother, "look at me." Daisy fixed her eves

on the pleasant, handsome, mild face. "You are not to go

anywhere in future where Mr. Dinwiddie is. Do you understand?"

"If he finds you lost out at night, though," said Mr.

Randolph, a little humorously, "he may bring you home."

Daisy wondered and obeyed, mentally, in silence; making no

answer to either speaker. It was not her habit either to show

her dismay on such occasions, and she showed none. But when

she went up an hour later to be undressed for bed, instead of

letting the business go on, Daisy took a Bible and sat down by

the light and pored over a page that she had found.

The woman waiting on her, a sad-faced mulatto, middle-aged and

respectable- looking, went patiently round the room, doing or

seeming to do some trifles of business, then stood still and

looked at the child, who was intent on her book.

"Come, Miss Daisy," said she at last, "wouldn't you like to be

undressed?"

The words were said in a tone so low they were hardly more

than a suggestion. Daisy gave them no heed. The woman stood

with dressing gown on her arm and a look of habitual endurance

upon her face. It was a singular face, so set in its lines of

enforced patience, so unbending. The black eyes were bright

enough, but without the help of the least play of those fixed

lines, they expressed nothing. A little sigh came from the

lips at last, which also was plainly at home there.

"Miss Daisy, it's gettin' very late."

"June, did you ever read the parable of the tares?"

"The what, Miss Daisy?"

"The parable about the wheat and the tares in the Bible — in

the thirteenth chapter of Matthew?"

"Yes, ma'am," — came somewhat dry and unwillingly from June's

lips, and she moved the dressing-gown on her arm

significantly.

"Do you remember it?"

"Yes, ma'am, — I suppose I do, Miss Daisy —"

"June, when do you think it will be?"

"When will what, Miss Daisy?"

"When the 'Son of Man shall send forth His angels, and they

shall gather out of His kingdom all things that offend and

them which do iniquity, and shall cast them into a furnace of

fire; there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Then shall

the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their

Father.' It says, 'in the end of this world' — did you know

this world would come to an end, June?"

"Yes, Miss Daisy —"

"When will it be, June?"

"I don't know, Miss Daisy."

"There won't be anybody alive that is alive now, will there?"

Again unwillingly the answer came: "Yes, ma'am. Miss Daisy,

hadn't you better —"

"How do you know, June?"

"I have heard so — it's in the Bible — it will be when the

Lord comes."

"Do you like to think of it, June?"

The child's searching eyes were upon her. The woman half

laughed, half answered, and turning aside, broke down and

burst into tears.

"What's the matter, June?" said Daisy, coming nearer and

speaking awedly; for it was startling to see that stony face

give way to anything but its habitual formal smile. But the

woman recovered herself almost immediately, and answered as

usual: "It's nothing, Miss Daisy." She always spoke as if

everything about her was "nothing" to everybody else.

"But, June," said Daisy, tenderly, "why do you feel bad about

it?"

"I shouldn't, I s'pose," said the woman desperately, answering

because she was obliged to answer; "I hain't no right to feel

so — if I felt ready."

"How can one be ready, June? That is what I want to know.

Aren't you ready?"

"Do, don't, Miss Daisy! — the Lord have mercy upon us!" said

June under her breath, wrought up to great excitement, and

unable to bear the look of the child's soft grey eyes. "Why

don't ye ask your papa about them things? he can tell ye."

Alas, Daisy's lips were sealed. Not to father or mother would

she apply with any second question on this subject. And now

she must not ask Mr. Dinwiddie. She went to bed, turning the

matter all over and over in her little head.

CHAPTER II.

THE PONY-CHAISE.

For some days after this time, Mrs. Randolph fancied that her

little daughter was less lively than usual; she "moped," her

mother said. Daisy was not moping, but it was true she had

been little seen or heard; and then it was generally sitting

with a book in the Belvedere or on a bank under a rose-bush,

or going out or coming in with a book under her arm. Mrs.

Randolph did not know that this book was almost always the

Bible, and Daisy had taken a little pains that she should not

know, guessing somehow that it would not be good for her

studies. But her mother thought Daisy was drooping; and Daisy

had been a delicate child, and the doctor had told them to

turn her out in the country and "let her run;" therefore it

was that she was hardly ever checked in any fancy that came

into her head. But therefore it was partly, too, that Mrs.

Randolph tried to put books and thinking as far from her as

she could.

"Daisy," she said one morning at the breakfast-table, "would

you like to go with June and carry some nice things down to

Mrs. Parsons?"

"How, mamma?"

"How what? Do speak distinctly."

"How shall I go, I mean?"

"You may have the carriage. I cannot go, this morning or this

afternoon."

"Oh, papa, mayn't I take Loupe and drive there myself?"

If Daisy had put the question at the other end of the table,

there would have been an end of the business, as she knew. As

it was, her father's "yes" got out just before her mother's

"no."

"Yes she may," said Mr. Randolph — "no harm. John, tell Sam

that he is to take the black pony and go with the pony-chaise

whenever Miss Daisy drives. Daisy, see that he goes with you."

"Well," said Mrs. Randolph, "you may do as you like, but I

think it is a very unsafe proceeding. What's Sam? — he's a

boy."

"Safe enough," said Mr. Randolph. "I can trust all three of

the party; Daisy, Loupe, and Sam. They all know their

business, and they will all do it."

"Well! — I think it is very unsafe," repeated Mrs. Randolph.

"Mamma," said Daisy, when she had allowed a moment to pass —

"what shall I take to Mrs. Parsons?"

"You must go and see Joanna about that. You may make up

whatever you think will please her or do her good. Joanna will

tell you."

And Mrs. Randolph had the satisfaction of seeing that Daisy's

eyes were lively enough for the rest of breakfast-time, and

her colour perceptibly raised. No sooner was breakfast over

than she flew to the consultation in the housekeeper's room.

Joanna was the housekeeper, and Mrs. Randolph's right hand; a

jewel of skill and efficiency; and as fully satisfied with her

post and power in the world, at the head of Mr. Randolph's

household, as any throned emperor or diademed queen;

furthermore, devoted to her employers as though their concerns

had been, what indeed she reckoned them, her own.

"Mrs. Randolph didn't say anything to me about it," said this

piece of capability, — "but I suppose it isn't hard to manage.

Who is Mrs. Parsons? that's the first thing."

"She's a very poor old woman, Joanna; and she is obliged to

keep her bed always; there is something the matter with her.

She lives with a daughter of hers who takes care of her, I

believe; but they haven't much to live upon, and the daughter

isn't smart. Mrs. Parsons hasn't anything fit for her to eat,

unless somebody sends it to her."

"What's the matter with her? ain't she going to get well?"

"No, never — she will always be obliged to lie on her bed as

long as she lives; and so, you see, Joanna, she hasn't

appetite for coarse things."

"Humph!" said Joanna. "Custards won't give it to her. What

does the daughter live upon?"

"She does washing for people; but of course that don't give

her much. They are very poor, I know."

"Well, what would you like to take her, Miss Daisy?"

"Mother said you'd know."

"Well, I'll tell you what _I_ think — sweetmeats ain't good for

such folks. You wait till afternoon, and you shall have a pail

of nice broth, and a bowl of arrowroot with wine and sugar in

it; that'll hearten her up. Will that do?"

"But I should like to take something to the other poor woman,

too."

"How are you going?"

"In my pony-chaise — I can take anything."

Joanna muttered an ejaculation.

"Well then, Miss Daisy, a basket of cold meat wouldn't come

amiss, I suppose."

"And some bread, Joanna?"

"The chaise won't hold so much."

"It has got to hold the basket," said Daisy in much glee, "and

the bread can go in. And, Joanna, I'll have it ready at half-

past four o'clock."

There was no air of moping about Daisy, when, at half-past

four she set off from the house in her pony-chaise, laden with

pail and basket and all she had bargained for. A happier child

was seldom seen. Sam, a capable black boy, was behind her on a

pony not too large to shame her own diminutive equipage; and

Loupe, a good-sized Shetland pony, was very able for more than

his little mistress was going to ask of him. Her father looked

on, pleased, to see her departure; and when she had gathered

up her reins, leaned over her and gave her with his kiss a

little gold piece to go with the pail and basket. It crowned

Daisy's satisfaction; with a quiet glad look and word of

thanks to her father, she drove off.

The pony waddled along nicely, but as his legs were none of

the longest, their rate of travelling was not precisely of the

quickest. Daisy was not impatient. The afternoon was splendid,

the dust had been laid by late rains, and Daisy looked at her

pail and basket with great contentment. Before she had gone a

quarter of a mile from home, she met her little friend of the

wintergreens. Nora sprang across the road to the chaise.

"Oh, Daisy, where are you going?"

"I am going to carry some things for mamma, to a house."

"All alone?"

"No, Sam is there to take care of me."

Nora looked back at the black pony, and then at Daisy. "Isn't

it nice!" she said, with a sort of half-regretful admiration.

"It's as nice as a fairy tale," said Daisy. "I'm just as good

as a princess, you know, Nora. Don't you want to go, too? Do

come."

"No, I mustn't — there are people coming to tea — Mrs.

Linwood, and Charles and Jane — I wish I could go! How far is

it, Daisy?"

"About five miles. Down beyond Crum Elbow, a good nice way;

but I shan't go through Crum Elbow."

"It's so splendid!" sighed Nora. "Well, good-bye. I can't go."

On went the pony. The roads were good and pleasant, leading

through farm fields and here and there a bit of wood, but not

much. It was mostly open country, cultivated by farmers; and

the grain fields not yet ripe, and the grass fields not yet

mown, looked rich and fair and soft in bright colours to

Daisy's eyes, as the afternoon sun shone across them and tree

shadows lay long over the ground. For trees there were, a

great many, growing singly about the fields and fences, and

some of them very large and fine. Daisy was not so busy with

her driving but that she could use her eyes about other

things. Now and then she met a farm wagon, or a labourer going

along the road. The men looked at her curiously and

pleasantly, as if they thought it a pretty sight; but once

Daisy, passing a couple of men together, overheard one say to

the other —

"It's Randolph's folks — they stick themselves up

considerable."

The tone of the voice was gruff and coarse, and Daisy

marvelled much in her little mind what had displeased the man

in her or in "Randolph's folks." She determined to ask her

father. "Stick ourselves up?" said Daisy thoughtfully — "we

_never_ do!"

So she touched the pony, who was falling into a very leisurely

way of trotting, and in good time came to Mrs. Parsons' door.

Daisy went in. The daughter was busy at some ironing in the

outer room; she was a dull, lack-lustre creature, and though

she comprehended the gifts that had been brought her, seemed

hardly to have life enough to thank the donor. That wasn't

quite like a fairy tale, Daisy thought. No doubt this poor

woman must have things to eat, but there was not much fun in

bringing them to her. Daisy was inclined to wonder how she had

ever come to marry anybody with so lively a name as Lark. But

before she got away, Mrs. Lark asked Daisy to go in and see

her mother, and Daisy, not knowing how to refuse, went in as

requested.

What a change! Another poor room to be sure, very poor it

looked to Daisy; with its strip of rag carpet on the floor,

its rush-bottomed chairs, and paper window-shades; and on the

bed lay the bed-ridden woman. But with such a nice pleasant

face; eyes so lively and quiet, smile so contented, brow so

calm, Daisy wondered if it could be she that must lie there

always and never go about again as long as she lived. It had

been a matter of dread to her to see anything so disagreeable;

and now it was not disagreeable. Daisy was fascinated. Mrs.

