"You will be a week or two — till your foot gets strong

again."

"Will a week or two make it strong?"

The two pairs of eyes looked into each other. The thoughtful

grey eyes of the child, and the impenetrable blue orbs of the

man. There was mutual study; some mutual recognition.

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

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

"Do you desire it?"

"You would not come unless it was necessary," said Daisy; "and

if it is necessary, I should like to have you."

The lips of the young man curled into a smile that was very

pleasant, albeit a little mocking in its character.

"I think it will be necessary, little one; but if I come to

see you, you must be under my orders."

"Well, I am," said Daisy.

"Keep still, then; do not talk to anybody any more than is

needful to relieve your impatience."

The doctor went away, and Daisy lay still musing. The morning

had gone on a little further, when carriage-wheels stopped at

the gate.

"There's mamma —" said Daisy.

It was very unconsciously on her part that the tone of these

two words conveyed a whole volume of information to Juanita's

keen wits. It was no accent of joy, like that which had

announced her father last night; neither was it fear or dread;

yet the indefinable expression of the two words said that

"mamma" had been a trouble in Daisy's life, and might be

again.

Juanita went to have the door open; and the lady swept in. Mr.

Randolph was behind her. She came to Daisy's side, and the

mother and child looked at each other; Daisy with the tender,

wistful eyes of last night, Mrs. Randolph with a vexed air of

dissatisfaction. Yet, after looking at her a moment, she

stooped down and kissed Daisy. The child's eye went to her

father then. Mrs. Randolph stood in his way; he came round to

the head of the couch, behind Daisy, and bent over her.

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

"You can feel, Daisy —" said Mr. Randolph, putting his lips to

her face. "How do you do?"

"This is a most maladroit arrangement of Captain Drummond's!"

said the lady. "What can we do to rectify it? A most stupid

place for the child to be."

"She will have to bear the stupidity — and we too. Daisy, what

would you like to have to help it along."

"Papa, I am not stupid."

"You will be, my little daughter, I am afraid, before the

weeks are over. Will you have June come to be with you?"

"Papa," said Daisy, slowly, — "I think it would not be

considerate."

"Are you comfortable?" said Mr. Randolph, smiling, though his

looks expressed much concern.

"No, papa."

"What is the matter?"

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

night sometimes; but it aches."

"It is a cool, fresh morning," said Mrs. Randolph. "She is hot

because she is lying in this place."

"Not very cool, with the mercury at eighty-four before eight

o'clock You are cool because you have been driving fast."

"Mr. Randolph, this is no proper place for the child to be. I

am convinced she might be moved with safety."

"I cannot risk the doctor's convictions against yours,

Felicia. That question must be given up."

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

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

give you?"

"To eat fruit, and keep quiet, papa. He says there must not be

more than one person here at a time, besides Juanita."

"I suppose he does not mean to forbid your mother," said Mrs.

Randolph, a good deal incensed. "I will see about that. Here,

my good woman — where are you? Will you let your cottage to me

for the time that this child is confined here — and remove

somewhere else yourself, that I may put the people here I want

about her?"

"Oh, mamma! —" said Daisy. But she stopped short; and Mrs.

Randolph did not attend to her. Mr. Randolph looked round to

see Juanita's answer.

"My lady shall put here who she will please," the woman said,

standing before her visitors with the most unruffled face and

demeanour.

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

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

be in the way."

"You do not seem to understand, my good woman, that I want to

be here myself, and have my people here. I want the whole

house."

"My lady shall have it — she is welcome — nobody shall find

Juanita trouble them," the black woman said, with great

sweetness.

"What will you do with yourself?"

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

a large home."

Mrs. Randolph turned impatiently away. The manner of the woman

was so inexpressibly calm and sweet, the dignity of her

beautiful presence was so immovable, that the lady felt it in

vain to waste words upon her. Juanita was a hopeless case.

"It is no use for me to be here then," she said. "Mr.

Randolph, you may make your own arrangements."

Which Mr. Randolph did. He held a consultation with Juanita,

as to what was wanting, and what she would do; a consultation

with which he was satisfied. Juanita was left in full charge,

with authority to do for Daisy precisely according to Dr.

Sandford's instructions, in all matters. Mrs. Randolph

meanwhile had a talk with her poor pale little daughter, upon

more or less the same subjects; and then the father and mother

prepared to go home to breakfast.

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

"No, mamma; I think not."

"Be patient a little while, Daisy," said her father, kissing

her; "and you will be able to have books and company too. Now

for a little while you must keep quiet."

"Juanita will keep me quiet, papa."

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

"Papa, I want to tell you one thing. I want to speak to you

and mamma before you go."

Mr. Randolph saw that the child's face flushed as if she were

making some effort. He bent down over her again.

"Is it something of interest, Daisy?"

"Yes, papa. To me."

"Don't talk of it now then. Lie still, and do not talk at all.

By and by you will tell me what it is."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LITTLE CONFESSOR.

Mr. and Mrs. Randolph departed.

"Daisy will be ruined forever!" So said the lady as soon as

she was in the carriage.

"I hope not."

"You take it coolly, Mr. Randolph. That woman is exactly the

sort to infect Daisy; and you have arranged it so that she

will have full chance."

"What is the precise danger you apprehend?" said Mr. Randolph.

"I have not heard it put into words."

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

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

"That is because you take her part, Mr. Randolph. You will

find it out in time, when it is too late; and it will be your

own doing."

"What?"

"Daisy will be a confirmed piece of superstition. You will

see. And you will not find her docile then. If she once takes

hold of anything, she does it with great obstinacy."

"But what is she taking hold of now? After all, you do not

tell me," said Mr. Randolph, carelessly.

"Of every sort of religious fanatical notion, you will find,

Mr. Randolph! She will set herself against everything I want

her to do, after the fashion of those people, who think

nothing is right but their own way. It will be a work of

extreme difficulty, I foresee, to do anything with her after

these weeks in this black woman's house. I would have run any

risk in removing her, rather than let it be so."

"Well, we shall see," said Mr. Randolph. "I cannot quite take

your view of the matter. I would rather keep the child — even

for my own private comfort — than lose her to prevent her from

becoming religious."

Mrs. Randolph indignantly let this statement of opinion alone.

Little Daisy had a quiet day, meanwhile. The weather grew

excessively hot; her broken ankle pained her; it was a day of

suffering. Obliged to lie quite still; unable to change her

position even a little, when the couch became very hot under

her; no air coming in at the open window but what seemed laden

with the heats of a furnace, Daisy lay still, and breathed as

well as she could. All day Juanita was busy about her;

moistening her lips with orange juice, bathing her hands,

fanning her, and speaking and singing sweet words to her, as

she could attend to them. The child's eyes began to go to the

fine black face that hovered near her, with an expression of

love and trust that was beautiful to behold. It was a day that

tried poor little Daisy's patience; for along with all this

heat, and weary lying still in one position, there were shoots

and twitches of pain that seemed to come from the broken ankle

and reach every part of her body; and she could not move about

or turn over to ease them by some change.

At last the weary hours began to grow less oppressive. The sun

got low in the sky; the air came with a little touch of

freshness. How good it was to see the sun lost behind the

woods on the other side the road. Juanita kindled her fire

again, and put on the kettle; for Daisy was to have another

cup of tea, and wanted it very much. Then, before the kettle

had boiled, came the doctor.

It was a pleasant variety. Dr. Sandford's face was a good one

to see come in anywhere, and in Daisy's case very refreshing.

It was so noble a face; the features fine, manly, expressive;

with a sedate gravity that spoke of a character above

trifling. His calm, forceful eye was very imposing; the thick

auburn locks of his hair, pushed back as they were from his

face, were beautiful to Daisy's imagination. Altogether he

fastened her attention whenever he came within reach of it;

she could not read those grave lines of his face; she puzzled

over them. Dr. Sandford's appearance was in some way

bewitching to her. Truly many ladies found it so.

He examined now the state of her foot; gave rapid

comprehensive glances at everything; told his orders to Mrs.

Benoit. Finally, paused before going, and looked into the very

wise little eyes that scanned him so carefully.

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

physician's familiarity.

"No, sir, — I thank you."

"Mrs. Benoit takes good care of you?"

"Very good."

The manner of Daisy's speech was like her looks; childlike

enough, and yet with a deliberate utterance unlike a child.

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

The question had been put with a somewhat careless curiosity;

but at that he saw a pink flush rise and spread itself all

over Daisy's pale face; the grey eyes looked at him steadily,

with no doubt of some thoughts behind them. Dr. Sandford

listened for her answer. What was the child thinking about?

She spoke at last with that same sweet deliberateness.

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

me."

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

"Because it was so hard for me to keep still to-day, I thought

— you know — how it must have been —" The flush deepened on

the cheeks, and Daisy's eyes were swimming full of tears.

Dr. Sandford looked, in much surprise; perhaps he was at some

pains to comprehend what all this meant.

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

couch.

"You know, Dr. Sandford," she said, tenderly. "When He was on

the cross — and couldn't move —"

Daisy gave way. She put her hands over her face. The doctor

stood erect, looking at her; glanced his grave eyes at Mrs.

Benoit, and at her again; then made a step towards Juanita.

"No excitement is permitted," he said. "You must keep her from

it. Do you understand?"

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

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

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

pleases."

"Daisy," said Dr. Sandford, coming back to the couch, "what

put such thoughts into your head?"

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

collectedness again.

"Well, try and not mind it. You will feel better in a day or

two. Do you know when that happened that you were talking

about?"

"Yes, sir."

"When was it?"

"More than eighteen hundred years ago."

"Do you think it is worth your while to be troubled for what

happened eighteen hundred years ago?"

"I think it is just the same as if it happened now," said

Daisy, without moving her eyes.

"Do you? By what power of reasoning?"

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

feeling."

"How does feeling manage it?"

Daisy discerned the tone of the question, looked at her

questioner, and answered with tender seriousness: "I know the

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

The doctor kept silence a minute. "Daisy," said he, "you are

under my orders at present. You must mind me. You are to take

a cup of tea, and a piece of toast, if you like; then you are

to go to sleep and keep quiet, and not think of anything that

happened more than an hour ago. Will you?"

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

She and the doctor looked at each other in a dissatisfied

manner, she wistfully, he disapprovingly, and then the doctor

went out. Daisy's eyes followed, straining after him as long

as they could; and when she could see him no longer they

filled with tears again. She was looking as intent and wistful

as if she might have been thirty years old instead of nine or

ten, when Juanita came to her side with the tea she had been

making.

The tea and toast did Daisy good; and she was ready to enjoy a

visit from her father, who spent the evening with her. But he

would not let her talk.

The next day was hot again; however, Daisy felt better. The

heat was more bearable. It was a very quiet day. Both she and

Juanita obeyed orders, and did not talk much; nevertheless,

Juanita sang hymns a great deal, and that was delightful to

Daisy. She found Juanita knew one hymn in particular that she

loved exceedingly; it was the one that had been sung in the

little church the day she had heard Mr. Dinwiddie preach; it

fell in with the course of Daisy's thoughts; and several times

in the day she had Juanita sing it over. Daisy's eyes always

filled when she heard it; nevertheless Juanita could not

resist her pleading wish.

"Oh, the Lamb! the loving Lamb!