Lark had withdrawn.

"Is your mother with you, dear?"

"No ma'am, I came alone. Mamma told me to ask Mrs. Parsons if

there is anything she would like to have, that mamma could do

for her."

"Yes; if you would come in and see me sometimes," said the old

lady, "I should like it very much."

"Me?" said Daisy.

"Yes. I don't see young faces very often. They don't care to

come to see an old woman."

"I should like to come," said Daisy, "very much, if I could do

anything; but I must go now, because it will be late. Good-

bye, ma'am."

Daisy's little courtesy it was pleasant to see, and it was so

pleasant altogether that Mrs. Parsons had it over and over in

her thoughts that day and the next.

"It's as nice as a fairy tale," Daisy repeated to herself, as

she took her seat in the chaise again and shook up her reins.

It was better than a fairy tale really, for the sunshine

coming between the trees from the sinking sun, made all the

world look so beautiful that Daisy thought no words could tell

it. It was splendid to drive through that sunlight. In a

minute or two more she had pulled up her reins short, and

almost before she knew why she had done it or whom she had

seen, Mr. Dinwiddie stood at her side. Here he was. She must

not go where he was; she had not; he had come to her. Daisy

was very glad. But she looked up in his face now without

speaking.

"Ha! my stray lamb," said he, "whither are you running?"

"Home, sir," said Daisy, meekly.

"Do you know you have run away from me?"

"Yes, Mr. Dinwiddie."

"How came that?"

"It was unavoidable, sir," said Daisy, in her slow, old-

fashioned way. But the bright eye of the young man saw that

her eye fell and her face clouded over; it was not a slight

nor a chance hindrance that had been in her way, he was sure.

"Then you don't mean to come to me any more."

It was a dreadful question, but Mr. Dinwiddie's way of

speaking was so clear and quick and business-like, and he

seemed to know so well what he was talking about, that the

answer was forced from Daisy. She looked up and said, "No,

sir."

He watched the soft thoughtful face that was raised towards

him.

"Then if this is the last time we are to talk about it, Daisy,

shall I look for you among those that will 'shine as the sun'

in the Lord's kingdom?"

"Oh, sir, — Mr. Dinwiddie," — said Daisy, dropping her reins

and rising up, "that is what I want to know about. Please tell

me!"

"Tell you what?" said Mr. Dinwiddie, gathering up the reins.

"Tell me how to do, sir, please."

"What have you done, Daisy?"

"Nothing, sir — only reading the Bible."

"And you do not find it there?"

"I find a great deal, sir; but I don't quite understand. I

don't know how to be a Christian."

Daisy thought it might be her last chance; she was desperate,

and spoke out.

"Do you love the Lord Jesus, Daisy?"

"I don't know, Mr. Dinwiddie."

"You know how He loves you? You know what He has done for

you?"

"Yes — I know —"

"He died to save you from death and sin. He will do it if you

trust Him. Now what He wants is that you should love Him and

trust Him. 'Let the little children come to me,' He said a

great while ago, and says now. Daisy, the good Lord wants you

to give Him your heart."

"But suppose, Mr. Dinwiddie —"

"Yes. What?"

"Suppose I can't. I don't know how."

"Do you want to do it?"

"Yes, sir. Indeed I do."

"Very well; the Lord knows just what your difficulty is; you

must apply to Him."

"Apply to Him?" said Daisy.

"Ask Him."

"How, sir?"

"Pray to Him. Tell the Lord your trouble, and ask Him to make

it all right for you. Did you never pray to Him?"

"No, sir — not ever."

"My lamb," said Mr. Dinwiddie, "He will hear you, if you never

prayed to Him before. I will show you the word of His

promise." And he opened a pocket-Bible and found the place of

these words which he gave Daisy to read : "I will put a new

spirit within you; and I will take the stony heart out of

their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh; that they

may walk in My statutes, and keep Mine ordinances, and do

them: and they shall be My people, and I will be their God."

"Now is that what you want, Daisy?"

"Yes, sir; only I don't know how."

"Never mind; the Lord knows. He will make it all right, if

only you are willing to give yourself to be His little

servant."

"I will give Him all I have got, sir," said Daisy, looking up.

"Very well; then I will show you one thing more — it is a word

of the Lord Jesus. See — 'If ye love Me, keep My

commandments.' Now I want you to keep those two words, and you

can't remember where to find them again — I must let you take

this book with you." And Mr. Dinwiddie folded down leaves in

the two places.

"But Mr. Dinwiddie," — said Daisy softly — "I don't know when

I can get it back to you again, sir."

"Never mind — keep it, and when you don't want it, give it to

some poor person that does. And remember, little one, that the

good Lord expects His servants to tell Him their troubles and

to pray to Him every day."

"Thank you, sir!" was Daisy's deep ejaculation.

"Don't thank me. Now will your pony get you home before dark?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Dinwiddie! Loupe is lazy, but he can go, and I

will make him."

The chaise went off at a swift rate accordingly, after another

soft grateful look from its little driver. Mr. Dinwiddie stood

looking after it. Of a certain woman of Thyatira it is written

that "the Lord opened her heart, that she attended to the

things which were spoken." Surely, the gentleman thought, the

same had been true of his late little charge. He went

thoughtfully home. While Daisy, not speculating at all, in her

simplicity sat thinking that she was the Lord's servant; and

rejoiced over and over again that she had for her own and

might keep the book of her Lord's commandments. There were

such things as Bibles in the house, certainly, but Daisy had

never had one of her own. That in which she had read the other

night, and which she had used to study her lessons for Mr.

Dinwiddie, was one belonging to her brother, which he was

obliged to use at school. Doubtless Daisy could also have had

one for the asking — she knew that — but it might have been

some time first; and she had a certain doubt in her little

mind that the less she said upon the subject the better. She

resolved her treasure should be a secret one. It was right for

her to have a Bible; she would not run the risk of

disagreeable comments or commands by in any way putting it

forward. Meanwhile she had become the Lord's servant! A very

poor little beginning of a servant she thought herself;

nevertheless, in telling Mr. Dinwiddie what she had, it seemed

to Daisy that she had spoken aloud her oath of allegiance; and

a growing joy in the transaction and a growing love to the

great Saviour who was willing to let her be His servant,

filled her little heart. She just knew that the ride home was

lovely, but Daisy's mind was travelling a yet more sunshiny

road.

She was intelligent in what she had done. One by one Mr.

Dinwiddie's lessons had fallen on a willing and open ear. She

knew herself to be a sinner and lost; she believed that the

Lord Jesus would save her by His death; and it seemed to her

the most natural and reasonable and pleasant thing in the

world, that the life for which His blood had been shed, should

be given to Him. "If ye love me, keep My commandments." "I

wonder," thought Daisy, "what they are."

CHAPTER III.

THE BIRTHDAY.

"What sort of an expedition did you have, Daisy?" her father

asked at breakfast next morning. Company the evening before

had prevented any talk about it.

"Oh, very good, papa! It was as good as a fairy tale."

"Was it?" said Mr. Randolph. "I wonder what pitch of

excellence that is. I don't remember ever finding a fairy tale

very good to me."

"Did you ever read any, papa?"

"I don't know! Were you not tired with your long drive?"

"Oh, no, papa!"

"Would you like to go again?"

"Yes, papa, very much."

"You may go as often as you like — only always let Sam be

along."

"Did you find out what Mrs. Parsons wants?" said Mrs.

Randolph.

"No, mamma — she did not look as if she wanted anything,

except to see me. And yet she is very poor, mamma."

At this speech Mr. Randolph burst into a round laugh, and even

Mrs. Randolph seemed amused.

"Did she _look_ as if she wanted to see you, Daisy?"

"Papa, I think she did," said Daisy, colouring; "she said so

at any rate; but I could not find out what else she would

like."

"Daisy, I think she showed very good taste," said Mr.

Randolph, drawing his little daughter into his arms; "but it

would be safe to take something else with you when you go."

"Your birthday is next week, Daisy," said her mother; "and

your aunt Gary and your cousins will be here. What would you

like to have, to celebrate the day?"

"I don't know, mamma," said Daisy, returning her father's

kisses.

"You may have what you please, if you will think and tell me."

"Mamma, may I talk to Nora Dinwiddie about it?"

"Nonsense! What for?"

"Only to consult, mamma."

"Consult Ransom. He would be a much better help to you."

Daisy looked sober, and said nothing.

"Why not?" said Mr. Randolph. "Why not consult your brother?"

"Papa," said Daisy slowly, "Ransom and I do not understand

each other."

"Don't you," said her father, laughing; "what is the cause of

that, Daisy?"

Daisy was not very willing to answer, but being pressed by

both father and mother, she at length spoke. "I think, papa,

it is because he understands so many other things."

Mr. Randolph was excessively amused. "Ransom!" he called out

to the hall.

"Please, papa, don't!" said Daisy.

"Ransom! — come here. — What is this? your sister says you do

not understand her."

"Well, papa," said Ransom, an exceedingly handsome and bright-

looking boy, and a great pet of his mother, "there are things

that are not deep enough to be understood."

Daisy's lips opened eagerly and then closed again.

"Girls always use magnifying glasses where themselves are

concerned!" went on Ransom, whose dignity seemed to be

excited.

"Hush, hush!" said his father, — "take yourself off, it you

cannot maintain civility. And your mother does not like

fishing-tackle at the breakfast-table — go! I believe," he

said as Ransom bounded away, "I believe conceit is the normal

condition of boyhood."

"I am sure," said Mrs. Randolph, "girls have enough of it —

and women too."

"I suppose it would be rash to deny that," said Mr. Randolph.

"Daisy, I think I understand you. I do not require so much

depth as is necessary for Ransom's understanding to swim in."

"If you do not deny it, it would be well not to forget it,"

said Mrs. Randolph; while Daisy, still in her father's arms,

was softly returning his caresses.

"What shall we do on your birthday, Daisy." said her father,

without seeming to heed this remark.

"Papa, I will think about it. Mamma, do you like I should talk

to Nora about it?"

"By all means!" said Mr. Randolph; "send for her and hold a

grand council. Your mother can have no objection."

Daisy did not feel quite so sure of that; but at any rate she

made none, and a messenger was sent to ask Nora to come that

afternoon. All the morning Daisy was engaged with her mother,

going to make a visit to some friends that lived a long way

off. It was not till the afternoon was growing cool and

pleasant that she was released from dinner and dressing and

free to go with her Bible to her favourite reading place; — or

rather one of her favourites; — a garden seat under a thick

oak. The oak stood alone on a knoll looking over a beautiful

spread of grassy sward that sloped and rolled away to a

distant edge of thicket. Other noble trees dotted the ground

here and there; some fine cattle showed their red and white

heads, standing or lying about in the shade. Above the distant

thicket, far, far away, rose the heads of great blue

mountains. The grass had just been mown, in part; and a very

sweet smell from the hay floated about under the trees around

the house. Daisy's tree however was at some distance from the

house. In the absolute sweet quiet, Daisy and her Bible took

possession of the place. The Bible had grown a wonderful book

to her now. It was the book of the commandments of the Great

King whose servant she felt herself. Now every word would tell

her of something she must do, or not do; all sweet to Daisy;

for she felt she loved the King, and His commandments were

good to her. This time she got very much interested in the

twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew, in the parable of the

talents. But she wished she could have had Mr. Dinwiddie to

tell her a little better exactly what it meant. Some of its

meaning she understood; and remembering Mr. Dinwiddie's words,

she prayed with clasped hands and a very earnest little heart,

that the Lord would "make her know what all her talents were

and help her to make good use of them." Then Daisy went on

studying.