The Lamb on Calvary!

The Lamb that was slain, but lives again,

To intercede for me."

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

times. "I am so happy!"

"What makes it so, my love?"

"Oh, because that is true — because He lives up there to take

care of me."

"Bless the Lord!" said the black woman.

Towards evening of that day, Juanita had left the room to make

her fire and attend to some other things, when Daisy heard her

own name hailed softly from the window. She turned her head,

and there was Preston's bright face.

"My poor, poor little Daisy!"

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

moonbeam.

"There you are a prisoner!"

"It is a very nice prison."

"Don't, my dear Daisy! I'll believe you in anything else, you

know; but in this I am unable. Tied by your foot for six

weeks, perhaps! I should like to shoot Captain Drummond."

"It was not Captain Drummond's fault."

"Is it bad, Daisy?"

"My foot? It has been pretty bad."

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

"Because I would not sing, Preston!"

"Yes, that is the cause of all the trouble that has been in

the house. Now, Daisy, you'll give it up?"

"Give what up?"

"Give up your nonsense, and sing."

"_That?_" said Daisy, and a slight flush came into the pale

cheeks.

"Aunt Felicia wants you to sing it, and she will make you do

it, when you get well."

Daisy made no answer.

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

other people do?"

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

saying, Preston."

"Daisy, what will become of you all these six weeks? We cannot

go a fishing, nor have any fun."

"You can."

"What will you do?"

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

Sandford."

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

"Oh, Preston! how nice."

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

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

things."

"These things? What is that?"

"It is a trilobite. Captain Drummond got it the other day. It

was a fish once, and now it is a stone; and I would like very

much to know about it."

"Daisy, are you serious?"

"Why, yes, Preston."

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

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

"Philosophers are not 'nice,' Daisy, when they are ladies,"

said Preston, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Because ladies are not meant to be philosophers."

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

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

interesting."

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

"Well, we will see, Daisy. I will do anything for you, if you

will do one thing for me. Oh, Daisy, do! Aunt Felicia has not

given it up at all."

"Good-bye, Preston," said Daisy. "Now you must go, and not

talk to me any more this time."

Preston ran off.

He was not allowed to come again for a day or two; and Daisy

was not allowed to talk. She was kept very quiet, until it was

found that the broken bone was actually healing, and in a fair

way to get well. The pains in it were no longer so trying; the

very hot days had given place to a time of milder weather; and

Daisy, under the care of the old black woman, enjoyed her

solitary imprisonment well enough. Twice a day always her

father visited her; once a day, Mrs. Randolph. Her stay was

never very long; Juanita's house was not a comfortable place

for her; but Mr. Randolph gave a large piece of his time and

attention to his suffering little daughter, and was indeed the

first one to execute Preston's plan of reading aloud for her

amusement. A new and great delight to Daisy. She never

remembered her father taking such pains with her before. Then,

when her father and mother were gone, and the cottage was

still, Juanita and Daisy had what the latter called their

"good time." Juanita read the Bible and sang hymns, and

prayed. There was no time nor pleasure in all the day that

Daisy liked so well.

She had gained strength, and was in a good way to be well

again. The first morning this was told her, Daisy said: "Papa,

may I speak to you now?"

"About something important, Daisy?"

"Yes, papa, I think so."

"Go on. What is it?"

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

at her father.

"Papa," she said, speaking slowly, and with some hesitation, —

"I want you to know — I want to tell you — about me, so that

you may understand."

"Are you so difficult to understand, Daisy?"

"No, papa; but I want you to know something. I want you to

know that I am a Christian."

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

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

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, papa, — that I belong to the Lord Jesus, and must do

what He tells me."

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

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

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

"Yes, papa."

"What does it mean, Daisy?"

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

Jesus."

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

"Oh, no, papa!"

"Why do you tell it me, then?"

"Papa, Jesus says He will be ashamed of those who are ashamed

of Him; I will not be ashamed of Him; so I want you to know

what I am."

"But, Daisy, you and I must come to an understanding about

this," said Mr. Randolph, taking a chair. "Does this

declaration mean that you are intending to be something

different from what I like to see you?"

"I do not know, papa."

"You do not! Does it mean that you are proposing to set up a

standard of action for yourself, independent of me?"

"No, papa."

"What then, Daisy?"

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

"I will change the word. Do you mean that your purpose is to

make, henceforward, your own rules of life?"

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

"What do you mean?"

"Papa," said Daisy, very deliberately, "if I belong to my

Saviour, — you know, — I must follow His rules."

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

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

"But what?"

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

difficult."

"Try."

"Papa, you will not be displeased?"

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

"Papa, I do not _mean_ to displease you," said the child, her

eyes filling with tears. "But — suppose —"

"Well, — suppose anything."

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

"I am to be the judge, Daisy. If you set up disobedience to

me, on any pretext, you know the consequences."

Daisy's lip trembled; she put up her hands to her face, and

burst into tears. She could not bear that reminder. Her father

took one of her hands down, and kissed the little wet cheek.

"Where are you going to find these rules, Daisy," he said,

kindly, "which you are going to set up against mine?"

"Papa, I do not set them up."

"Where do you get them?"

"Only in the Bible, papa."

"You are a little child, Daisy; you are not quite old enough

to be able to judge properly for yourself what the rules of

that book are. While you are little and ignorant, I am your

judge, of that and everything else; and your business is to

obey me. Do you understand that?"

"But, papa."

"Well — what?"

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

"I do not think I shall. You and I had better come to an

understanding about these matters Say on, Daisy."

"I was going to say, papa —"

Daisy was afraid to tell what. Mr. Randolph again stooped and

kissed her; kissed her two or three times.

"Papa, I do not _mean_ to make you angry," said the child, with

intense eagerness, — "but — suppose — papa, I mean, — are you

a servant of the Lord Jesus?"

Mr. Randolph drew back. "I endeavour to do my duty, Daisy," he

said, coldly. "I do not know what you include in the terms you

use."

"Papa, that is what I mean," said Daisy, with a very meek

face. "Papa, if I _am_, and you are _not_, then perhaps you would

not think the things that I think."

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

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

Jesus."

"Then, what?"

"Then, papa, if I am, and you are not, — wouldn't you perhaps

not think about those rules as I must think of them?"

"You mean that our thoughts would disagree?"

"Papa — they might."

"What shall we do, then, Daisy?"

Daisy looked wistfully and somewhat sadly at him. There was

more weight of thought under the little brow than he liked to

see there. This would not do; yet matters must be settled.

"Do you want to be a different little person from what you

have been, Daisy, hitherto?"

"I don't know, papa — I think so."

"How do you wish to be different?"

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

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

Mr. Randolph stooped his head down again to the too thoughtful

little face. Daisy clasped her arms around his neck, and held

him close. It was only by her extraordinary self-command that

she kept from tears; when he raised his head her eyes were

perfectly dry.

"Will you be my good little Daisy — and let me do the thinking

for you?" said Mr. Randolph, tenderly.

"Papa — I _can't_."

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

"Then, papa, what shall I do?"

"Obey me, and be satisfied with that."

"But, papa, I am a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ," said the

child, looking unutterably sober.

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

authority."

"Papa — suppose — they _might?_"

"I must be judge. You are a little child; you must take the

law from my mouth, until you are older."

"But, papa, suppose I _thought_ the Bible told me to do what you

did not think it said?"

"I advise you to believe my judgment, Daisy, if you wish to

keep the peace between us. I will not have any more calling of

it in question."

Daisy struggled plainly, though she would not cry; her colour

flushed, her lip quivered. She was entirely silent for a

little while, and Mr. Randolph sat watching her. The struggle

lasted some minutes — till she had overcome it somewhat she

would not speak — and it was sharp. Then the child closed her

eyes, and her face grew calm. Mr. Randolph did not know what

to think of her.

"Daisy."

"What, papa?"

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

"I do not think we have, papa."

"What is to be done? It will not answer, my little daughter,

for you to set up your will against mine."

"Papa, it is not my will."

"What do you call it, then?"

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

"Take care, Daisy," said her father. "You are not to say

that. My will will never oppose itself to that authority you

speak of."

"Papa, I only want to obey that."

"But remember, I must be the judge."

"Papa," said Daisy, eagerly, "won't this do? If I think

something is in the Bible, mayn't I bring it to you to see?"

"Yes."

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

"Do what?"

"Do what the Bible says, papa."

"I think I may promise that, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph; though

dubiously, as not quite certain what he was promising; "so

long as I am the judge."

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

Daisy's countenance expressed such utter content at this

arrangement, that Mr. Randolph looked grave.

"Now you have talked and excited yourself enough for to-day,"

he said. "You must be quiet."

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

"What, Daisy?"

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

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

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

"You have very uncompromising notions of duty. But this duty

can wait till another day."

Daisy had to wait more than a day for her opportunity; her

mother's next visits were too bustling and unsatisfactory, as

well as too short, to promise her any good chance of being

heard. At last came a propitious morning. It was more moderate

weather; Daisy herself was doing very well, and suffering

little pain; and Mrs. Randolph looked in good humour, and had

sat down with her tetting-work, as if she meant to make her

daughter something of a visit. Mr. Randolph was lounging at

the head of the couch, out of Daisy's sight.

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

you."

"You have a favourable opportunity, Daisy. I can hear."

Yet Daisy looked a minute at the white hand that was flying

the bobbin about. That white hand.

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

that I am a Christian."

"That you are _what?_" said Mrs. Randolph, coldly.

"A Christian, mamma."

"Pray, what does that mean?"

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

"When did you find it out, Daisy?"

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

birth-day."

"You did! What do you think _me?_"

Daisy kept silence.

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

"Mamma, I don't know how to answer you," said Daisy, flushing

for an instant. Her mother's eyes took note of her.

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

"Mamma," said the child low, — "I do not think you are what I

mean by a Christian."

"You do not. I supposed that. Now you will go on and tell me

what you mean by a Christian."

"It means," said Daisy, her eyes filling with tears, "it means

a person who loves the Lord Jesus and obeys Him."

"I hope you are gratified, Mr. Randolph," said the lady, "with

this specimen of the new Christianity. Dutiful and respectful

are happily united; along with a pleasant mixture of modesty.

What do you expect me to do, Daisy, with this announcement of

yours?"

"Nothing, mamma," said Daisy, faintly.

"I suppose you think that my Christianity must accommodate

itself to yours? Did you expect that?"

"No, mamma."

"It would be very foolish of you; for the fact will be the

other way. Yours must accommodate itself to mine."

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

"Yours is what mine is, Daisy. What I think right for you,

that you are to do. I will not hear a whimper from you again

about what you are — do you understand? Not again. I have

listened to you this time, but this is the last. If I hear

another syllable like this, about what you are or your

Christianity, I shall know how to chastise it out of you. You

are nothing at all, but my Daisy; you are a Jewess, if I

choose to have it so."

Mr. Randolph made an uneasy movement; but the lady's white

fingers flew in and out of her tetting-work without regarding

him.

"What do you want to do, that you are asking my permission in

this roundabout way? What do you want to do, that you think

will not please me."

Daisy at first hesitated; then Mr. Randolph was surprised to

hear her say boldly, "I am afraid, a great many things,

mamma."

"Well, you know now what to expect. Mr. Randolph," said the

lady, letting fall her tetting-work, "if you please, I will go

home. The sun will only be getting hotter, if I stay."

Mr. Randolph stood behind Daisy, bending down, and holding her

face in his two hands.

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

"Nothing, papa."

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

"If he likes to come, papa."

"He has been only waiting for my permission, and if you say

so, I will give him yours."

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

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

books?"

"I should like 'Sandford and Merton,' papa; and when Preston

comes I'll tell him what else I want."

Mr. Randolph stood still, smoothing down the hair on each side

of the little round head, while Mrs. Randolph was adjusting

herself for her drive.

"Are you ready, Mr. Randolph?"

"Cannot say that I am," said the gentleman, stooping to kiss

Daisy's forehead, — "but I will go with you. One thing I

should like understood. For reasons which are sufficient with

me, Daisy is to consider herself prohibited from making any

music on Sundays henceforward, except she chooses to do it in

church. I mention it, lest you should ask her to do what I

have forbidden, and so make confusion."

Mrs. Randolph gave no sort of answer to this speech, and

walked off to the door. Daisy, whose eyes had brightened with

joy, clasped her arms around her father's neck when he stooped

again, and whispered, with an energetic pressure, "Thank you,

papa!"

Mr. Randolph only kissed her, and went off after his wife. The

drive home was remarkably silent.

CHAPTER XVIII.

WONDERFUL THINGS.

It happened that day that Juanita had business on hand which

kept her a good deal of the morning in the out-shed which

formed part of her premises. She came in every now and then to

see how Daisy was doing; yet the morning was on the whole

spent by Daisy alone; and when Juanita at last came in to

stay, she fancied the child was looking pale and worn more

than usual.

"My love do not feel well?"

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

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

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

"I do not think what it be, while it is mine," the woman said,

contentedly. "All is good work that I can do for the Lord."

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

"When the Lord gives work, He give it to be done for Him.

Bless the Lord!"

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

you?"

"Miss Daisy, I don't know. I can do it with pleasure, because

it is my Lord's command. I can do it with thanksgiving,

because He has given me the strength and the power. And I can

do it the best I can, so as nobody shall find fault in His

servant. And then, Miss Daisy, I can do it to get money to

send His blessed word to them that sit in darkness — where I

come from. And I can do it with prayer, asking my Lord to make

my heart clean for His glory; like as I make soiled things

white again. And I do it with joy, because I know the Lord

hear my prayer."

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

"When the Lord leads to living fountains of waters, then no

more thirsting," — said the black woman, expressively.

"Then, Juanita, I suppose — if I get tired lying here, — I can

do patience-work?"

"Jesus will have His people do a great deal of that work,"

said Mrs. Benoit, tenderly. "And it is work that pleases Him,

Miss Daisy. My love is very weary?"

"I suppose, Juanita, if I was really patient, I shouldn't be.

Should I? I think I am impatient."

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

Daisy's tired face smoothed itself out at this. She turned her

eyes to the window with a placid look of rest in them.

"Jesus knows where the trouble is," said the black woman. "He

knows all. And He can help too. Now I am going to get

something to do Miss Daisy good."

Before this could be done, there came a heavy clumping step up

to the house, and a knock at the door; and then a person

entered whom Juanita did not know. — A hard-featured woman, in

an old-fashioned black straw bonnet, and faded old shawl drawn

tight round her. She came directly forward to Daisy's couch.

"Well, I declare if it ain't true! Tied by the heels, ain't

ye?" — was her salutation. Juanita looked, and saw that Daisy

recognised the visitor; for she smiled at her, half pleasure,

half assent to what she said.

"I heerd of it — that is, I heerd you'd gone up to the

mountain and broke something; I couldn't find out what 'twas;

and then Hephzibah she said she would go down to Melbourne

Sunday. I said to her, says I, 'Hephzibah, I wouldn't go all

that ways, child, for to do nothing; 'tain't likely but that

some part of the story's true, if you and me can't find out

which;' but Hephzibah she took her own head and went; and

don't you think, she came back a cryin'?"

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

"Why, she couldn't find you, I guess; and she thought you was

killed. But you ain't, be you?"

"Only my foot and ankle hurt," said Daisy, smiling; "and I am

doing very well now."

"And was you broke anywheres?"

"My ankle was broken."

"I declare! And you couldn't be took home?"

"No."

"So the folks said; only they said that young soldier had

killed you. I hope he got hurted himself."

"Why Mrs. Harbonner, _he_ did not do it. It was an accident. It

wasn't anybody's fault."

"It wouldn't ha' happened if _I_ had been there, I can tell

you!" said Hephzibah's mother. "I don't think much of a man if

he ain't up to taking care of a woman; — and a child above

all. Now how long are you goin' to be in this fix?"

"I don't know. I suppose I shall have to lie still for four or

five weeks more, before my foot is well."

"It's tiresome, I guess, ain't it?"

"Yes — sometimes."

"Well, I used to think, if folks was good, things wouldn't

happen to 'em. That's what I thought. That was my study of

divinity. And when everything on earth happened to me, I just

concluded it was because I warn't a bit too good to deserve

it. Now I'm beat — to see you lie there. I don't see what is

the use of being good, if it don't get none."

"Oh, Mrs. Harbonner!" said Daisy, "I am glad my foot was

broken."

"Well, I'm beat!" was all Mrs. Harbonner could say. "You air,

be you?"

"It hasn't done me any harm at all; and it has done me a great

deal of good."

Mrs. Harbonner stood staring at Daisy.

"The promise is sure," said Mrs. Benoit. "All things shall

work together for good to them that love God!"

The other woman wheeled about, and looked at her for an

instant with a sharp keen eye of note-taking; then she

returned to Daisy.

"Well, I suppose I'll tell Hephzibah she won't see you again

till summer's over; so she may as well give over thinking

about it."

"Do you think Hephzibah wants to learn, Mrs. Harbonner?"

"Well, I guess she does."

"Wouldn't she come here and get her lessons? Couldn't she come

to see me every day, while I am here?"

"I 'spose she'd jump out of her skin to do it," said Mrs.

Harbonner. "Hephzibah's dreadful set on seeing you."

"Mrs. Benoit," said Daisy, "may I have this little girl come

to see me every day, while I am here?"

"Miss Daisy shall have all, who she will," was the answer; and

it was arranged so; and Mrs. Harbonner took her departure.

Lingering a minute at the door, whither Juanita attended her,

she made one or two enquiries and remarks about Daisy,

answered civilly and briefly by Mrs. Benoit.

"Poor little toad!" said Mrs. Harbonner, drawing her shawl

tight round her for the last time. "But ain't she little

_queer?_"

These words were spoken in a low murmur, which just served to

draw Daisy's attention. Out of sight behind the moreen

curtain, Mrs. Harbonner forgot she was not beyond hearing; and

Daisy's ears were good. She noticed that Juanita made no

answer at all to this question, and presently shut the door.

The business of giving Daisy some fruit was the next thing

attended to; in the course of eating which Daisy marvelled a

little to herself what possible likeness to a _toad_ Mrs.

Harbonner could have discovered in her. The comparison did not

seem flattering; also she pondered somewhat why it could be

that anybody found her queer. She said nothing about it;

though she gave Mrs. Benoit a little account of Hephzibah, and

the reason of the proposed series of visits. In the midst of

this came a cheery "Daisy" — at the other side of her; and

turning her head, there was Preston's face at the window.

"Oh, Preston!" — Daisy handed to Mrs. Benoit her unfinished

saucer of strawberries — "I am so glad! I have been waiting

for you. Have you brought my books?"

"Where do you think I have been, Daisy?"

"I don't know. Shooting! — Have you?"

Daisy's eye caught the barrel of a fowling-piece showing its

end up at the window. Preston, without replying, lifted up his

game-bag, and let her see the bright feathers of little birds

which partly filled it.

"You have! — Shooting!" — Daisy repeated, in a tone between

disapprobation and dismay. "It isn't September!"

"Capital sport, Daisy," said Preston, letting the bag fall.

"I think it is very poor sport," said Daisy. "I wish they were

all alive and flying again."

"So do I — if I might shoot them again."

"It's cruel, Preston!"

"Nonsense, Daisy. Don't you be too tender. Birds were made to

kill. What are they good for?"

With a wit that served her instead of experience, Daisy was

silent, looking with unspoken abhorrence at the wicked muzzle

of the fowling-piece.

"Did you bring me 'Sandford and Merton,' Preston?" she said,

presently.

" 'Sandford and Merton'! My dear Daisy, I have been going all

over the world, you know — this part of it — and I was too far

from Melbourne to go round that way for your book; if I had,

it would have been too late to get here. You see the sun's

pretty well down."

Daisy said no more; but it was out of her power not to look

disappointed. She had so counted upon her book; and she was so

weary of lying still and doing nothing. She wanted very much

to read about the house that Harry and Tommy built; it would

have been a great refreshment.

"Cheer up, Daisy," said Preston; "I'll bring you books to-

morrow — and read to you too, if you like it. What shall I

bring?"

"Oh, Preston, I want to know about trilobites!"

"Daisy, you might as well want to know about the centre of the

earth! That's where they belong."

"I should like to know about the centre of the earth," said

Daisy. "Is there anything there."

"Anything at the centre of the earth? I suppose so."

"But I mean, anything _but_ earth," said Daisy.

Preston burst out laughing. "Oh, Daisy, Daisy! — Hadn't you

better learn about what is on the outside of the earth, before

we dig down so deep into it?"

"Well, Preston, my trilobite was on the outside."

"Daisy, it wouldn't interest you," said Preston, seriously;

"you would have to go deep into something else besides the

earth — so deep that you would get tired. Let the trilobite

alone, and let's have Grimm's Tales to-morrow — shall we? or

what will you have?"

Daisy was patiently silent a minute; and then in came Dr.

Sandford. In his presence Preston was mute; attending to the

doctor's manipulations as gravely as the doctor himself

performed them. In the midst of the general stillness, Dr.

Sandford asked, "Who was speaking about trilobites as I came

up?"

"Preston was speaking," said Daisy, as nobody else seemed

ready to answer.

"What about them."

"He thinks they would not interest me," said Daisy.

"What do you know about trilobites?" said Dr. Sandford, now

raising his blue eyes for a good look into the child's face.

He saw it looked weary.

"I have got a beautiful one. Juanita, will you bring it here,

please?"

The doctor took it up, and handled it with an eye that said,

Daisy knew, that it was a fine specimen. The way he handled it

gratified her.

"So this is one of your playthings, is it, Daisy?"

"No, sir; it is not a plaything, but I like to look at it."

"Why?"

"It is so wonderful, and beautiful, I think."

"But do tell Daisy, will you, doctor," said Preston, "that it

is a subject she cannot understand yet. She wants me to bring

her books about trilobites."

"Time hangs heavy, Daisy?" said the doctor.

"No, sir — only when I have nothing to do."

"What have you done to-day?"

"Nothing, sir; except talking to papa and mamma, — and some

business about a little girl."

The sedateness of this announcement was inexpressible, coming

as it did after a little thoughtful pause. Preston burst out

laughing. Dr. Sandford did not so far forget himself. He only

gave Daisy a rapid look of his grave blue eyes.