In the midst of her studies, a light step bounded down through

the shrubbery from the house, and Daisy had hardly raised her

head when Nora was at her side. There was room for her on the

seat, and after a glad greeting the children sat down

together, to talk much joyful talk and tell childish news, in

the course of which Daisy's perplexities came out, for which

she had wanted Nora's counsel. She explained that she could

have precisely what she chose, in the way of merry-making for

her birthday. Daisy spoke about it seriously, as a weighty and

important matter; and so Nora took it up, with a face of great

eagerness.

"You can have _just_ what you like, Daisy?" Daisy nodded. "Oh,

what have you thought of, Daisy?"

"What would be nicest, Nora?"

"I'll tell you what _I_ should have — I should have a party."

"A party!"

"Yes, that is what I should have."

"I never thought of that. Who would you ask, Nora? I thought

of a pic-nic; and of a great journey to Schroeder's Mountain;

— that would be nice; — to spend the whole day, you know."

"Yes, that would be nice: but I should have a party. Oh, there

are plenty to have. There is Kitty Marsden."

"I don't know Kitty Marsden, much" — said Daisy.

"And Ella Stanfield."

"I like Ella Stanfield" — said Daisy, sedately.

"And there are the Fishes."

"I don't like Mrs. Fish's children very well; — when Alexander

and Ransom get together, they make — a great deal of

disturbance!"

"Oh, we needn't mind their disturbance," said Nora; and she

went on discussing the plan and the advantages of the party.

Suddenly Daisy broke in with a new subject. "Nora, you know

the story of the servants with the talents, in the New

Testament?"

"Yes —" said Nora, with open eyes; "I know."

"Do you know what it means? — the talents, I mean; of course I

know what the rest means; but do you know what the talents

are? Is it just money? — because then you and I have very

little indeed; and all the servants had something."

"Why, Daisy, what made you think of that just now? we were

talking about the party."

"I have been thinking of it all the while," said Daisy. "I was

reading it — do you know what it means, Nora?"

"But we were talking about the party!" said Nora.

"Yes, but I want to understand this; and then we will go on

about the party. If you know what it means."

"I have heard Duke explain it," said Nora, unwillingly coming

to the graver subject.

"Well, what does he say it is? — the talents, you know."

"Duke says it is everything anybody has. Not money, —

_everything_ — Now don't you think we can make up a nice party?"

"Everything, Nora? Just wait a little — I want to know about

this. What do you mean by 'everything'?"

"Are you studying for Sunday-school, Daisy? that isn't the

lesson."

"No," said Daisy sorrowfully; "if I was, I could ask Mr.

Dinwiddie. That's why I want you to help me, Nora; so think,

and tell me what he said."

"Well, that," said Nora, "he said that; he said the talents

meant everything God has given people to work with for Him."

"What could they work with besides money?" said Daisy.

"Why, _everything_, Duke says; all they've got; their tongues

and their hands and their feet, and all they know, and all

their love for people; and even the way we do things, our

studies and all, Marmaduke says. What do you want to know for,

Daisy?"

"I was thinking about it," answered Daisy, evasively. "Wait a

minute, Nora, — I want to write it down, for fear I should

forget something."

"What _are_ you going to do?" exclaimed Nora. "Are you going to

teach a class yourself?"

Daisy did not answer, while she was writing down with a pencil

what Nora had said, and making her repeat it for that purpose.

When she had done she looked a little dubiously off towards

the woods, while Nora was surprised and disappointed into

silence.

"I think perhaps I ought to tell you," was Daisy's slow

conclusion. "I want to know what this means, that I may do it,

Nora."

"_Do_ it?"

"Yes," said Daisy, turning her quiet eyes full upon her

companion — "I want to try to please God. I love the Lord

Jesus."

Nora was very much confounded, and looked at Daisy as if a gap

in the ground had suddenly separated them.

"So," Daisy went on, "as I have talents to use, I want to know

what they are, for fear I shouldn't use them all. I don't

understand it yet, but I will think about it. Now we will go

on about the party if you like."

"But, Daisy," said Nora.

"What?"

"Are you in earnest?"

"Certainly I am in earnest," said Daisy gravely. "What makes

you ask me? Don't you think your brother is in earnest?"

"Marmaduke! oh yes, — but — you never told me of it before."

"I didn't know it till yesterday," said Daisy simply, "that I

loved the Lord Jesus; but I know I do now, and I am very glad;

and I am going to be His servant."

Her little face was very sweet and quiet as she looked at her

little neighbour and said these words; but Nora was utterly

confounded, and so nearly dismayed that she was silent; and it

was not till several invitations in Daisy's usual manner had

urged her, that she was able to get upon the subject of the

party again, and to discuss it with any spirit. The discussion

then did not come to any determination. Daisy was at least

lukewarm in her fancy for that mode of spending her birthday;

and separate plans of pic-nics and expeditions of pleasure

were taken up and handled, sure to be thrown aside by Nora for

the greater promise and splendour of the home entertainment.

They broke up at last without deciding upon anything, except

that Nora should come again to talk about it, and should at

all events have and give her share in whatever the plan for

the day might be.

Perhaps Daisy watched her opportunity, perhaps it came; but at

all events she seized the first chance that she saw to speak

with her father in private. He was sauntering out the next

morning after breakfast. Daisy joined him, and they strolled

along through the grounds, giving here and there directions to

the gardener, till they came near one of the pleasant rustic

seats, under the shade of a group of larches.

"Papa, suppose we sit down here for a moment and let us look

about us."

"Well, Daisy," — said her father, who knew by experience what

was likely to follow.

"Papa," said Daisy as they sat down, "I want to ask you about

something."

"What is it?"

"When I was in the chaise, driving Loupe the other clay, papa,

I heard something that I could not understand."

"Did you?"

"It was two men that passed me on the road; I heard one say to

the other as I went by, that it was your carriage, and then he

said that 'Randolph's folks were a good deal _stuck up;_' — what

did he mean, papa?"

"Nothing of any consequence, Daisy."

"But why did he say it, papa?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I did not understand it nor like it, papa; I wanted to know

what he meant."

"It is hardly worth talking about, Daisy. It is the way those

who have not enough in the world are very apt to talk of

others who are better off than themselves."

"Why, papa?"

"They were poor men, I suppose, weren't they."

"Yes; papa — working men."

"That class of people, my dear, are very apt to have a grudge

against the rich."

"For what, papa?"

"For being able to live better than they do."

"Why, papa! do poor people generally feel so?"

"Very often, I think. They do not generally speak it out

aloud."

"Then, papa," said Daisy, speaking slowly, "how do you know?

What makes you think they feel so?"

Her father smiled at her eagerness and gravity.

"I see it, Daisy, when they do not speak it. They show it in

various ways. Besides, I know their habit of talking among

themselves."

"But papa, that is very bad."

"What?"

"That poor people should feel so. I am sure rich people are

their best friends."

Her father stroked her head fondly, and looked amused.

"They don't believe that, Daisy."

"But _why_ don't they believe it, papa?" said Daisy, growing

more and more surprised.

"I suppose," said Mr. Randolph, rising, "they would be better

satisfied if I gave them my horses and went afoot." — A speech

which Daisy pondered and pondered and could make nothing of.

They walked on, Mr. Randolph making observations and giving

orders now and then to workmen. Here a man was mowing under

the shrubbery; there the gardener was setting out pots of

greenhouse flowers; in another place there were holes digging

for trees to be planted. Daisy went musing on while her father

gave his orders, and when they were again safe out of hearing

she spoke. "Papa, do you suppose Michael and Andrew and John,

and all your own people, feel so about you?"

"I think it is likely, Daisy. I can't hope to escape better

than my neighbours."

"But, papa, they don't look so, nor act so?"

"Not before me. They do not wish to lose their places."

"Papa, — couldn't something be done to make them feel better."

"Why, Daisy," said her father laughing, "are you going to turn

reformer!"

"I don't know what that is, papa."

"A thankless office, my dear. If you could make all the world

wise, it would do, but fools are always angry with you for

trying it."

The conversation ended, and left Daisy greatly mystified. Her

father's people not liking him? — the poor having ill-will

against the rich, and a grudge against their pleasant things —

it was very melancholy! Daisy thought about it a great deal

that day; and had a very great talk on the subject with Nora,

who without a quarter of the interest had much more knowledge

about it than Daisy. She had been with her brother sometimes

to the houses of poor children, and she gave Daisy a high-

coloured picture of the ways of living in such houses and the

absence of many things by Daisy and herself thought the

necessaries of life. Daisy heard her with a lengthening face,

and almost thought there was some excuse for the state of

feeling her father had explained in the morning. The question,

however, was too long a one for Daisy; but she arrived at one

conclusion, which was announced the next morning at the

breakfast-table. Mrs. Randolph had called upon her to say what

was determined upon for the birthday.

"Papa," said Daisy, "will there be a great plenty of

strawberries next week?"

"Yes, I believe so. Logan says the vines are very full. What

then?"

"Papa, you gave me my choice of what I would have for

Wednesday."

"Yes. Is it my strawberry patch?"

"Not for myself, papa. I want you to have a great table set

out of doors somewhere, and give a feast to all your work

people."

"Daisy!" exclaimed Mrs. Randolph. "I never heard anything so

ridiculous in all my life!"

Daisy waited with downcast eyes for her father to speak. He

was not in a hurry.

"Would that give you pleasure, Daisy?"

"Yes, papa."

"Did Nora Dinwiddie put that scheme in your head?" asked Mrs.

Randolph.

"She didn't like it at all, mamma. I put it into her head."

"Where did you get it?"

Daisy looked troubled and puzzled, and did not answer till her

father said "Speak." Then, nestling up to him with her head on

his breast, a favourite position, she said, "I got it from

different sources, I think, papa."

"Let us hear, for instance."

"I think, partly from the Bible, papa — and partly from what

we were talking of yesterday."

"I wish you would show me where you found it in the Bible. I

don't remember a strawberry feast there."

"Do you mean it in earnest, papa?"

"Yes."

Daisy walked off for a Bible — not her own — and after some

trouble found a place which she showed her father; and he read

aloud, "When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy

friends nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich

neighbours; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be

made thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the

maimed, the lame, the blind; and thou shalt be blessed; for

they cannot recompense thee; for thou shalt be recompensed at

the resurrection of the just." Mr. Randolph closed the book

and laid it on the table, and drew his little daughter again

within his arms.

"That child is in a way to get ruined!" said Mrs. Randolph,

energetically.

"But Daisy, our work people are not lame or blind — how will

they do?" said her father.

"They are poor, papa. I would like to have the others too, but

we can't have everybody."

Mr. Randolph kissed the little mouth that was lifted so near

his own, and went on.

"Do you think then it is wrong to have our friends and

neighbours? Shall we write to your aunt and cousins, and Gary

McFarlane and Captain Drummond, to stay away?"

"No, papa," said Daisy, smiling, — and her smile was very

sweet, — "you know I don't mean that. I would like to have

them all; but I would like the feast made for the other

people."

"You will let the rest of us have some strawberries?"

"If there are enough, papa. For that day, I would like the

other people to have them."

Mr. Randolph seemed to find something as sweet as strawberries

in Daisy's lips.

"It is the very most absurd plan I ever heard of!" repeated

her mother.