"It would be a charity to give you more employment than that,"

he said. "You like wonderful things, Daisy?"

"Very much, when I understand about them."

"I will agree to tell you anything you please — that I know —

about any wonderful things you can see to-morrow, looking from

your window."

The Doctor and Preston went off together, and left Daisy,

though without books, in a high state of excitement and

gratification. The rest of the evening her little head was

busy by turns with fancying the observations of the next day,

and wondering what she could possibly find from her window to

talk to the doctor about. A very unpromising window Daisy

considered it. Nothing was to be seen beside trees and a

little strip of road; few people passed by that way; and if

there had, what wonder could there have been in that. Daisy

was half afraid she should find nothing to talk to the doctor

about; and that would be a mortification.

Daisy and Juanita were both apt to be awake pretty early.

Lying there on her back all day, without power to run about

and get tired, Daisy's sleep was light; and her eyes were

generally open before the sun got high enough to look at them.

Juanita was always up and dressed earlier even than that; how

much earlier Daisy had no means of knowing; but she was sure

to hear the murmur of her friend's voice at her prayers,

either in the other room or outside of the house. And Juanita

did not come in to see Daisy till she had been awake a good

while, and had had leisure to think over a great many things.

Daisy found that was a good time for her own prayers; there

was nothing to disturb her, and nothing to be heard at all,

except that soft sound of Juanita's voice, and the clear

trills and quavers of the little birds' voices in the trees.

There was no disturbance in any of those sounds; nothing but

joy and gladness and the voice of melody from them all.

By and by, when the light began to kindle in the tops of the

trees, and Daisy was sure to be watching it and trying to get

sight of some of the bird singers which were so merry up

there, she would hear another sound by her bedside, or feel a

soft touch; and there would be Juanita, as bright as the day,

in her way of looking bright, bending over to see and find out

how Daisy was. Then, having satisfied herself, Juanita would

go about the business of the morning. First her fire was made,

and the kettle put on for breakfast. Daisy used to beg her to

leave the door open, so that, though she could not follow her

with her eyes and see, she could yet hear what Juanita was

doing. She used to listen to hear the kindling put in the

stove, and the wood; she knew the sound of it; then, when the

match was lit and applied, she liked the rushing sound of the

blaze and kindling fire; it gave pleasant token that the

kettle would be boiled by and by. But first she listened to

Juanita's feet brushing through the grass to get to the well;

and Daisy listened so hard, she could almost tell after a

while whether the grass was dry or whether it was heavy with

dew. Juanita always carried the kettle to the well; and when

she came back, Daisy could hear the iron clink of the stove as

the kettle was put on. Presently Juanita came in then from her

kitchen, and began the work of putting the house in order. How

nicely she did it! like the perfection of a nurse, which she

was. No dust, no noise, no bustle; still as a mouse, but

watchful as a cat, the alert old woman went round the room,

and made all tidy, and all clean and fresh. Very likely

Juanita would change the flowers in a little vase which stood

on the mantelpiece or the table, before she felt that

everything was as it ought to be.

When all that was done, her next attention was to Daisy

herself; and Daisy never in her life had nicer tending than

now. If Juanita was a nurse, she was a dressing-maid too, of

first-rate qualifications. It was a real pleasure to have her

ministering about the couch; and for that matter, the whole

work of the morning, as Juanita managed it, was a regular and

unfailing piece of amusement to Daisy. And in the midst of it,

every look at the black woman's noble, sweet face, warmed

Daisy's heart with something better than amusement. Daisy grew

to love her very much.

This morning all these affairs had been gone through as usual;

and leaving Daisy in a happy, refreshed state, Mrs. Benoit

went off to prepare her breakfast. Like everything else, that

was beautifully done. By and by, in she came with a tray and

white napkin, white as napkin could be, and fine damask too.

For Juanita had treasures of various sorts, besides old moreen

curtains. On this tray, for instance, there was not only a

fine napkin of damask; there was a delicate cup and saucer of

fine china, which Daisy thought very beautiful. It was as thin

and fine as any cup at Melbourne House, and had a dainty vine

of leaves and flowers running round it, in a light red brown

colour. The plate was not to match; it was a common little

white plate; but that did not matter. The tea was in the

little brown cup, and Daisy's lips closed upon it with entire

satisfaction. Juanita had some excellent tea too; and if she

had not, there was a sufficient supply sent from Melbourne; as

well as of everything else. So today there was not only the

brown toast in strips, which Daisy fancied; but there were

great red Antwerp raspberries for her; and that made, Daisy

thought, the very best breakfast that could be eaten. She was

very bright this morning.

"Juanita," she said, "I have found something for Dr. Sandford

already."

"What does Miss Daisy mean?"

"Don't you know? Didn't you hear him yesterday? He gave me

something to do. He said he would tell me about anything

wonderful I could see in the course of the day; and I have

found something already."

"Seems to me as all the Lord has made is wonderful," said the

black woman. "Does Miss Daisy think Dr. Sandford can tell her

all about it?"

"Why, I suppose he knows a great deal, Juanita."

"If he knowed one thing more," — said the black woman. "Here

he is, Miss Daisy. He's early."

Certainly he was; but Dr. Sandford had a long ride to take

that morning, and could only see Daisy then on his way. In

silence he attended to her, and with no delay; smiled at her;

put the tips of his fingers to her raspberry dish, and took

out one for his own lips; then went quick away. Daisy smiled

curiously. She was very much amused at him. She did not ask

Juanita what she meant by the "one thing more." Daisy knew

quite well; or thought she did.

All that day she was in an amused state, watching to see

wonderful things. Her father's and mother's visits came as

usual. Preston came and brought her some books. Hephzibah

came, too, and had a bit of a lesson. But Hephzibah's wits

were like her hair, straying all manner of ways. It was very

difficult to make her understand the difference between a, b,

ab, — and b, a, ba; and that was discouraging. Daisy toiled

with her till she was tired; and then was glad to lie still

and rest? without even thinking of wonderful things, till

Juanita brought her her dinner.

As the doctor had been early, so he was late to-day. It was

near sunset when he came, and Daisy was a little disappointed,

fancying that he was tired. He said nothing at first; attended

to Daisy's foot in the profoundest gravity; but in the midst

of it, without looking up, he asked, "What wonderful things

have you seen to-day?"

"I am afraid you are tired, Dr. Sandford," said Daisy, very

gently.

"What then?"

"Then it might tire you more to talk to me."

"You have seen something wonderful, have you?" said he doctor,

glancing at her.

"Two or three things, sir."

"One at a time," said the doctor. "I am tired. I have ridden

nearly seventy miles to-day, one way and another. Have you got

a cup of milk for me, Mrs. Benoit?"

Daisy eagerly beckoned Juanita, and whispered to her, and the

result was that with the cup of milk came a plate of the

magnificent raspberries. The doctor opened his grave eyes at

Daisy, and stood at the foot of her couch, picking up

raspberries with his finger and thumb, as he had taken that

one in the morning.

"Now what are the wonderful things?" said he.

"You are too tired to-night, Dr. Sandford."

"Let us have number one. Promises must be kept, Daisy.

Business is business. Have you got such hard work for me? What

was the first thing?"

"The first wonderful thing that I saw — or at least that I

thought of —" said Daisy, "was the sun."

The doctor eat half a dozen raspberries without speaking,

giving an odd little smile first in one corner of his mouth,

and then in the other.

"Do you expect me to tell you about that?" said he.

"You said business was business," Daisy replied, with equal

gravity to his own.

"I am glad the idea of the universe did not occur to you,"

said the doctor. "That might have been rather inconvenient for

one evening's handling. What would you like me to tell you

about the sun?"

"I do not know anything at all about it," said Daisy. "I would

like to know everything you can tell me."

"The thought that first comes to me," said the doctor, "is,

that it ripened these raspberries."

"I know _that_," said Daisy. "But I want to know what it is."

"The sun! Well," said the doctor, "it is a dark, round thing,

something like this earth, only considerably bigger."

"_Dark!_" said Daisy. "Certainly. I have no reason to believe it

anything else."

"But you are laughing at me, Dr. Sandford," said Daisy,

feeling very much disappointed and a little aggrieved.

"Am I? No, Daisy — if you had ridden seventy miles to-day, you

might be tempted, but you would not feel like laughing.

Business is business, I must remind you again."

"But you do not mean that the sun is dark?" said Daisy.

"I mean precisely what I say, I assure you."

"But it is so bright we cannot look at it," said Daisy.

"Something is so bright you cannot look at it. The something

is not the body of the sun."

"Then it is the light that comes from it."

"No light comes from it, that I know. I told you, the sun is a

dark body."

"Not laughing?"

"No," said Dr. Sandford, though he did laugh now; "the sun,

you see, is a more wonderful thing than you imagined."

"But sir, may I ask any question I have a mind to ask?"

"Certainly! All in the course of business."

"How do you know that it is dark, sir?"

"Perfectly fair. Suppose that Mrs. Benoit stood behind your

curtain there, and that you had never seen her; how could you

know that she has a dark skin?"

"Why, I could not."

"Yes, you could — if there were rents in the curtain."

"But what are you talking of, sir?"

"Only telling you, in answer to your question, how I know the

sun to be a dark body."

"But there is no curtain over the sun."

"That proves you are no philosopher, Daisy. If you were a

philosopher, you would not be so certain of anything. There is

a curtain over the sun; and there are rents or holes in the

curtain sometimes, — so large that we can see the dark body of

the sun through them."

"What is the curtain? Is _that_ the light?"

"Now you are coming pretty near it, Daisy," said the doctor.

"The curtain, as I call it, is not light, but it is what the

light comes from."

"Then what _is_ it, Dr. Sandford?"

"That has puzzled people wiser than you and I, Daisy. However,

I think I may venture to say, that it is something like an

ocean of flame, surrounding the dark body of the sun."

"And there are holes in it?"

"Sometimes."

"But they must be very large holes to be seen from this

distance?"

"Very," said the doctor. "A great many times bigger than our

whole earth."

"Then how do you know but they are dark islands in the ocean?"

"For several reasons," said the doctor, looking gravely funny;

"one of which reasons is, that we can see the deep ragged

edges of the holes, and that these edges join together again."

"But there could not be holes in _our_ ocean?" said Daisy.

Dr. Sandford gave a good long grave look at her, set aside his

empty plate which had held raspberries, and took a chair. He

talked to her now with serious, quiet earnest, as if she had

been a much older person.

"Our ocean, Daisy, you will remember, is an ocean of fluid

matter. The ocean of flame which surrounds the sun is gaseous

matter — or a sort of ocean of air, in a state of

incandescence. This does not touch the sun, but floats round

it, upon or above another atmosphere of another kind — like

the way in which our clouds float in the air over our heads.

You know how breaks come and go in the clouds; so you can

imagine that this luminous covering of the sun parts in

places, and shows the sun through, and then closes up again."

"Is that the way it is?" said Daisy.

"Even so."

"Dr. Sandford, you said a word just now I did not understand."

"Only one?" said the doctor.

"I think there was only one I did not know in the least."

"Can you direct me to it?"

"You said something about an ocean of air in a state — what

state?"

"Incandescence?"

"That was it."

"That is a state where it gives out white heat."

"I thought everything at the sun must be on fire," said Daisy,

looking meditatively at the doctor.

"You see you were mistaken. It has only a covering of clouds

of fire — so to speak."

"But it must be very hot there."

"It is pretty hot _here_," said the doctor, shrugging his

shoulders, — "ninety five millions of miles away; so I do not

see that we can avoid your conclusion."

"How much is ninety five millions?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Dr. Sandford, gravely. "After I

have gone as far as a million or so, I get tired."

"But I do not know much about arithmetic," said Daisy, humbly.

"Mamma has not wanted me to study. I don't know how much one

million is."

"Arithmetic does not help one on a journey, Miss Daisy," said

the doctor, pleasantly. "Counting the miles did not comfort me

to-day. But I can tell you this. If you and I were to set off

on a railway train, straight for the sun, and go at the rate

of thirty-two miles an hour, — you know that is pretty fast

travelling?"

"How fast do we go on the cars from here to New York?"

"Thirty miles an hour."

"Now I know," said Daisy.

"If we were to set off and go straight to the sun at that rate

of speed, keeping it up night and day, it would take us — how

long do you guess? It would take us three hundred years and

more; — nearly three hundred and fifty years, — to get there."

"I cannot imagine travelling so long," said Daisy, gravely. At

which Dr. Sandford laughed; the first time Daisy had ever

heard him do such a thing. It was a low, mellow laugh now; and

she rather enjoyed it.

"I should like to know what a million is," she observed.

"Ten hundred thousand."

"And how many million miles did you say the sun is?"

"Ninety-five millions of miles away."

Daisy lay thinking about it.

"Can you imagine travelling faster? And then we need not be so

long on the journey," said Dr. Sandford. "If we were to go as

fast as a cannon ball, it would take us about seven years —

not quite so much — to get to the sun."

"How fast does a cannon ball go?"

"Fifty times as fast as a railway train."

"I cannot imagine that either, Dr. Sandford."

"Give it up, Daisy," said the doctor, rising, and beginning to

put himself in order for travelling.

"Are you going?" said Daisy.

"Not till you have done with me!"

"Dr. Sandford, have you told me all there is to tell about the

sun?"

"No."

"Would it take too long this evening?"

"Considering that the sun will not stay to be talked about,

Daisy," said the doctor, glancing out of the window, "I should

say it would."

"Then I will ask only one thing more. Dr. Sandford, how can

you tell so exactly how long it would take to go to the sun?

How do you know?"

"Quite fair, Daisy," said the doctor, surveying her gravely.

"I know, by the power of a science called mathematics, which

enables one to do all sorts of impossible things. But you must

take that on my word; I cannot explain so that you would

understand it."

"Thank you, sir," said Daisy.

She wanted further to ask what sort of a science mathematics

might be; but Dr. Sandford had answered a good many questions,

and the sun was down, down, behind the trees on the other side

of the road. Daisy said no more. The doctor, seeing her

silent, smiled, and prepared himself to go.

"Shall we finish the sun to-morrow, Daisy?"

"Oh, if you please."

"Very well. Good-bye."

The doctor went, leaving Daisy in a very refreshed state; with

plenty to think of. Daisy was quite waked out of her weariness

and disappointment, and could do well enough without books for

one day longer. She took her own raspberries now with great

spirit.

"I have found two more wonderful things to talk to Dr.

Sandford about, Juanita; that is three to-day."

"Does Miss Daisy think the doctor can tell her all?"

"I don't know. He knows a great deal, Juanita."

"Seems he knows more than Job did," said Mrs. Benoit, who had

her private misgivings about the authenticity of all Dr.

Sandford's statements.

Daisy thought a little. "Juanita, Job lived a great while

ago."

"Yes, Miss Daisy."

"How much did he know about the sun? does the Bible tell?"

"It tells a little what he didn't know, Miss Daisy."

"Oh, Juanita, after I get through my tea, and when you have

had yours, won't you read me in the Bible all about Job and

the sun?"

Mrs. Benoit liked nothing better; and whatever other

amusements failed, or whatever other parties anywhere in the

land found their employments unsatisfactory, there was one

house where intent interest and unflagging pleasure went

through the whole evening; it was where Daisy and Mrs. Benoit

read "about Job and the sun." Truth to tell, as that portion

of Scripture is but small, they extended their reading

somewhat.

Daisy's first visitor the next day was her father. He came

with fresh flowers and fresh fruit, and with "Sandford and

Merton," too, in which he read to her; so the morning went

well.

"Papa," said Daisy, when he was about leaving her, "do you not

think Dr. Sandford is a very interesting man?"

"It is the general opinion of ladies, I believe, Daisy; but I

advise you not to lose your heart to him. I am afraid he is

not to be depended on."

"Oh, papa," said Daisy, a little shocked, "I do not mean that

he is a man one would get _fond_ of."

"Pray who do you think is, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph,

maintaining his gravity admirably.

"Papa, don't you think Captain Drummond is — and —"

"And who, Daisy?"

"I was thinking — Mr. Dinwiddie, papa." Daisy did not quite

know how well this last name would be relished, and she

coloured a little apprehensively.

"You are impartial in your professional tastes, I am glad to

see," said Mr. Randolph. Then, observing how innocent of

understanding him was the grave little face of Daisy, he bent

down to kiss her.

"And you are unfortunate in your favourites. — Both at a

distance! How is Gary McFarlane?"

"Papa, I think he has good nature; but I think he is rather

frivolous."

Mr. Randolph looked soberly at the little face before him, and

went away, thinking his own thoughts. But he had the cruelty

to repeat to Dr. Sandford so much of this conversation as

concerned that gentleman; in doing so he unwittingly laid the

foundation of more attention to Daisy on the doctor's part,

than he probably would ever otherwise have given her. To say

truth — the idea propounded by Daisy was so very novel to the

doctor that it both amused and piqued him.

Mr. Randolph had hardly gone out, when Hephzibah came in. And

then followed a lesson the like of which Daisy had not given

yet. Hephzibah's attention was on everything but the business

in hand. Also, she had a little less awe of Daisy lying on

Mrs. Benoit's couch in a loose gown, than when she met her in

the Belvedere at Melbourne, dressed in an elegant cambric

frock, with a resplendent sash.

"C, a, spells ca, Hephzibah. Now what is that?"

"Over your finger?"

"Yes."

"That's — C."

"C, a. And what does it spell?"

"Did the stone fall right onto your foot?"

"Yes — partly on."

"And was it broke right off?"

"No. Oh, no. Only the bone of my ankle was broken."

"It smarted some, I guess; didn't it?"

"No. Now Hephzibah, what do those two letters spell?"

"C, a, ca. That don't mean nothin'."

" Now the next. D, a —"

"What's D, a?"

"D, a, da."

"What's that?"

"Nothing; only it spells that."

"How soon'll you be up again?"

"I do not know. In a few weeks."

"Before the nuts is ripe?"

"Oh, yes, I hope so."

"Well, I'll show you where there's the biggest hickory nuts

you ever see! They're right back of Mr. Lamb's barn — only

three fields to cross — and there's three hickory trees; and

the biggest one has the biggest nuts, mother says, she ever

see. Will you go and get some?"

"But, Hephzibah, those are Mr. Lamb's nuts, aren't they?"

"I don't care."

"But," said Daisy, looking very grave, "don't you know,

Hephzibah, it is wrong to meddle with anything that belongs to

other people?"

"He hain't no right to 'em, I don't believe."

"I thought you said they were in Mr. Lamb's field?"

"So they be."

"Then they are his nuts. You would not like anybody to take

them, if they belonged to you."

"It don't make no odds," said Hephzibah, sturdily, but looking

down at the same time. "He'll get it out of us some other

way."

"Get it out of you?" said Daisy.

"Yes."

"What do you mean?"

"He gets it out of everybody," said Hephzibah. "Tain't no

odds."

"But, Hephzibah, if those trees were yours, would you like to

have Mr. Lamb come and take the nuts away?"

"No. I'd get somebody to shoot him."

Daisy hardly knew how to go along with her discourse;

Hephzibah's erratic opinions started up so fast. She looked at

her little rough pupil in absolute dismay. Hephzibah showed no

consciousness of having said anything remarkable. Very sturdy

she looked; very assured in her judgment. Daisy eyed her rough

bristling hair, with an odd kind of feeling that it would not

be more difficult to comb down into smoothness than the

unregulated thoughts of her mind. She must begin gently. But

Daisy's eyes grew most wistfully earnest.

"Would you shoot Mr. Lamb for taking away your nuts?"

"Just as lieves."

"Then, how do you think he would feel about your taking his

nuts?"

"I don't care!"

"But, Hephzibah, listen. Do you know what the Bible says? It

says, that we must do to other people just what we would like

to have them do to us in the same things."

"Then he oughtn't to have sot such a price on his meat," said

Hephzibah.

"But, then," said Daisy, "what would it be right for you to do

about his nuts?"

"I don't care," said Hephzibah. " 'Tain't no odds. I'm a going

to get 'em. I guess it's time for me to go home."

"But, Hephzibah, — you have not done your lesson yet. I want

you to learn all this row to-day. The next is, f, a, fa."

"That don't mean nothin'," said Hephzibah.

"But you want to learn it, before you can go on to what does

mean something."

"I don't guess I do," said Hephzibah.

"Don't you want to learn to read?"

"Yes, but that ain't reading'."

"But you cannot learn to read without it," said Daisy.

Under this urging, Hephzibah did consent to go down the column

of two-letter syllables.

"Ain't you going with me after them nuts?" she said, as soon

as the bottom of the page was reached. "I'll show you a

rabbit's nest. La! it's so pretty!"

"I hope you will not take the nuts, Hephzibah, without Mr.

Lamb's leave."

"I ain't going to ask his leave," said Hephzibah. "He

wouldn't give it to me, besides. It's fun, I tell you."

"It is wrong," said Daisy. "I don't think there's any fun in

doing what's wrong."

"It is fun, though, I tell you," said Hephzibah. "It's real

sport. The nuts come down like rain; and we get whole baskets

full. And then, when you crack 'em, I tell you, they are

sweet."

"Hephzibah, do you know what the Bible says?"

"I don't want to learn no more to-day," said the child. "I'm

going. Good bye, Daisy."

She stayed no further instruction of any kind; but caught up

her calico sun-bonnet, and went off at a jump, calling out

"Good bye, Daisy!" when she had got some yards from the house.

Daisy lay still, looking very thoughtful.

"The child has just tired you, my love!" said the black woman.

"What shall I do, Juanita? She doesn't understand."

"My love knows who opened the eyes of the blind," said

Juanita.

Daisy sighed. Certainly teaching seemed to take very small

hold on her rough little pupil. These thoughts were suddenly

banished by the entrance of Mrs. Randolph.

The lady was alone this time. How like herself she looked,

handsome and stately, in characteristic elegance of attire and

manner both. Her white morning dress floated off in soft edges

of lace from her white arms; a shawl of precious texture was

gathered loosely about them; on her head, a gossamer web of

some fancy manufacture fell off on either side, a mock

covering for it. She came up to Daisy and kissed her, and then

examined into her various arrangements, to see that she was in

all respects well and properly cared for.