"I am not sure that it is not a very good thing," remarked Mr.

Randolph.

"Is it expected that on that day we are to do without servants

in the house, and wait upon ourselves? or are we expected to

wait upon the party!"

"Oh, mamma," said Daisy, "it isn't the servants — it's only

the out-of-door people."

"How many will there be, Daisy?" said her father; "have you

numbered them up?"

"Not yet, papa. There is Logan, and Michael, and Mr. Stilton,

and the two under-gardeners —"

"And four hay-makers."

"Hay-makers, papa?"

"Yes — there will be four of them in the fields next week. And

there is the herdsman and boy."

"And there is old Patrick at the gate. That is all, papa."

"And are the ladies of all these families to be invited?"

"Papa! What do you think?"

"I have no doubt there will be strawberries enough."

"But I am afraid there would be too many children. Logan has

six, and Michael has four, and I believe the herdsman has

some; and there are four at the Lodge. And Mr. Stilton has

two."

"What shall we do with them, Daisy?"

"Papa, we can't have them. I should like to have the men and

their wives come, I think, and send some strawberries home to

the children. Wouldn't that do best?"

"Admirably. And you can drive over to Crum Elbow and purchase

some suitable baskets. Take the chaise and Sam. I expect you

to arrange everything. If you want help, come and consult me."

"If mamma will tell Joanna," said Daisy, looking somewhat

doubtfully towards the other end of the table.

"I have nothing to do with it," said Mrs. Randolph. "I have

no knowledge how to order such parties. You and Joanna may do

what you please."

Daisy's eye went to her father.

"That will do, Daisy," said he. "You and Joanna can manage it.

You may have carte-blanche."

The earliest minute that she knew Joanna could attend to her,

found Daisy in the housekeeper's room. Joanna was a tall,

rather hard-featured woman, with skill and capacity in every

line of her face however, and almost in every fold of her

gown. She heard with a good deal of astonishment the project

unfolded to her, and to Daisy's great delight gave it her

unqualified approbation.

"It's a first-rate plan," said Joanna. "Now I like that. The

men won't forget it. Where are you going to have the table

set, Miss Daisy?"

"I don't know yet, Joanna. In some pretty, shady place, under

the trees."

"Out-of-doors, eh!" said Joanna. " 'Well, I suppose that'll be

as good a way as any. Now what are you going to have, Miss

Daisy? what do you want of me?"

"Mamma and papa said I was to arrange it with you."

Joanna sat down and folded her arms to consider the matter.

"How many will there be?"

"I counted," said Daisy. "There will be about seventeen, with

their wives, you know."

"Seventeen, wives and all?" said Joanna. "You'll have to get

the carpenter or Mr. Stilton to make you a table."

"Yes, that's easy," said Daisy; "but Joanna, what shall we

have on it? There will want to be a good deal, for seventeen

people; and I want it handsome, you know."

"Of course," said Joanna, looking as if she were casting up

the multiplication table — "it'll have to be that, whatever

else it, is. Miss Daisy, suppose you let me manage it — and

I'll see and have it all right. If you will give orders about

the strawberries, and have the table made."

"I shall dress the table with flowers, Joanna."

"Yes — well —" — said Joanna, — "I don't know anything about

flowers; but I'll have the cake ready, and everything else."

"And tea and coffee, Joanna?"

"Why, I never thought of that! — yes, to be sure, they'll want

something to drink — who will pour it out, Miss Daisy?"

"I don't know. Won't you, Joanna?"

"Well — I don't know —" said the housekeeper, as if she were

afraid of being taken on too fast by her little counsellor —

"I don't know as there's anything to hinder, as it's your

birthday, Miss Daisy."

Away went Daisy delighted, having secured just what she

wanted. The rest was easy. And Daisy certainly thought it was

as promising an entertainment as she could have devised. It

gave her a good deal of business. The table, and the place for

the table, had to be settled with Mr. Stilton, and the

invitations given, and many particulars settled; but to settle

them was extremely pleasant, and Daisy found that every face

of those concerned in the invitations wore a most golden glow

of satisfaction when the thing was understood. Daisy was very

happy. She hoped, besides the pleasantness of the matter, it

would surely incline the hearts of her father's work-people to

think kindly of him.

CHAPTER IV.

THE HAM.

It happened that one cause and another hindered Daisy from

going to Crum Elbow to fetch the strawberry-baskets, until the

very Tuesday afternoon before the birthday. Then everything

was right; the pony chaise before the door, Sam in waiting,

and Daisy just pulling her gloves on, when Ransom rushed up.

He was flushed and hurried.

"Who's going out with Loupe?"

"I am, Ransom."

"You can't go, Daisy — I'm going myself."

"You cannot, Ransom. I am going on business. Papa said I was

to go."

"He couldn't have said it! for he said I might have the chaise

this afternoon, and that Loupe wanted exercise. So, I am going

to give him some. He wouldn't get it with you."

"Ransom," said Daisy trembling, "I have got business at Crum

Elbow, and I must go, and you must not."

"Fiddlesticks!" said Ransom, snapping his fingers at her.

"Business! I guess you have. Girls have a great deal of

business! Here, Sam — ride round mighty quick to Mr. Rush's,

and tell Hamilton to meet me at the cross road."

And without another word to Daisy, Ransom sprang into the

chaise, cracked his whip over Loupe's head and started him off

in a very ungraceful but very eager waddling gallop. Daisy was

left with one glove on and with a spirit thoroughly

disordered. A passionate child she was not, in outward manner

at least; but her feelings once roused were by no means easy

to bring down again. She was exceedingly offended, very much

disturbed at missing her errand, very sore at Ransom's ill-

bred treatment of her. Nobody was near; her father and mother

both gone out; and Daisy sat upon the porch with all sorts of

resentful thoughts and words boiling up in her mind. She did

not believe half of what her brother had said; was sure her

father had given no order interfering with her proceedings;

and she determined to wait upon the porch till he came home,

and so she would have a good opportunity of letting him know

the right and the wrong of the case. Ransom deserved it, as

she truly said to herself. And then Daisy sorrowed over her

lost expedition, and her missing strawberry baskets. What

should she do? for the next morning would find work enough of

its own at home, and nobody else could choose the baskets to

please her. Ransom deserved —

In the midst of the angry thoughts that were breaking one over

the other in Daisy's mind, there suddenly came up the

remembrance of some words she had read that day or the day

before. "Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me and I

forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not

unto thee, until seven times, but until seventy times seven."

This brought Daisy up short; her head which had been leaning

on her hands suddenly straightened itself up. What did those

words mean? There could be no doubt, for with the question

came the words in the Lord's Prayer which she knew well, but

had never felt till then. Forgive Ransom out and out? — say

nothing about it? — not tell her father, nor make her

grievance at all known to Ransom's discomfiture? — Daisy did

not want to yield. He _deserved_ to be reproved and ashamed and

made to do better. It was the first time that a real conflict

had come up in her mind between wrong and right; and now that

she clearly saw what was right, to her surprise she did not

want to do it! Daisy saw both facts. There was a power in her

heart that said, "No, I will not forgive," to the command from

a greater power that bade her do it. Poor Daisy! it was her

first view of her enemy; the first trial that gave her any

notion of the fighting that might be necessary to overcome

him. Daisy found she could not overcome him. She was fain to

go, where she had just begun to learn she might go, "to the

Strong for strength." She ran away from the porch to her room,

and kneeled down and prayed that the King would give her help

to keep His commandments. She was ashamed of herself now; but

so obstinate was her feeling of displeasure against her

brother, that even after she thought she had forgiven him,

Daisy would not go downstairs again nor meet him nor her

father, for fear she should speak words that she ought not, or

fail of a perfectly gentle and kind manner.

But what to do about her baskets? A bright and most business-

like thought suddenly came into her head. The breakfast-hour

was always late; by being a little earlier than usual she

could have plenty of time to go to Crum Elbow and return

before the family were assembled. Splendid! Daisy went down

the back stairs, and gave her orders in such a way that they

should not reach Ransom's ear. If not put on the alert he was

sure to be down to breakfast last of anybody. So Daisy went to

bed and to sleep with her mind at rest.

It was so pleasant when she came out at half past six the next

morning, that Daisy almost thought it was the prettiest time

of all.

The morning air smelt so fresh, with the scent of the trees

and flowers coming through the dew; and the light, was so cool

and clear, not like the hot glow of later hours, that Daisy

felt like dancing for very gladness. Then it was such a stroke

of business to go to Crum Elbow before breakfast!

The pony and the chaise came up presently, and Sam and the

black pony, all right, and every one of them looking more

brisk and fresh than usual. And off they went; under the

boughs of the dew-bright trees, where the birds seemed to be

as glad as Daisy, to judge by the songs they were singing; and

by and by out from the beautiful grounds of Melbourne, into

the road. It was pleasanter there, Daisy thought, than she had

ever seen it. The fields looked more gay in that clear early

light, and the dust was kept down by the freshness in the air.

It was delightful; and Loupe never went better. Daisy was a

very good little driver, and now the pony seemed to understand

the feeling in her fingers and waddled along at a goodly rate.

Crum Elbow was not a great many miles off, and in due time

they reached it. But Daisy found that other people kept

earlier hours than her father and mother at Melbourne. She saw

the farmers were getting to work as she went on; and in the

houses of the village there were signs that everybody was

fully astir to the business of the day. It was a scattering

village; the houses and the churches stood and called to each

other across great spaces of fields and fences between; but

just where the crossing of two roads made a business point,

there was a little more compactness. There was the baker's,

and the post-office, and two stores and various other houses,

and a blacksmith's shop. Up to the corner where the principal

store stood, came the pony and his mistress, and forthwith out

came Mr. Lamb the storekeeper, to see what the little pony

chaise wanted to take home; but Daisy must see for herself,

and she got out and went into the store.

"Baskets," said Mr. Lamb. "What sort of baskets?"

"Baskets to hold strawberries — little baskets," said Daisy.

"Ah! strawberry-baskets. That, ma'am, is the article."

Was it? Daisy did not think so. The storekeeper had showed her

the kind of baskets commonly used to hold strawberries for the

market; containing about half a pint. She remarked they were

not large enough.

"No, ma'am? They are the kind generally used — regular

strawberry-baskets — we have sold 'em nearly all out, but

we've got a few left."

"They are not large enough, nor pretty enough," repeated

Daisy.

"They'll look pretty when they get the strawberries in them,"

said the storekeeper, with a knowing look at her. "But here's

a kind, ma'am, are a little neater — maybe you would like

these — What do you want, child?"

There had come into the store just after Daisy a little poor-

looking child, who had stood near, watching what was going on.

Daisy turned to look at her as Mr. Lamb's question was thrown

at her over the counter, in a tone very different from his

words to herself. She saw a pale, freckled, pensive-faced

little girl, in very slim clothing, her dress short and

ragged, and feet bare. The child had been looking at her and

her baskets, but now suddenly looked away to the shopkeeper.

"Please, sir, I want —"

"There! stop," said Mr. Lamb; "don't you see I'm busy. I can't

attend to you just now; you must wait. Are these baskets

better, ma'am?" he said, coming back to Daisy and a smooth

voice.

Daisy felt troubled, but she tried to attend to her business.

She asked the price of the baskets.

"Those first I showed you, ma'am, are three pence apiece —

these are sixpence. This is quite a tasty basket," said Mr.

Lamb, balancing one on his forefinger. "Being open, you see,

it shows the fruit through. I think these might answer your

purpose."

"What are those?" said Daisy, pointing to another kind.

"Those, ma'am, are not strawberry baskets."

"But please let me see one. — What is the price?"

"These fancy baskets, ma'am, you know, are another figure.

These are not intended for fruit. These are eighteen pence

apiece, ma'am."

Daisy turned the baskets and the price over. They were very

neat! they would hold as many berries as the sixpenny ones,

and look pretty too, as for a festival they should. The

sixpenny ones were barely neat — they had no gala look about

them at all. While Daisy's eye went from one to the other, it

glanced upon the figure of the poor, patient, little waiting

girl who stood watching her. "If you please, Mr. Lamb," she

said, "will you hear what this little girl has to say? — while

I look at these."

"What do you want, child?"

The answer came very low, but though Daisy did not want to

listen she could not help hearing.

"Mother wants a pound of ham, sir."

"Have you brought the money for the flour?"

"No, sir — mother'll send it."

"We don't cut our hams any more," said the storekeeper. "Can't

sell any less than a whole one — and that's always cash.

There! Go, child — I can't cut one for you."

Daisy looked after the little ragged frock as it went out of

the door. The extreme mystery of some people being rich and

some people poor, struck her anew, and perhaps something in

her look as it came back to the storekeeper made him say, —

"They're very poor folks, Miss Randolph — the mother's sickly,

and I should only lose my money. They came and got some flour

of me yesterday without paying for it — and it's necessary to

put a stop to that kind of thing at once. Don't you think that

basket'll suit, ma'am?"

Baskets? and what meant those words which had been over and

over in Daisy's mind for the few days past? — "Whatsoever ye

would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." Her

mind was in great confusion.

"How much does a ham cost, Mr. Lamb?"

"Sixteen pence a pound, ma'am," said the storekeeper rather

dryly, for he did not know but Daisy was thinking a reproof to

him.

"But how many pounds are there in a ham?"

"Just as it happens, ma'am — sometimes twenty, and from there

down to ten."

"Then how much does a whole ham cost?" said Daisy, whose

arithmetic was not ready.

"A ham of fifteen pounds, ma'am, would be about two dollars

and forty cents."

Daisy stood looking at the baskets, and thinking how much

money she would have over if she took the sixpenny ones. She

wanted twenty baskets; she found that the difference of price

between the plain and the pretty would leave her twenty

shillings in hand. Just enough! thought Daisy, — and yet, how

could she go to a strange house and offer to give them a ham?

She thought she could not. If she had known the people; but as

it was — Daisy bought the pretty baskets and set off

homewards.

"Whatsoever ye would that others should do to you, do ye even

so to them" — Daisy could see nothing along the road but those

words. "That is my King's command to me — and those poor

people have got no breakfast. If I was in that little girl's

place, I would _like_ to have it given to me. But those other

baskets — would they do? — I could make them do somehow — Nora

and I could dress them up with greens and flowers!"

The pony chaise stopped. Sam came up alongside.

"Sam, take those baskets back to the store. I am going back

there."

Round came the chaise, and in five minutes more they were at

the Crum Elbow corner again, for Daisy's heart-burning had not

let her go far. Mr. Lamb was exceedingly mystified, as it was

very unusual for young ladies like this one to come buying

whole hams and riding off with them. However, he made no

objections to the exchange, being a gainer by ten cents; for

Daisy had asked for a ham of fifteen pounds.

Then Daisy enquired the way to the girl's house, and her name,

and set off in a new direction. It was not far; a plain little

brown house, with a brown gate a few yards from the door.

Daisy got out of the chaise and opened the gate, and there

stood still and prayed a little prayer that God would help her

not to feel foolish or afraid when she was trying to do right.

Then she went up to the door and knocked. Somebody said in a

very uninviting tone of voice, "Come in!"

It was hard for Daisy; she had expected that somebody would

open the door, but now she must go in and face all that was

there. However, in she went. There was a poor room to be sure,

with not much in it. A woman was taking some hot bread, just

baked, out of a little cooking stove. Daisy saw the little

girl standing by; it was the right place.

"Well!" said the woman, looking up at Daisy from her stove

oven — "what is it?" She looked pale and unhappy, and her

words were impatient. Daisy was half afraid.

"I am Daisy Randolph" — she began, gently.

"Go on," said the woman, as Daisy hesitated.

"I was in Mr. Lamb's store just now, when your little girl

came to buy some ham."

"Well! — what then?"

"Mr. Lamb said he would not cut any, and she was obliged to go

without it."

"Well, what have you to do with all that?"

"I was sorry she was disappointed," said Daisy, more steadily;

"and as Mr. Lamb would not cut one for her I have brought a

whole one — if you will please accept it. It is at the gate,

because the boy could not leave the horses."

The woman set her bread on the floor, left the oven door open,

and rose to her feet.

"What did you tell her, Hephzibah?" she said, in a threatening

voice.

"I didn't tell her nothing," said the girl hurriedly — "I

never spoke to her."

"How did she know what you came for?"

"I was so near," said Daisy, bravely, though she was afraid,

"that I couldn't help hearing."

"Well, what business was it of yourn?" said the woman, turning

upon her. "If we are poor, we don't throw it in anybody's

face; and if you are rich, you may give charity to those that

ask it. _We_ never asked none of you — and don't want it."

"I am not rich," said Daisy, gently, though she coloured and

her eyes were full of tears; — "I did not mean to offend you;

but I thought you wanted the ham, and I had money enough to

get it. I am very sorry you won't have it."

"Did Mr. Lamb tell you we were beggars?"

"No, not at all."

"Then what put into your head to come bringing a ham here? who

told you to do it?"

"Nobody told me," said Daisy. "Yes there did, though. The Lord

Jesus Christ told me to do it, ma'am."

"What do you mean?" said the woman, suddenly sobering as if

she was struck.

"That's all, ma'am," said Daisy. "He had given me the money to

buy the ham, and I heard that your little girl wanted it. And

I remembered His commandment, to do to others what I would

like they should do to me — I didn't mean to offend you."

"Well, I ain't offended," said the woman. "I s'pose you didn't

mean no harm; but we have some feelings as well as other

folks. Folks may work, and yet have feelings. And if I could

work, things would be well enough; but I've been sick, miss,

and I can't always get work that I would like to do — and when

I can get it, I can't always do it," she added with a sigh.

Daisy wanted to go, but pity held her fast. That poor, pale,

ragged child, standing motionless opposite her! Daisy didn't

venture to look much, but she saw her all the same.

"Please keep the ham this time!" she broke out, bravely, — "I

won't bring another one!"

"Did nobody send you?" said the woman, eyeing her keenly.

"No," said Daisy, "except the Lord Jesus — He sent me."

"You're a kind little soul!" said the woman, "and as good a

Christian as most of 'em I guess. But I won't do that. I'd die

first! — unless you'll let me do some work for you and make it

up so." There was relenting in the tone of these last words.

"Oh, that will do," said Daisy, gladly. "Then will you let

your little girl come out and get the ham? because the boy

cannot leave the horses. Good-bye, Mrs. Harbonner."

"But stop!" cried the woman — "you hain't told me what I am to

do for you."

"I don't know till I get home and ask there. What would you

like to do?"

"My work is tailoring — I learnt that trade; but beggars

mustn't be choosers. I can do other things — plain sewing, and

washing, and cleaning, and dairy work; anything I _can_ do."

Daisy said she would bring her word, and at last got off;

without her ham, and in glee inexpressible. "They will have

some for breakfast," she said to herself; for there had been

something in little Hephzibah's eye as she received the great

ham in her arms, that went through and through Daisy's heart

and almost set her to crying. She was _very_ glad to get away

and to be in the pony chaise again, driving home, and she

almost wondered at her own bravery in that house. She hardly

knew herself; for true it was, Daisy had considered herself as

doing work not of her own choosing while she was there; she

felt in her Master's service, and so was bold where for her

own cause she would have shrunk away. "But they have got

something for breakfast! I think mine will be good when I get

it," said Daisy.

Daisy, however, fell into a great muse upon the course of her

morning's experience. To do as she would be done by, now

seemed not quite so easy as she had thought; since it was

plain that her notions and those of some other people were not

alike on the subject. How should she know what people would

like? When in so simple a matter as hunger, she found that

some would prefer starving to being fed. It was too deep a

question for Daisy. She had made a mistake, and she rather

thought she should make more mistakes; since the only way she

could see straight before her was the way of the command, and

the way of duty, therefore; and she was very much inclined to

think, besides, that in that way her difficulties would be

taken care of for her. It had been so this morning. Mrs.

Harbonner and she had parted on excellent terms — and the

gleam in that poor child's eyes!

CHAPTER V.

STRAWBERRIES.

Daisy was so full of her thoughts that she never perceived two

gentlemen standing at the foot of the hall steps to receive

her. Not till Loupe in his best style had trotted up the road

and stopped, and she had risen to throw down her reins. Then

Daisy started a little. One gentleman touched his cap to her,

and the other held out his hands to help her to alight.

"You are just in time for breakfast, Miss Randolph. Is that

the coach that was made out of a pumpkin?"

Daisy shook hands with the other gentleman, and made no

answer.

"I had always heard," went on the first, "that the young

ladies at the North were very independent in their habits; but

I had no idea that they went to market before breakfast."

"Sam," said Daisy, "take the baskets to Joanna."

"What is in the baskets? — eggs? — or butter? — or vegetables?

Where do you go to market?"

"To New York, sir," said Daisy.

"To New York! And have you come from there this morning? Then

that is certainly also the pony that was once a rat! it's a

witchcraft concern altogether."

"No sir," said Daisy, "I don't go to market."

"Will you excuse me for remarking, that you just said you

did?"

"No, sir, I didn't mean that _I_ went."

"How are gentlemen to understand you, in the future experience

of life, if you are in the habit of saying what you do not

mean?"

"I am not in the habit of it," said Daisy, half laughing, for

she knew her questioner. He was a handsome young man, with a

grave face and manner through all his absurd speeches; dressed

rather picturesquely; and altogether a striking person in

Daisy's eyes. To her relief, as they reached the hall her

mother appeared.

"Come in to breakfast, Gary — Daisy, run and get yourself

ready."

And Daisy went, in great glee on various accounts. When she

came down, everybody was at table; and for a little while she

was permitted to eat her breakfast in peace. Daisy felt

wonderfully happy. Such a pleasant breakfast, for the talk

among the elders went on very briskly; such pleasant work done

already, such pleasant work to do all through the day; nothing

but joy seemed to be in the air.

"And what did you get at market, Daisy?" suddenly asked the

gentleman whom her mother called "Gary."

"I went to buy baskets," said Daisy, concisely.

"What else did you get at market?"

"I didn't go to market, sir."

"She told me she did" — said Mr. Gary, looking at her father.

"Did you buy anything else, Daisy?" said her father,

carelessly.

"Papa," said Daisy, colouring, "Mr. McFarlane asked me, I

thought, where we went to market, and I told him New York. I

did not mean that I went myself."

"Didn't you get anything but baskets?" said Mr. McFarlane

mischievously.

"Papa," said Daisy, making a brave push, "if I only spend what

you give me for my birthday, don't you think it would be

considerate in Mr. McFarlane not to ask me any more?" But this

speech set the gentlemen to laughing.

"Daisy, you make me curious," said her father. "Do you think

it would be inconsiderate in _me_ to ask?"

"Papa, I think it would."