Her mother's presence made Daisy feel very meek. Her kiss had

been affectionate, her care was motherly; but with all that

there was not a turn of her hand nor a tone of her calm voice,

that did not imply and express absolute possession, perfect

control. That Daisy was a little piece of property belonging

to her in sole right, with which she did and would do

precisely what it might please her, with very little concern

how or whether it might please Daisy. Daisy was very far from

putting all this in words, or even in distinct thoughts;

nevertheless, she felt and knew every bit of it; her mother's

hand did not touch Daisy's foot or her shoulder, without her

inward consciousness what a powerful hand it was. Now it is

true that all this was in one way no new thing; Daisy had

always known her mother's authority to be just what it was

now; but it was only of late that a question had arisen about

the bearing of this authority upon her own little life and

interests. With the struggle that had been, and the new

knowledge that more struggles in the future were not

impossible, the consciousness of her mother's power over her

had a new effect. Mrs. Randolph sat down and took out her

tetting-work; but she only did a few stitches.

"What child was that I met running from the house as I came

up?" she asked, a little to Daisy's discomfiture.

"It was a little girl who belongs in the village, mamma."

"How comes she to know you?"

"It happened by accident partly, in the first place."

"What accident?"

"Mamma, I will tell you another time, if you will let me." For

Daisy knew that Juanita was not far off.

But Mrs. Randolph only said, "Tell me now."

"Mamma — it was partly an accident," Daisy repeated. "I found

out by accident that they were very poor — and I carried them

something to eat."

"Whom do you mean by 'them'?"

"That little girl and her mother — Mrs. Harbonner."

"When did you do this?"

"About the time of my birthday."

"And you have kept up the acquaintance since that time?"

"I carried the woman work once, mamma. I had papa's leave to

go."

"Did you ask mine?"

"No, mamma. It was papa who had forbidden me to go into any

house without leave; so I asked him to let me tell her about

the work."

"What was — this child here for, to-day?"

"Mamma — she is a poor child, and could not go to school; and

— I was trying to teach her something."

"What were you trying to teach her?"

"To read, mamma — and to do right."

"Have you ever done this before."

"Yes, mamma — a few times."

"Can it be that you have a taste for low society, Daisy?"

Mrs. Randolph had been asking questions calmly while going on

with her tetting-work: at this one she raised her eyes and

bent them full, with steady, cold inquiry, on Daisy's face.

Daisy looked a little troubled.

"No, mamma — I do not think I have."

"Is not this child very rude and ill-mannered?"

"Yes, ma'am, but —"

"Is she even a clean child?"

"Not _very_, mamma."

"You are changed, Daisy," said Mrs. Randolph, with a slight

but keen expression of disdain. The child felt it, yet felt it

not at all to the moving of her steadfastness.

"Mamma — it was only that I might teach her. She knows nothing

at all, almost."

"And does Daisy Randolph think such a child is a fit companion

for her?"

"Not a _companion_, mamma."

"What business have you with a child who is not a fit

companion for you?"

"Only, mamma, to try to be of some benefit to her."

"I shall be of some benefit to you, now. Since I cannot trust

you, Daisy — since your own delicacy and feeling of what is

right does not guide you in such matters, I shall lay my

commands on you for the future. You are to have nothing to do

with any person, younger or older, without finding out what my

pleasure is about it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, mamma."

"You are to give no more lessons to children who are not fit

companions for you. You are not to have anything to do with

this child in particular. Daisy, understand me — I forbid you

to speak to her again."

"Oh, mamma —"

"Not a word," said Mrs. Randolph.

"But, mamma, please! just this. May I not tell her once, that

I cannot teach her? She will think me so strange!"

Mrs. Randolph was silent.

"Might I not, just that once, mamma?"

"No."

"She will not know what to think of me," said Daisy; her lip

trembling, her eye reddening, and only able by the greatest

self-control to keep from bursting into tears.

"That is your punishment" — replied Mrs. Randolph, in a

satisfied, quiet sort of way.

Daisy felt crushed. She could hardly think.

"I am going to take you in hand, and bring you into order,"

said Mrs. Randolph, with a smile, bending over to kiss Daisy,

and looking at her lips and eyes in a way Daisy wished she

would not. The meek little face certainly promised small

difficulty in her way, and Mrs. Randolph kissed the trembling

mouth again.

"I do not think we shall quarrel," she remarked. "But if we

do, Daisy, I shall know how to bear my part of it."

She turned carelessly to her tetting again, and Daisy lay

still; quiet and self-controlled, it was all she could do. She

could hardly bear to watch her mother at her work; — the

thought of "quarrels" between them was so inevitable and so

dreadful. She could hardly bear to look out of her window; the

sunshine and bright things out there seemed to remind her of

her troubles; for they did not look bright now, as they had

done in the early morning. She lay still and kept still; that

was all; while Mrs. Randolph kept at her work, amusing herself

with it an uncommonly long time. At last she was tired; threw

her shawl round her shoulders again, and stood up to go.

"I think we can soon have you home, Daisy," she said, as she

stooped to kiss her. "Ask Dr. Sandford when he comes, how

soon it will do now to move you; ask him tonight; will you?"

Daisy said, "Yes, mamma," and Mrs. Randolph went.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE DOCTOR.

The day was a heavy one to Daisy and Juanita after that. The

little cottage was very silent. Daisy lay still, saying

nothing, and generally keeping her face turned towards the

window so that her friend could not see it; and when Mrs.

Benoit proposed, as she several times did, to read to Daisy or

sing to her, she was always answered by a gentle, "No,

Juanita," which was as decided as it was gentle. The last

time, indeed, Daisy had yielded, and given assent to the

proposition; but Mrs. Benoit did not feel sure that she gave

anything else; either attention or approbation. Daisy's dinner

she had prepared with particular care; but it was not enjoyed;

Mrs. Benoit knew that. She sighed to herself, and then sang to

herself, in a softly kind of way; Daisy gave no heed, and only

lay still with her face turned to the window.

By and by, late in the afternoon, the doctor came in. He was

not a favourite of Mrs. Benoit, but she was glad to see him

now. She withdrew a little out of the way and watched to see

what he would say.

The doctor's first care as usual was the foot. That was going

on well. Having attended to that, he looked at Daisy's face.

It did not seem to him satisfactory, Mrs. Benoit saw; for his

next move was to the head of the couch, and he felt Daisy's

hand, while his eyes studied her.

"How do you do to-day?"

"I am getting better," said Daisy.

"Are you? Your voice sounds weak to-night."

"I do not suppose I am very strong."

"How many wonderful things have you found to-day?"

"I have not thought about them — I have not found any."

Doctor Sandford bent a little over Daisy's couch, holding her

hand still, and examining her.

"What is the matter, Daisy?" said he.

Daisy fidgeted. The doctor's fine blue eyes were too close to

her and too steady to be escaped from. Daisy turned her own

eyes uneasily away, then brought them back; she could not help

it. He was waiting for her to speak.

"Dr. Sandford," she said, humbly, "won't you please excuse

me?"

"Excuse you what, Daisy?"

"From telling you what you want to know."

"Pray, why should I?"

"It is something that is quite private to myself."

If the doctor's lips remained perfectly still for some

moments, it was because they had a private inclination to

smile, in which he would not indulge them. Daisy saw nothing

but the most moveless gravity.

"Private from all but your physician, Daisy," he said at last.

"Do not you know he is an exception to general rules?"

"Is he?" said Daisy.

"Certainly. I always become acquainted with people's private

affairs."

"But I do not want that you should be acquainted with mine."

"No matter. You are under my care," said the doctor. Then

after a minute, he added, in a lower tone, "What have you been

shedding tears about to-day?"

Daisy's face looked intensely grave; wise and old beyond her

days, though the mouth was also sweet. So she faced the

doctor, and answered him with the sedateness of fifty years —

"I can't very well tell you, Dr. Sandford."

"You have been shedding tears to-day?"

"Yes, sir —" said Daisy, softly.

"A good many of them? You have been lying here with your face

to the window, crying quietly, a good part of the afternoon —

have you not?"

"Yes, sir," said Daisy, wondering at him.

"Now, I am your physician, and must know what was the matter."

"It is something I cannot tell about, Dr. Sandford."

"Yes, Daisy, you are mistaken. Whatever concerns you, concerns

me; if it is the concern of nobody else. Were you tired of

lying here so long, day after day?"

"Oh, no, sir! I don't mind that at all. I mean — I don't mind

it at all, much."

"You do not?" said the doctor. "Have you lost a pet kitten, or

a beloved lap-dog?"

"I haven't any, either a kitten or a dog," said Daisy.

"Has that young cavalier, Preston Gary, neglected you?"

"He would not do that," said Daisy; "but he is very fond of

shooting."

"He is!" said Dr. Sandford. "Most boys are. You have not felt

lonely, then, Daisy?"

"Oh, no, sir."

"I believe I should, in your place. What is the matter, then?

I ask as your friend and physician; and you must tell me,

Daisy. Who has been to see you to-day?"

"Papa —he came and read to me. Then a little girl — and

mamma."

"Did the little girl trouble you?"

"Not much —" said Daisy, hesitatingly.

"In what way?"

"She only would not learn to read as fast as I wanted."

"You were the teacher?"

"Yes, sir — I was trying — I wanted to teach her."

"And has her obduracy or stupidity caused all this sorrow and

annoyance?"

"Oh, no, sir —" But Daisy's eyes filled.

"Then has Mrs. Randolph been the trouble-maker?"

Now Daisy flushed, her lip worked tremblingly; she turned her

little head to one side, and laid her hand over her brow, to

baffle those steady blue eyes of the doctor's. But the doctor

left the side of the couch, and took a step or two towards

where Juanita was sitting.

"Mrs. Benoit," said he, "has this little patient of yours had

her tea?"

"No, sir. His honour knows, it's early yet in the afternoon."

"Not so very. Do you mean she took enough for dinner to last

her till to-morrow?"

"No, sir; her dinner was little better than nothing."

"Then make a cup, in your best style, Mrs. Benoit — and

perhaps you will give me one. And have you got any more of

those big raspberries for her? bring them, and a bit of

toast."

While Juanita was gone on this business, which took a little

time, the doctor slowly paced back and forth through the small

cottage room, with his hands behind him, and a thoughtful

face. Daisy fancied he was considering her affair; but she was

very much mistaken; Dr. Sandford had utterly forgotten her for

the moment, and was pondering some difficult professional

business. When Juanita appeared with her tea tray, he came out

of his abstraction; and, though still with a very unrelaxed

face, he arranged Daisy's pillows so that she might be raised

up a little, and feel more comfortable. His hands were strong

and skilful, and kind too; there was a sort of pleasure in

having them manage her; but Daisy looked on with a little

wonder to see him take the charge of being her servitor in

what came afterwards. He made her a cup of tea; let her taste

it from his hands; and gave the plate of raspberries into her

own.

"Is it good?" he asked her.

"Very good!" Daisy said, with so gentle and reverential a look

at him, that the doctor smiled. He said nothing, however, at

present, but to take care that she had her supper; and looked

meanwhile to see the colour of Daisy's cheeks change a little,

and the worn, wearied lines of her face take a more natural

form. His own ministrations were more effectual than the

eating and drinking; it was so very odd to have Dr. Sandford

waiting upon her that Daisy was diverted, and could not help

it.