"Answer, Daisy, directly, and don't be ridiculous," said her

mother.

Daisy's face clouded, coloured, and the tears came into her

eyes.

"Answer, Daisy, since it is put so," said her father, gravely.

"I bought a ham, papa."

But the shout that was raised at this was so uproarious that

Daisy was almost overcome. She would certainly have made her

escape, only she knew such a thing would not be permitted. She

sat still, and bore it as well as she could.

"The baskets held eggs, no doubt," said Captain Drummond, the

other gentleman.

"Roast potatoes would be better for your Irish friends,

Daisy," said McFarlane. "Ham and eggs is good for the Yankees.

It would be the best plan to make a fire out-of-doors and let

each one cook for himself, according to his country. How do

you expect to please everybody?"

"Come here, Daisy," said her father, kindly, and he put his

arm round her and kissed her; "did you have money enough for

your ham and your other purchases too?"

"Plenty, papa," said Daisy, gratefully.

"And why didn't you go yesterday afternoon, as I thought you

intended?" Daisy's and Ransom's eyes met.

"Papa, it was a great deal pleasanter this morning than it

would have been then; I never had such a nice ride."

"And what do you want done now? Is your table ready?"

"It will be ready — Mr. Stilton is getting it ready."

"Who is invited, Daisy?" inquired Mr. McFarlane. "Do you

intend to receive any except those who are not your friends?"

"I don't think those of a different class had better come,"

said Daisy.

"Daisy is quite right," said Mrs. Randolph.

"Do you not intend to show yourself?" said her husband, with

some meaning.

"I? No! Certainly not. At her age, since you choose to indulge

Daisy in her whim, she may do what she pleases."

Was this what the man meant by Randolph's people being "stuck

up?" Daisy looked grave, and her father bade her run away and

attend to her preparations.

Even then she went slowly and a little puzzled, till she

reached the housekeeper's room; and there the full beauty of

the occasion burst upon her. Such nice things as Joanna was

making ready!

Daisy ran off at full speed to Logan to get a supply of greens

and flowers to trim her baskets. Nora was coming to help her

and be with her all day, and arrived just in time. With aprons

and baskets full, the two children sought a hidden spot on the

bank under the trees, and there sat down, with strawberry

baskets in one heap, and the sprigs and leaves to dress them

in another.

"Now throw off your hat," said Daisy. "It's shady enough, and

you'll feel cooler. Now Nora. how shall we do? — You try one,

and I'll try one; that will be best; and then we can see. I

want them to look very pretty, you know; and they are to be

filled with strawberries to send home to the children; if we

make them very nice they will go on the table, I think, and

help dress it up."

For a time there was comparative silence, while the little

hands turned and twisted the mosses and bits of larch and

cedar and hemlock in and out of the openings of the baskets.

It was not found easy at first to produce a good effect; hands

were unused to the work; and Nora declared after half an hour

she believed the baskets would look best plain, just as they

were. But Daisy would not give up. She grew very warm indeed

with the excitement of her efforts, but she worked on. By and

by she succeeded in dressing a basket so that it looked rich

with green; and then a bit or two of rosebuds or heath or

bright yellow everlasting made the adornment gay and pretty

enough. It was taken for a model; and from that time tongues

and fingers worked together, and heat was forgotten.

"Isn't this pleasant!" exclaimed Daisy at length, dropping her

work into her lap. "Isn't it just as pleasant as it can be,

Nora?"

"Yes," said Nora, working away.

"Just see the river — it's so smooth. And look up into the

leaves; — how pretty they are! — and every one of them is

trembling a little; not one of them is still, Nora. How

beautiful the green is, with the sun shining through! Wouldn't

you like to be a bird up there?"

"No," said Nora; "I'd rather be down here."

"I think it would be nice to be a bird," said Daisy; "it must

be pleasant up in those branches — only the birds don't know

anything, I suppose. What do you think heaven must be like,

Nora?"

"Daisy, you're so funny. What makes you think about heaven?"

"Why, you know," said Daisy slowly, "I expect to go there. Why

shouldn't I think about it?"

"But you won't go there till you die," said Nora.

"I don't see what that has to do with my thinking about it. I

shall die, some time."

"Yes, but Daisy, don't be so queer. You are not going to die

now."

"I don't know about that," said Daisy; "but I like to think of

heaven. Jesus is there. Isn't it pleasant, Nora, that He can

see us always, and knows what we are doing?"

"Daisy, Marmaduke said he wished you would invite him to your

party."

The turn Nora wished to give to Daisy's thoughts took effect

for the moment. It was grievous; to wish so much for her

friend and to have him join in the wish, and all in vain. But,

characteristically, Daisy said nothing. She was only silent a

moment.

"Nora, did you ever hear Mr. Dinwiddie say that poor people

disliked rich people?"

"No. They don't dislike him, I know."

"Is Mr. Dinwiddie rich too?"

"Of course he is," said Nora.

"I shouldn't think anybody would dislike him," said Daisy;

"but then he never seemed like rich people." She went into a

muse about it.

"Well, he is," said Nora. "He has got as much money as he

wants, I know."

"Nora, you know the parable of the servants and the talents?"

"Yes."

"Are you one of the good servants?"

Nora looked up very uneasily. Daisy's face was one of quiet

inquiry. Nora fidgeted.

"Daisy, I wish you would be like yourself, as you used to be,

and not talk so."

"But _are_ you, Nora?"

"No, I don't suppose I am! I couldn't do much."

"But would you like to have the King say to you what He said

to the servant who had one talent and didn't do anything?"

"Daisy, I don't want to have you talk to me about it," said

Nora, a little loftily. "I have got Marmaduke to talk to me,

and that's as much as I want."

"_I_ mean to be one of them!" said Daisy gently. "Jesus is the

king; and it makes me so glad to think of it! — so glad, Nora.

He is my King, and I belong to Him; and I _love_ to give Him all

I've got; and so would you, Nora. I only want to find out all

I have got, that I may give it to Him."

Nora went on very assiduously with the covering of the

baskets, and Daisy presently followed her example. But the

talk was checked for a little.

"Nora, Jesus is _your_ King, though," said Daisy again. "He made

everything, and He made you; and He _is_ your King. I wish you

would be His servant too."

Daisy was greatly astonished at the effect of this speech; for

Nora without speaking arose, left her baskets and greens on

the ground, and set off from the spot with an air that said

she did not mean to return to it. Daisy was too bewildered to

speak, and only looked after her till she was too far to be

recalled. What was the matter? Greatly puzzled and dismayed,

she tried to find a possible answer to this question. Left

alone on her birthday in the midst of her business, by her

best friend, — what could have brought about so untoward a

combination of circumstances? Daisy could not understand it;

and there was no time to go after Nora to get an

understanding. The baskets must be finished. Luckily there did

not much remain to be done, for Daisy was tired. As soon as

her work was out of her hand, she went to see about the

success of her table. It was done; a nice long, neat table of

boards, on trestles; and it was fixed under a beautiful grove

of trees, on the edge of a bank from which the view over the

grounds was charming. Mr. Stilton was just gathering up his

tools to go away, and looked himself so smiling and bright

that Daisy concluded there was reason to hope her party was

going to be all right; so with fresh spirit she went in to her

own dinner.

After that it was busy times. The long table was to be spread

with a table-cloth, and then the cups and plates in proper

number and position, leaving the places for the baskets of

strawberries. It was a grave question whether they should be

arranged in a pyramid, with roses filling the spaces, or be

distributed all round the table. Daisy and Joanna debated the

matter, and decided finally on the simpler manner; and Logan

dressed some splendid bouquets for the centre of the table

instead. Daisy saw that the maids were bringing from the house

pretty china dishes and cups; and then she ran away to get

dressed herself. Just as this was almost done she saw her

mother driving off from the house with several gentlemen in

her party. It suddenly struck Daisy, who was to do the honours

of the strawberry feast? She ran down stairs to find her

father; she could not find him, he was out; so Daisy went to

see that the setting the table was going on all right, and

then came and planted herself in the library, to wait for Mr.

Randolph's coming in. And while she waited eagerly, she began

to think about its being her birthday.

"Nine years old," thought Daisy; "there isn't much of my life

passed. Perhaps, if I live a good while, I may do a great deal

to serve the Lord. I wonder if I know all the things I can do

now! all my 'talents'? I am afraid of missing some of them for

not knowing. Everything I have, Mr. Dinwiddie said, — so Nora

said, — is a talent of some sort or other. How strange Nora

was to-day! But I suppose she will come and tell me what was

the matter. Now about the talents — I wish papa would come!

This birthday was one talent, and I thought it would be a good

thing if papa's people could be made to know that he is not

'stuck up,' if he is rich, — but if neither he nor mamma come

out to speak to them at all, I wonder what they will think?"

Daisy ran out again to view the table. Yes, it was looking

very handsome. Joanna was there herself, ordering and

directing; and china and glass, and flowers, and silver, made

a very brilliant appearance, though none of the dishes were on

the table as yet.

"But who is going to pour out the coffee and the tea, Joanna?"

said Daisy. "Aren't you going to dress and come and do it for

me?"

"La! Miss Daisy, I don't see how I can. I expect the best plan

will be to have you do it yourself. That will give the most

satisfaction, I guess."

"Joanna! I don't know how."

"Yes, you do, Miss Daisy; you'll have the coffee urn, and all

you have to do is to turn the faucet, you know; and Sam will

wait upon you, and if you want tea poured out, he can lift it

for you. It'll taste twice as good to all the party if you do

it."

"Do you think so, Joanna?"

"I don't want to think about it," said Joanna; "I know without

thinking."

"But, Joanna, I can't reach the things."

"I'll have a high seat fixed for you. I know what you want."

Daisy stood watching; it was such a pleasure to see Joanna's

nice preparations. And now came on the great dishes of

strawberries, rich and sweet to the eye and the smell; and

then handsome pitchers filled with milk and ice-water, in a

range down the table. Then came great fruit cakes and pound

cakes, superbly frosted and dressed with strawberries and

rosebuds; Joanna had spared no pains. Great store of sliced

bread and butter too, and plates of ham and cold beef, and

forms of jelly. And when the dressed baskets of strawberries

were set in their places all round the table, filling up the

spaces, there was a very elegant, flowery, and sparkling

appearance of a rich feast. Why was not Nora there? — and with

the next thought Daisy flew back to the library to find her

father. He was found.

"Oh, papa," she said, gently, though she had rushed in like a

little summer wind, "are you going to come to the feast?"

"What for, my dear?"

"Papa, they will all like it; they will be pleased."

"I think they will enjoy themselves better without me."

"Papa, I am sure they would be pleased."

"I should only make it a constraint for them, Daisy. I do not

think they will want anything but the strawberries —

especially if _you_ look at them."

"But mamma is not here to speak to them either, papa."

"You think somebody must speak to them, eh? I don't think I

can make speeches, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph, stretching

himself at ease in a chaise longue. "But perhaps I may step

down and look at them by and by, my dear."

There was no more to be done, Daisy knew. She went slowly off

over the grounds, meditating whether the people would be

satisfied with so very at-arms'-length an entertainment. Would

_this_ draw the poor nearer to the rich? or the rich nearer to

the poor? Daisy had an instinctive, delicate sense of the

want, which she set herself to do the best her little self

could to supply. "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to

you" — that sweet and most perfect rule of high breeding was

moving her now; and already the spirit of another rule, which

in words she did not yet know, was beginning to possess her

heart in its young discipleship; she was ready "to do good to

all men, even as she had opportunity."