"Will you take some tea too, Dr. Sandford?" she said, in the

midst of this. "Won't you take it now, while it is hot?"

"I take my tea cold, Daisy, thank you. I'll have it

presently."

So he poured out his own cup, and left it to cool, while he

attended to Daisy; and when she would have no more, he took

the cup from the tray, and sent Mrs. Benoit off with the rest

of the things.

"Now, Daisy," said he, as he took away her bolstering pillows,

and laid her nicely down again, "now, Daisy, I am your

confidential friend and physician, and I want to know what

command Mrs. Randolph has given to trouble you. It is my

business to know, and you must tell me."

He was so cool about it, and so determined, that Daisy was

staggered. He stood holding her hand, and waiting for her

answer.

"Mamma —"

Daisy came to a great stop. The doctor waited.

"It was about the little girl."

"Very well. Go on, Daisy." He took up his cup of tea now and

began to sip it.

Poor Daisy! She had never been more bewildered in her life.

"What about the little girl?"

"Mamma — doesn't want me to teach her."

"Is it so favourite an amusement?"

"No, sir —" said Daisy, hesitatingly.

"Was that all the trouble?"

"No, sir."

The doctor sipped his cup of tea, and looked at Daisy. He did

not say anything more; yet his eyes so steadily waited for

what further she had to say, that Daisy fidgeted; like a

fascinated creature, obliged to do what it would not. She

could not help looking into Dr. Sandford's face, and she could

not withstand what she saw there.

"Dr. Sandford," she began in her old-fashioned way, "you are

asking me what is private between my mother and me."

"Nothing is private from your physician, Daisy. I am not Dr.

Sandford; I am your physician."

"But you are Dr. Sandford to mamma."

"The business is entirely between you and me."

Daisy hesitated a little longer, but the power of fascination

upon her was irresistible.

"I was sorry not to teach the little girl," she said at

length; "but I was particularly troubled because — because —"

"Mrs. Randolph was displeased with your system of

benevolence?"

"No — not that. Yes, I was troubled about that too. But what

troubled me most was — that mamma would not let me speak to

her, to tell her why I must not teach her. I must not say

anything to her again, at all."

Dr. Sandford's eyes, looking, saw that Daisy had indeed spoken

out her trouble now. Such a cloud of sorrow came over her

brow; such witnessing redness about her eyelids, though Daisy

let the witness of tears get no further.

"What do you suppose was your mother's purpose in making that

last regulation?" he went on, in a cool, business tone.

"I don't know — I suppose to punish me," — Daisy said,

faintly.

"Punish you for what?"

"Mamma did not like me to teach that little girl — and I had

done it, I mean I had begun to do it, without asking her."

"Was it a great pleasure?" said the doctor.

"It would have been a great pleasure if I could have taught

her to read," Daisy said, with her face brightening at the

idea.

"I presume it would. Well, Daisy, now you and I will arrange

this affair. I do not consider it wholesome for you to engage

in this particular amusement at this particular time; so I

shall endorse Mrs. Randolph's prohibition; but I will go round

— where does this girl live, and who is she?"

"Her name is Hephzibah Harbonner; she lives in the village, on

the road where the Episcopal church is — you know; — a little

way further on. I guess it's a quarter of a mile."

"South, eh? Well, I will go round by her house, and tell the

girl that I cannot let you do any such kindnesses just now,

and that, till I give her leave, she must not come to see you.

How will that do, Daisy."

"Thank you, Dr. Sandford!"

He saw it was very earnestly spoken, and that Daisy's brow

looked clearer.

"And instead of that amusement, you must study wonderful

things to-morrow. Will you?"

"Oh, yes, Dr. Sandford! But we have not finished about the sun

yet."

"No. Well — to-morrow, then, Daisy."

"Thank you, sir. Dr. Sandford, mamma wanted me to ask you a

question before you go."

"Ask it."

"How soon I can be moved home?''

"Are you in a great hurry?"

"No, sir, but I think mamma is."

"You call bear to wait a little longer, and study wonderful

things from your window?"

"Oh, yes, sir! I think I can do it better here than at home,

because my bed is so close to the window, I can look right

out."

"I shall not let you be moved just yet, Daisy. Good-night. I

will see — what's her name?"

"Harbonner — Hephzibah Harbonner."

"Good-night."

And Daisy watched the doctor as he went down the path, mounted

his horse, and rode away, with great admiration; thinking how

handsome and how clever and how chivalric he was. Daisy did

not use that word in thinking of him; nevertheless, his

skilful nursing, and his taking up her cause so effectually,

had made a great impression upon her. She was greatly

comforted. Juanita, watching her face, saw that it looked so;

there was even a dawning smile upon Daisy's lips at one time.

It faded however into a deep gravity; and one or two long

drawn breaths told of heavy thoughts.

"What troubles has my love?" said the old woman.

Daisy turned her head quick round from the window, and smiled

a very sweet smile in her face.

"I was thinking, Juanita."

"My little lady has a cloud come over her again."

"Yes, Juanita, I think I have. Oh, Juanita, I might tell you!

What shall I do, when everybody wants me to do what — what I

don't think is right? What shall I do, Juanita? I don't know

what I shall do."

"Suppose Miss Daisy take the Bible to her pa' — Miss Daisy

knows what her pa' promised."

"So he did, Juanita! thank you; I had forgotten that."

In five minutes more, Daisy was fast asleep. The black woman

stood looking at her. There was no cloud on the little face

now, but the signs of the day's work were there. Pale cheeks,

and weary features, and the tokens of past tears. Juanita

stood and looked, and twinkled away one or two from her own

eye-lashes; and then knelt down at the head of the bed, and

began a whispered prayer. — A prayer for the little child

before her, in which her heart poured itself out, that she

might be kept from evil, and might walk in the straight path,

and never be tempted or driven from it. Juanita's voice grew

louder than a whisper in her earnestness; but Daisy slept on.

CHAPTER XX.

SUN AND MOON.

The next day was an exceedingly hot and sultry one. Daisy had

no visitors until quite late in the afternoon; however it was

a peaceful day. She lay quiet and happy, and Juanita was quite

as well contented that the house should be empty, and they two

alone. Late in the afternoon, Preston came.

"Well, my dear little Daisy! so you are coming home?"

"Arm I?" said Daisy.

"To be sure; and your foot is going to get well, and we are

going to have all sorts of grand doings for you."

"My foot is getting well."

"Certainly. Don't be a Quaker, Daisy."

"What sort of doings are you going to have, Preston?"

"First thing — as soon as you are well enough for it — we are

going to have a grand pic-nic party to Silver Lake."

"Silver Lake? what, on the other side of the river?"

"Yes."

"Oh, how delightful! But I shall not be able to go in a long

time, Preston."

"Yes, you will. Aunt Felicia says you are coming back to

Melbourne now; and once we get you there, we'll cure you up.

Why, you must have moped half your wits away by this time. I

don't expect to find more than two-thirds of the original

Daisy left."

"I haven't moped at all."

"There! that is proof the first. When people are moping, and

do not know they are moping, that is the sign their wits are

departing. Poor Daisy! I don't wonder. We'll get you to rights

at Melbourne."

"Doctor Sandford will not let me be moved."

"Doctor Sandford cannot help himself. When aunt Felicia says

so, he will find ways and means."

"Preston," said Daisy, "I do not think you understand what

sort of a man Dr. Sandford is."

"Pray enlighten me, Daisy. I thought I did."

But Daisy was silent.

"What sort of a man is he?"

"Preston," said Daisy, abruptly, "I wish you would bring me

from Melbourne that tray filled with something, — plaster, — I

don't know what it is, — on which Captain Drummond and I

studied geography, and history."

"Geography and history on a tray!" said Preston. "That would

be one's hands full to carry!"

"Well, but it was," said Daisy. "The tray was smooth filled

with something, something a little soft, on which you could

mark; and Captain Drummond drew the map of England on it; and

we were just getting into the battle — what battle was it? —

when William came over from France, and King Harold met him?"

"Hastings?"

"We were just come to the battle of Hastings, before Captain

Drummond went away; and I should like so much to go on with

it!"

"But was the battle of Hastings on the tray?"

"No, Preston, but the place was; and Captain Drummond told me

about the battles."

"Who is here to tell you about them now, Daisy?"

"Couldn't you? — sometimes, now and then?"

"I might; but you see, Daisy, you are coming to Melbourne now,

and there will be Silver Lake, and lots of other things to do.

You won't want the tray here."

Daisy looked a little wistfully at her cousin. She said

nothing. And Preston turned sharply, for he heard a soft

rustle coming up the path, and was just in time to spring to

the door and open it for his aunt.

"How insufferably hot!" was Mrs. Randolph's remark. "How do

you do, Daisy?"

"I think she is bewitched to stay in banishment, aunt Felicia;

she will have it she is not coming home."

Mrs. Randolph's answer was given to the doctor, who entered at

the instant behind Preston.

"How soon can Daisy be moved, doctor?"

The doctor took a leisurely view of his little patient before

he replied. "Not at present."

"How soon —"

"If I think her fit for it, in a fortnight; possibly earlier."

"But that is, not till September!"

"I am afraid you are correct," said the doctor, coolly.

Mrs. Randolph stood pondering the question, how far it was

needful to own his authority. "It is dreadfully hot here, in

this little place! She would be much better if she were out of

it."

"How have you found it at Melbourne to-day?"

"Insufferable!"

"How has it been with you, Daisy?"

"It has been a nice day, Dr. Sandford."

The contrast was so extreme between the mental atmosphere of

one speaker and of the other, that Dr. Sandford smiled. It was

ninety degrees of Fahrenheit — and the fall of the dew.

"I have heard nobody say as much for the day before," he

remarked.

"But she would be much better at Melbourne."

"As soon as I think that, she shall go."

The doctor was absolute in his sphere, and Mr. Randolph,

moreover, she knew, would back him; so Mrs. Randolph held her

peace, though displeased. Nay, she entered into a little

conversation with the doctor on other subjects, as lively as

the day would admit, before she de parted. Preston stayed

behind, partly to improve his knowledge of Dr. Sandford.

"All has gone well to-day, Daisy?" he asked her, pleasantly.

"Oh, yes. And Dr. Sandford, shall we finish the sun?"

"By all means. What more shall I tell you?"

"How much more do you know, sir?"

"I know that it is globe — shaped — I know how big it is — I

know how heavy it is; and I know that it turns round and round

continually."

"Oh, sir, do you know all these things?"

"Yes."

"Please, Dr. Sandford, how can you?"

"You would mature into a philosopher, in time, Daisy."

"I hope not," muttered Preston.

"I know that it is globe-shaped, Daisy, because it turns round

and lets me see all sides of it."

"Is one side different from another."

"Only so far, as that there are spots here and there," Dr.

Sandford went on, looking at the exceeding eagerness in

Daisy's eyes. "The spots appear at one edge — pass over to the

other edge, and go out of sight. After a certain time I see

them come back again where I saw them first."

"Oh, I should like to see the spots on the sun!" said Daisy.

"You said they were holes in the curtain, sir?"

"Yes."

"What curtain?" said Preston.

"You are not a philosopher," said the doctor.

"How long does it take them, — the spots, — Dr. Sandford, to

go round and come back again?"