She went slowly back to the table. Nobody come yet. Joanna was

there, putting some last touches. Suddenly a new idea struck

Daisy, as she saw what a long table it was.

"Joanna — there must be somebody else to wait. Sam can never

do it all."

"He'll have to. James is busy, and Hiram. Sam's all that can

be spared; and that's as much as ever."

"But I must have more, Joanna. Can't some of the maids come?"

"To wait? — they wouldn't, Miss Daisy."

"Yes, they would, Joanna. You must make them, Joanna. Send

Maria and Ophelia down here, and I'll tell them what I want of

them. And quick, Joanna; and don't you tell them, please, what

I want."

"I hope you'll grow up to marry the President, some day," said

Joanna, walking off; "you could help him if he got puzzled!"

Poor Daisy almost felt as if she had the affairs of a nation

on her hands, when she saw Mr. and Mrs. Stilton, dressed in

their best, coming near through the trees. But the spirit of

kindness was so thoroughly at work in Daisy, that it made her

reception of her guests just what it ought to be, and she was

delighted a few minutes after to see that their eyes were

kindling with gratification. Logan looked at the table as if

he had some right to take an interest in it; the hay-makers

were open-mouthed; the women in a flutter of ribands and

propriety; and the various people who had come upon the ground

with doubtful expectancy, sat down to table proud and gay. It

was a pretty sight! and prettier was the sight of little Daisy

perched up at one end of the board, and with tremulous fingers

filling cups of coffee, and ordering cups of tea.

"Miss Daisy," said Mrs. Stilton, "it's too much trouble for

you to fill all them cups — sha'n't I come there, and take the

responsibility? if you would delegate me."

Gladly Daisy agreed, slipped off her high chair, and saw Mrs.

Stilton's full portly figure take the place. But Daisy's

labours were not ended. She saw one of the Irish labourers

sitting with his eyes straight before him, and nothing on his

plate for them to look at. Daisy went round. It was her feast;

she felt she must do the honours.

"Will you have a cup of coffee?" said a soft little voice at

the man's elbow. He started.

"Ach! — Sure Miss, I wouldn't be troublesome."

"It's no trouble. Will you have some tea or some coffee?"

" 'Dade, sorrow a drop ever I tuk of ary one of 'em but the one

time, plase yer ladyship. It's too good for me, sure; that's

why it don't agree wid me, Miss."

Very much puzzled by the confidential little nod with which

this information was communicated, Daisy yet felt she could

not give up the matter.

"Then what will you have? — some ham? or some strawberries?"

"Sure I'll do very well, niver fear, plase yer ladyship; don't

trouble yerself. The angels wouldn't want something purtier to

eat, than what we have, Miss!"

Daisy gave up in despair, and charged Sam to see that the man

had his supper. Then, without asking any more questions, she

carried a cup of coffee down the table to a meek-looking old

woman who likewise seemed to be in a state of bewilderment. It

was the mother of Michael the gate-keeper. She started a

little too, as Daisy's hand set down her cup, and half rose

from her chair.

"Blessings on ye, for a dear little lady! It's a wonder to see

the likes of you. The saints above bless the hand and the fut

that wasn't above doing that same! and may ye always have

plenty to wait on ye, and the angels of heaven above all!"

"Sit down, Mrs. Sullivan," said Daisy. "Do you like coffee?"

"Do I like it! It's better to me nor anything else in the

worruld, when it wouldn't be a sup o' summat now and thin, if

I'd have the rheumatiz."

"A sup of what?"

"Medicine, dear, medicine that I take whin the doctor says

it's good for me. May you niver know the want of it, nor of

anything in the wide worruld! and niver know what it is to be

poor!"

Daisy managed to get the old woman to eat, supplying her with

various things, every one of which was accepted with — "Thank

you, Miss," and "Blessings on ye!" and turning away from her

at last, saw her handmaids approaching from the house. The

girls, however disposed to stand upon their dignity, could not

refuse to do what their little mistress was doing; and a

lively time of it they and Daisy had for the next hour, with

all the help Sam and Mrs. Stilton could give them. Daisy saw

that strawberries and cream, cake and coffee, were thoroughly

enjoyed; she saw too that the honour of being served off

silver and china was duly felt. If her father had but come out

to say a kind word! but he did not come. His little substitute

did all a substitute could do; and at last when everybody

seemed in full tide of merrymaking, she stole away that they

might have no constraint upon it. Before she had got far, she

was startled by a noise behind her, and looking round saw that

all the tableful had risen to their feet. The next instant

there was a great shout. Daisy could not imagine what they

were doing, but she saw that they were all looking at her. She

came back a step or two. Now there was another shout greater

than the other; the women flourished handkerchiefs, the men

waved their arms above their heads. "Long life to ye!" "Good

luck to ye forever!" "Blessings on ye for a lady!" "Many

thanks to ye, Miss Daisy!" "May ye niver want as good!"

"Hurrah for the flower of Melbourne!" — Shouts various and

confused at last made Daisy comprehend they were cheering _her_.

So she gave them a little courtesy or two, and walked off

again as fast as she thought it was proper to go.

She went home and to the library, but found nobody there; and

sat down to breathe and rest; she was tired. Presently Ransom

came in.

"Hallo, Daisy! — is nobody here?"

"No."

"Have you seen your things yet?"

"My things? — what things?"

"Why, your _things_ — your birthday things. Of course you

haven't, or you'd know. Never mind, you'll know what I mean by

and by. I say, Daisy."

"What?"

"You know when papa asked you this morning why you didn't go

yesterday to Crum Elbow? —"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell him?"

Daisy hesitated. Ransom was cutting a pencil vigorously, but

as she was silent he looked up.

"Why didn't you tell him? did you tell him _afterwards?_"

"Why, no, Ransom!"

"Well, why didn't you? — that's what I want to know. Didn't

you tell anybody?"

"No, of course not."

"Why didn't you, then?"

"Ransom," said Daisy, doubtfully.

"What? I think you're turned queer."

"I don't know whether you'd understand me."

"Understand _you!_ That's a good one! I couldn't understand _you!_

I should rather like to have you try."

"Well, I'll tell you," said Daisy.

"Just do."

"Ransom, you know who the Lord Jesus Christ is."

"I used to; but I have forgotten."

"Oh, Ransom!"

"Come, go ahead, and don't palaver."

"I am His servant," said Daisy; "and He has bid me do to other

people what I would like to have them do to me."

"He has bid you! What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. It is in the Bible."

"What's in the Bible?"

"_That;_ — that I must do to other people what I would like to

have them do to me."

"And I suppose you thought I wouldn't like to have you tell?

Well you're out, for I don't care a shot about it — there! and

you may tell just as fast as you're a mind to."

"Oh, Ransom! you know —"

"What do I know?"

"It's no matter," said little Daisy, checking herself.

"Go ahead, and finish! What is the use of breaking off? That's

the way with girls; — they don't know how to speak English.

You may just as well say the whole of something ugly, as the

half of it."

If Daisy was tempted to comply with the request, she did not

give way to the temptation; for she was silent; and in a mood

less pleasant than her own apparently, Ransom took himself out

of her presence. Left alone, Daisy presently curled herself

down on a couch, and being very tired fell asleep.

CHAPTER VI.

THE EPERGNE.

Daisy slept on, until a bustle and sounds of voices and

laughter in the hall, and boots clattering over the marble and

up the staircase, at last found their way into her ears.

The riding party had got home. Daisy sat up and rubbed her

eves and looked out.

The sun was low, and shining from the western mountains over

the tops of all the trees. It was certainly near dinner-time;

the cool glittering look of the light on the trees and shrubs

could not be earlier than that. What had become of the

strawberry feast? It seemed like a dream. Daisy shook off the

remains of her sleep and hurried out by one of the glass doors

to go and see. She ran down to the bank where the table was

spread. It was a feast over. The company were gone, so were

the baskets of strawberries; yes, and the very bouquets of

flowers had been taken away. That was a sign of pleasure.

Nothing was left but the disordered table. Daisy hoped the

people had had a good time, and slowly went back towards the

house. As she came near the library window she saw her father,

standing in it.

"Well, Daisy?"

"Well, papa."

"How has the feast gone off?"

"I don't know, papa. There's nothing left but the boards and

the cups and saucers."

Mr. Randolph sat down and drew his little daughter up to his

side.

"Have you enjoyed it, Daisy?"

"Yes — papa — I have enjoyed it pretty well."

"Only pretty well! — for your birthday! Do you think now you

made a good choice, Daisy?"

"Yes, sir — I think I did."

"What has been wanting? I am afraid your ham did not figure on

the board, if it is so empty?"

Daisy did not answer, but her father, watching her, saw

something in her face which made him pursue the subject.

"Did it?"

"No, papa," said Daisy, colouring a little.

"How was that?"

"Joanna arranged everything that was to go on the table."

"And left the ham out of the question? It seems to me that was

a mistake, though I am not much of a housekeeper. Why was

that?"

"Papa," said Daisy, "do you think I would make a wrong use of

a ham?"

Mr. Randolph laughed. "Why, Daisy, unless you are a finished

economist, that might be. Do you mean that I am not to know

the particular use made of this ham."

"Papa, I wish you would not desire to know!"

But Daisy's face was too much in earnest. "I think I cannot

grant that request," said her father. "You must tell me."

Daisy looked distressed. But she dared not evade the order,

though she feared very much what might come of it.

"I didn't buy the ham for the party, papa."

"Then for what?"

"I bought it, papa, for a little girl who was going without

her breakfast. She came to Mr. Lamb's to buy ham, and she had

no money, and he wouldn't let her have any."

"And what became of your baskets?"

"Oh, I got them, papa; I got cheaper ones; and Nora and I

dressed them with greens. I had money enough."

Mr. Randolph took his little daughter on his knee, and softly

put down his lips to kiss her.

"But Daisy, after all, why did you not go to Crum Elbow

yesterday afternoon, as you meant to do?"

"Papa, this morning did better, for it was pleasanter."

"Do you call that an answer?" said Mr. Randolph, who was still

softly kissing her.

"Papa, if you would be so _very_ good as not to ask me that?"

"I am not good at all, Daisy. I ask, — and I mean to know."

Daisy was in trouble. No entreaty was worth a straw after

that. She was puzzled how to answer.

"Papa," she ventured, "I don't like to tell you, because

Ransom would not like I should."

"Ransom's pleasure must give way to mine, Daisy."

"He wanted the pony-chaise," said Daisy, looking very

downcast.

"And you gave it him?"

"No, sir."

"What then? Daisy," said Mr. Randolph, bringing her head round

to face him, "tell me what I want to know without any more

questions."

"He took the chaise, papa, — that was all, — so I went this

morning."

"Ransom knew you wanted it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, Daisy, tell me further, why you did not give me this

information when I asked about your drive this morning at

breakfast?"

"Papa, I thought Ransom would not like to have it told."

"Were you afraid he would revenge himself in any way if you

did?"

"Oh, no, papa! not at all."

"Then what moved you to silence?"

"Why, papa, I did not want to trouble Ransom. I was afraid you

would be displeased with him perhaps, if I told."

"Were you not displeased when he took the chaise?"

"Yes, papa," said Daisy, softly.

"And had your displeasure all gone off by this morning?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Randolph was not quite satisfied. There was no doubting

Daisy; but he had reasons of his own for knowing that she had

not said to him quite all that she had confessed to her

brother. He would have liked the whole confession; but did not

see how he could get at it just now. He took a little gold

piece out of his pocket, and quietly slipped it into Daisy's

hand.

"Papa! what is this for?"

"For your poor woman, if you like. You can send it to her by

Sam."

"Oh, thank you, papa! But, papa, she won't take it so — she

will not take the least thing without working to pay for it."

"How do you know?"

"She told me so, papa."

"Who told you so?"

"The poor woman — Mrs. Harbonner."

"Where did you see her?"

"I saw her at her house, papa."

"Why did you go to her house?"

"To take her the ham, sir."

"And she told you she wouldn't have anything without doing

work for it — eh?"

"Yes, papa — she wouldn't even take the ham any other way."

"What work did you engage her to do, Daisy?"

"I thought Joanna could find her some, papa."

"Well, let Joanna manage it. You must not go there again, nor

into any strange house, Daisy, without my leave. Now go and

get ready for dinner, and your part of your birthday."

Daisy went very soberly. To see Mrs. Harbonner and her

daughter again, and to do them all sorts of good, had been a

dream of hers, ever since the morning. Now this was shut off.

She was very sorry. How were the rich to do good to the poor,

if they never came together? A question which Daisy thought

about while she was dressing. Then she doubted how her feast

had gone; and she had been obliged to tell of Ransom.

Altogether, Daisy felt that doing good was a somewhat

difficult matter, and she let June dress her in very sober

silence. Daisy was elegantly dressed for her birthday and the

dinner. Her robe was a fine beautifully embroidered muslin,

looped with rose ribands on the shoulder and tied with a broad

rose-coloured sash round the waist. There was very little rose

in Daisy's cheeks, however; and June stood and looked at her

when she had done, with mingled satisfaction and

dissatisfaction.

"You've tired yourself to-day, Miss Daisy, with making that

party for the men!" she said.

"Have you done? Now, June, will you go away, please, and leave

me my room for a few minutes?"

"Yes, Miss Daisy — but it's most time for you to go down."

June went, and Daisy locked her doors, and dropped on her

knees by her little bed. How was she to know what was right to

do? and still more, how was she to do it wisely and

faithfully? Little Daisy went to her stronghold, and asked for

help; and that she might know what her talents were.

"Miss Daisy," said the voice of June at the door, "you are

wanted in the library."

Down went Daisy in a hurry. There was her father; and there

also, to her great surprise, were Nora and Mr. Dinwiddie!

"I have brought Nora to make her peace with you, Daisy," said

Mr. Dinwiddie. "I found her in great trouble because, she

said, you were offended with her. Will you love her again?"

Daisy put her arms round Nora, who looked a little ashamed,

and gave her a very peaceful and reassuring kiss. The

gentlemen both smiled at her action. It was too graceful to

need the aid of words.

"My mission is successful," said Mr. Dinwiddie.

"But I was not offended the least bit, Mr. Dinwiddie," said

Daisy.

"I believe it; but Nora thought you had so much reason, that

she would not come alone to make her apology."

The young man looked towards Mr. Randolph, whose attention was

just then taken by somebody who had come to him on business.

He waited.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Dinwiddie." said Daisy.

"I must go."

"But I want to ask you a question, sir."

Mr. Dinwiddie sat down.

"Mr. Dinwiddie," said Daisy with a grave face, "what are my

talents?"

"What is the question, Daisy? I do not understand."

"You know, sir — one servant had ten and another had five.

What are my talents?"

"I do not know."

"But how can I tell, Mr. Dinwiddie?"

Then the young man's eyes glowed, as Daisy had a few times

seen them do before.

"Ask the Lord, Daisy. See what His word tells you to do."

"But Mr. Dinwiddie, I am little; I can't do much."

"_You_ cannot do anything. But Jesus can use you, to do what He

pleases, — if you will be His little servant. Give me that

spoon, Nora."

"But, Marmaduke —"

"Yes — I know," said her brother. He took from Nora's hand?

and unfolded from its wrapping-paper a very curious thing,

which he told Daisy was an Egyptian spoon. He did not give her

time to look at it, only he held it so that she saw what it

was.

"You see that spoon, Daisy. It cannot do anything. But in your

hand it might carry drops of comfort to somebody's lips."

Daisy looked earnestly at the spoon, then at the bright eyes

that were fixed on her; and taking his meaning, she smiled, a

bright, satisfied smile. It satisfied Mr. Dinwiddie too. He

wrapped up the spoon again, handed it to Nora, and rose up to

make his adieus to Mr. Randolph.

"Daisy," whispered Nora, "this spoon is for you. Will you take

it for my birthday present? Marmaduke says it is very

handsome. It is his — he gave it to me to give to you."

"It is very, very old," said Mr. Dinwiddie, coming to Daisy.

"It was found in an old Egyptian tomb, and was made and put

there perhaps before the Israelites came out of Egypt. Good

bye!"

He took Daisy's hand with a strong, kindly grasp, and went

away with his little sister just as the dinner-bell rang.

Daisy had not time to look at her present. She held it tight,

and went in to dinner with it in her hand.

Daisy did not generally dine with her father and mother. To-

day was a great exception to the rule. Even to-day she was not

expected to eat anything till the dessert came on; she had had

her dinner; so she had the more time for other things. Her

place was by her mother; Captain Drummond on the other side,

and Gary McFarlane opposite. Then her aunt, Mrs. Gary, had

arrived, just an hour before dinner; and she and her children

and one or two other friends filled the table, and the talking

and laughing went round faster than the soup. Daisy looked and

listened, very much pleased to see her aunt and cousins, and

amused; though, as usual, in her quiet fashion, she gave no

sign of it.

"How did that party come off, Daisy?" said Mr. Gary McFarlane.

"What party?" said Mrs. Gary.

"Daisy's birthday entertainment."

"Daisy invited all the gardeners and haymakers to take supper

and strawberries with her, Aunt Gary," said Ransom.

"What is that?" said Mrs. Gary, looking to her sister.

"Ransom has stated the matter correctly."

"Gardeners and haymakers! What was that for, Daisy?"

"I thought it would give them pleasure, aunt Gary, —" said

Daisy.

"Give _them_ pleasure! of course, I suppose it would; but are we

to give everybody pleasure that we can? At that rate, why not

invite our footmen and chambermaids too? Why stop?"

"I suppose that will be the next thing," said Mrs. Randolph.

"Daisy, you must not eat that cheese."

"What's Daisy's notion?" said Mrs. Gary, appealing to her

brother-in-law.

"A child's notion," said Mr. Randolph. "The worst you can say

of it is, that it is Arcadian."

"How did it go off, Daisy?" said Gary McFarlane.

"I don't know," said Daisy. "I think it went off pretty well."

"How did the hob-nails behave themselves?"

"They had lots of things to eat," said Ransom. "I don't

believe we shall have any strawberries for a day or two

ourselves."

"Did you give them strawberries?" said Mrs. Gary.

"A tableful," said Ransom; "and baskets and baskets to take

home."

"Something new, —" said Mrs. Gary, eating her salad.

"But how did the company behave?" said Mr. McFarlane.

"I saw no behaviour that was not proper," Daisy answered,

gravely. She thought as much could not be said of the present

company, seeing that servants were present.

"What have you there, Daisy?" said her mother.

"It is a birthday present, mamma. It is an Egyptian spoon."

"An Egyptian spoon! Where did you get it?"

"Mr. Dinwiddie — I mean, Nora gave it to me."

"What about Mr. Dinwiddie?"

"Nothing, mamma."

"Then why did you speak his name?"

"I don't know. He brought Nora to see me just now."

"Where did you see him?"

"In the library."

"Mr. Randolph" — said the lady — "did Mr. Dinwiddie call to

see you?"

"He did me that honour," said Mr. Randolph; "but I think

primarily his visit was to Daisy."

"Who is Mr. Dinwiddie?" said Mrs. Gary, seeing a contraction

in her sister's brow. "It's a Virginian name."

"He is a fanatic," said Mrs. Randolph. "I don't know what else

he is."

"Let us see the fanatic's spoon," said Gary McFarlane.

"Egyptian, is it, Daisy? Curious, upon my word!"

"Beautiful!" said Captain Drummond, taking the spoon in his

turn across the table. "Beautiful! This is a nice piece of

carving — and very old it undoubtedly is. This is the lotus,

Daisy — this stem part of the spoon; and do you see, in the

bowl here is the carving of a lake, with fish in it?"

"Is it?" said Daisy; "and what is a _lotus_, Captain Drummond?"

"If you will put me in mind to-morrow, privately, I will tell

you about it," said he.

"Let me look at that, Captain Drummond," said Mrs. Gary. —

"Why, here's a duck's head at the end of the handle. What a

dear old thing! Who is this Mr. Dinwiddie, pray?"

"The duck's bill makes the spoon, aunt Gary," said Daisy.

"If you asked me _what_ he is, I have told you," said Mrs.

Randolph.

"He is a young man, of good family I believe, spending the

summer with a neighbour of ours who is his relation," Mr.

Randolph answered.

"What is he a fanatic about?"

This question did not get an immediate answer; the

conversation diverged, and it was lost. Daisy's spoon made the

round of the company. It was greatly admired, both from its

oddness and from the beauty of its carving.

"Daisy, I will buy this spoon of you," said her aunt.

Daisy thought not; but she said, "With what, aunt Gary?"

"With anything you please. Do you set a high value on it? What

is it worth?"

Daisy hesitated; and then she said, "I think it is worth my

regard, aunt Gary!"

She could not guess why there was a general little laugh round

the table at this speech.

"Daisy, you are an original," said Mrs. Gary. "May I ask, why

this piece of old Egypt deserves your regard?"

"I think anything does, aunt Gary, that is a gift," Daisy

said, a little shyly.

"If your first speech sounded forty years old, your second

does not," said the lady.

"Arcadian again, both of them," Mr. Randolph remarked.

"You always take Daisy's part," said the lady briskly. But Mr.

Randolph let the assertion drop.

"Mamma," said Daisy, "what is an original?"

"Something your aunt says you are. Do you like some of this

_biscuit_, Daisy?"

"If you please, mamma. And mamma, what do you mean by a

fanatic?"

"Something that I will not have you," said her mother, with

knitting brow again.

Daisy slowly eat her biscuit-glacé and wondered — wondered

what it could be that Mr. Dinwiddie was, and that her mother

was determined she should not be.

Mr. Dinwiddie was a friend of poor people — was that what her

mother meant? He was a devoted, unflinching servant of Christ;

— "so will I be," said Daisy to herself; "so I am now; for I

have given the Lord Jesus all I have got, and I don't want to

take anything back. Is that what mamma calls being a fanatic?"

— Daisy's meditations were broken off; for a general stir

round the table made her look up.

The table was cleared, and the servants were bringing on the

fruit; and with the fruit they were setting on the table a

beautiful old fashioned silver épergne, that was never used

but for great occasions. Generally it was adorned with fruit

and flowers; to-day it was empty, and the attendants proceeded

to arrange upon it very strange looking things; packages in

white paper, books, trinkets, what not; and in the middle of

all a little statuette of a Grecian nymph, which was a great

favourite of Daisy's. Daisy began to guess that the épergne

had something to do with her birthday. But the nymph? —

perhaps she came there by her beauty to dignify this use made

of the stately old thing. However, she forgot all about

fanatics and Mr. Dinwiddie for the present. The looks and

smiles of the company were unmistakable. Who would speak

first?

"How are you to reach the épergne, Daisy?" said her father.