"A little more than twenty-five days."

"How very curious!" said Daisy. "I wonder what it turns round

for — the sun, I mean?"

"You have got too deep there," said the doctor. "I cannot tell

you."

"But there must be some reason," said Daisy; "or it would

stand still."

"It is in the nature of the thing, I suppose," said Dr.

Sandford; "but we do not fully know its nature yet. — Only

what I am telling you."

"How came people to find these things out?"

"By watching — and experimenting — and calculating."

"Then, how big is the sun, Dr. Sandford?"

"How big does it look?"

"Not very large — I don't know — I can't think of anything it

looks like."

"It looks just about as big as the moon does."

"Is it just the same size as the moon? But Dr. Sandford, it is

a great deal further off, isn't it?"

"Four hundred times as far."

"Then, it must be four hundred times as large, I should

think."

"It is just about that."

"But I do not know how large that would be. I cannot think."

"Nor can I, Daisy. But I can help you. Suppose we, and our

earth, were in the centre of the sun; and our moon going round

us at the same distance from us that she is now; there would

be room enough for the whole concern, as far as distances are

concerned."

"In the sun, Dr. Sandford?"

"In the sun."

"And the moon as far off as she is now?"

"Yes."

"But the _moon_ would not be in the sun too?"

"Plenty of room, and to spare."

Daisy was silent now. Preston looked from her face to the

doctor's.

"Not only that, Daisy; but the moon then would be two hundred

thousand miles within the circumference of the sun; the sun's

surface would be two hundred thousand miles beyond her."

"Thank you, Dr. Sandford!"

"What for, Daisy?"

"I am so glad to know all that."

"Why?"

Daisy did not answer. She did not feel ready to tell her whole

thought, — not to both her friends together, at least; and she

did not know how to frame her reply. But then, perceiving that

Dr. Sandford was looking for an answer, and that she was

guilty of the rudeness of withholding it, she blushed and

spoke.

"It makes me understand some things better."

"What, for instance?" said the doctor, looking as grave as

ever, though Preston was inclined to laugh.

Daisy saw it; nevertheless she answered, "The first chapter of

Genesis."

"Oh, you are there, are you?" said the doctor. "What light

have I thrown upon the passage, Daisy? It has not appeared to

myself."

Now Daisy hesitated. A sure though childish instinct told her

that her thoughts and feelings on this subject would meet with

no sympathy. She did not like to speak them.

"Daisy has peculiar views, Dr. Sandford," said Preston.

But the doctor paid him no attention. He looked at Daisy,

lifted her up, and arranged her pillows; then as he laid her

back said,

"Give me my explanation of that chapter, Daisy."

"It isn't an explanation, sir; — I did not know there was

anything to explain."

"The light I have thrown on it then — out of the sun."

Preston was amused, Daisy saw; she could not tell whether the

doctor was; his blue eyes gave no sign, except of a will to

hear what she had to say. Daisy hesitated, and hesitated, and

then, with something very like the old diplomacy she had

partly learned and partly inherited from her mother, she said,

"If you will read the chapter, I will tell you."

Now Daisy did not think Dr. Sandford would care to read the

chapter, or perhaps have the time for it; but, with an unmoved

face, he swung himself round on his chair, and called on Mrs.

Benoit for a Bible. Preston was in a state of delight, and

Mrs. Benoit of wonder. The Bible was brought, Dr. Sandford

took it, and opened it.

"We have only time for a short lecture to-day," he remarked,

"for I must be off. Now, Daisy, I will read, and you shall

comment."

Daisy felt worried. She turned uneasily, and rested her face

on her hand, and so lay, looking at the doctor; at his

handsome calm features and glittering blue eyes. What could

_she_ say to him? The doctor's eye saw a grave sweet little

face, a good deal flushed, very grave, with a whole burden of

thought behind its unruffled simplicity. It may be said, that

his curiosity was as great as Daisy's unwillingness. He began,

facing her as he read. Juanita stood by, somewhat anxious.

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth."

The doctor stopped, and looked down at that face of Daisy

looking up at him. He waited.

"I did not use to think how much all that meant," said Daisy,

humbly.

The doctor went on. He went on with the grand, majestic words

of the story, — which sounded very strange to Daisy from his

lips, but — very grand; — till he came to the fourteenth

verse. " 'And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of

the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be

for signs, and for seasons, and for days and years: and let

them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven, to give

light upon the earth: and it was so.' " The doctor looked at

Daisy again.

"There," said she, "that is very different now from what it

used to be — I didn't know what sort of lights those were;

it's a great deal more wonderful now. Won't you read on a

little farther?"

" 'And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the

day, and the lesser light to rule the night; He made the stars

also. And God set them in the firmament of the heaven, to give

light upon the earth, and to rule over the day, and over the

night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw

that it was good.' "

"That is what I mean," said Daisy, as the doctor paused. "I

never knew before what those 'lights' meant — I thought the

sun was — I don't know what; I didn't think much about it; but

now I never shall forget again. I know now what sort of a

light was made to rule the day; and I don't wonder —"

"Do not wonder what, Daisy?"

"I do not wonder that God said that it was good. I am so much

obliged to you for telling me about it."

"Never heard a more satisfactory application of knowledge in

my life," — the doctor remarked, with a smile, as he handed

back the Bible to Mrs. Benoit.

And then he and Preston went off; but Daisy lay long very

thoughtfully looking after them out of her window. Till the

sound of the horses' feet was far out of hearing, Daisy lay

there, looking into the evening. She did not stir till Mrs.

Benoit brought her supper.

"Isn't it wonderful, Juanita," she said, with a long-drawn

breath, "how the sun divides the light from the darkness!"

"Most things is wonderful, that the Lord makes," answered the

black woman.

"Are they?" said Daisy.

"But what makes my love sigh?" said Juanita, anxiously; for

Daisy's face had not brightened up, though she was taking her

tea.

Daisy looked at her. "Oh, Juanita!" she said, — "I am afraid

that Dr. Sandford is in the darkness!"

"Where the sun don't shine it be darkness, sure!" said

Juanita. "And he do not see the Light of the world, Miss

Daisy."

Daisy's eyes filled, filled. She liked Dr. Sandford very much.

And then, who else that she loved had never seen that Light!

Daisy pushed aside her tears, and tried to drink her tea; but

at last she gave it up. Her spoon fell into her saucer, and

she lay down, and hid her face in the pillow. The black woman

stood, with a strange grave look, and with watering eyes,

silent for a little time; holding Daisy's tray in her hands,

and waiting.

"Miss Daisy —"

"What, Juanita?"

"My love take her tea, to be strong; and then see how many she

can bring out of the darkness."

"I, Juanita?" said Daisy? rousing up.

"Maybe the Lord send His message by little hands. What

hinder?"

"But, Juanita, _I_ can't do anything?"

"Carry the Lord's message, Miss Daisy."

"Can I?"

"Why not, my love? The dear Lord, He do all. And Miss Daisy

knows, He hear the prayer of His servants."

The child looked at the black woman, with a wistful, earnest,

searching look that it was curious to see. She said nothing

more; she eyed Juanita as if she were searching into the depth

of something; then she went on with her supper. She was

thoughtful all the evening; busy with cogitations which she

did not reveal; quiet and absent-minded. Juanita guessed why;

and many a prayer went up from her own secret heart.

But from about this time Daisy began to grow well again. She

could not be moved, of course; Dr. Sandford would not permit

that; neither to be carried home, nor to change her place and

position in the cottage. But she was getting ready for it. The

latter half of August cooled off from its fierce heats, and

was pleasantly warm. Daisy took the benefit of the change. She

had rather a good time, those last weeks at Juanita's house;

and perhaps that was one reason why Dr. Sandford, seeing it,

chose to let well alone, and would not have anybody take Daisy

home. Daisy had a very good time. She had the peace of

Juanita's house; and at home she knew there would be things to

trouble her. She had books, and could read now as much as she

liked; and she was very fond of reading. Preston did not find

it expedient to bring the geography tray; on the other hand,

Mr. Randolph thought it good to come every day and spend a

piece of time with his little daughter; and became better

acquainted with her than ever he had been in his life before.

He discovered that Daisy was very fond of knowledge; that he

could please her no way better than by taking up the history

of' England and reading to her, and stopping to explain

everything by the way which Daisy did not understand.

English history was certainly an old story to Mr. Randolph;

but to discuss it with Daisy was a very new thing. He found

her eager, patient, intelligent, and wise with an odd sort of

child-wisdom which yet was not despicable for older years.

Daisy's views of the feudal system, and of the wittenagemot,

and of trial by jury, and of representative legislation, were

intensely amusing to Mr. Randolph; he said it was going back

to a primitive condition of society, to talk them over with

her; though there, I think, he was mistaken. If Daisy had read

those pages of history to herself, she would have passed over

some of these matters at least with little heed; she would not

have gone to anybody with questions. But Mr. Randolph reading

to her, it was an easy thing to ask the meaning of a word as

they passed; and that word would draw on a whole little bit of

talk. In this intercourse Mr. Randolph was exceedingly gentle,

deliberate, and kind. Daisy had nothing to fear, not even that

she might weary him; so those were hours of real enjoyment to

both parties.

Preston not very seldom came and made himself agreeable;

playing an occasional game of chess, and more often regaling

Daisy with a history of his expeditions. Other visitors Daisy

had from Melbourne, now and then; but her best friend for real

service, after her father and Juanita, was Dr. Sandford. He

took great care of his little patient's comfort and happiness;

which was a pretty thing in him, seeing that he was a young

man, busy with a very good country practice, and, furthermore,

busy with the demands made upon him as an admired pet of

society. For that was Dr. Sandford, and he knew it perfectly

well. Nevertheless his kind care of Daisy never abated.

It was of course partly his professional zeal and care that

were called for; but it could not have been those that made

him keep up his lectures to Daisy on the wonderful things she

found for him, day by day. In professional care those lectures

certainly began; but Daisy was getting well now; had nothing

more to trouble her, and showed an invariably happy as well as

wise little face. Yet Dr. Sandford used to sit down and tell

her of the things she asked about, with a sort of amused

patience — if it was no more; at any rate he was never

impatient. He talked to Daisy of the stars, which, with the

moon, were very naturally the next subjects of investigation

after the sun.

At last Daisy got him upon the subject of trilobites. It was

not difficult. Dr. Sandford was far more easy to move than

Preston — in this matter at least. He only smiled, and slid

into the story very simply; the story that Daisy was so eager

to hear. And it did not seem less worth hearing than she had

expected, nor less wonderful, nor less interesting. Daisy

thought about it a great deal, while Juanita listened and

doubted; but Daisy did not doubt. She believed the doctor told

her true. That the family to which her little fossil trilobite

belonged — the particular family — for they were generally

related, he said, to the lobster and crab, — were found in the

very oldest and deepest down rocks in which any sort of

remains of living things have been found; therefore, it is

likely they were among the earliest of earth's inhabitants.

There were a great many of them, the doctor said, and many

different species; for great numbers of them are found to this

day in those particular rocks. The rocks must have been made

at the time when the trilobites lived, and have somehow shut

them in. And the doctor thought it likely that at the time

when they lived, there was no dry land in existence, but all

covered by the sea. He would not take it upon him to be

positive; but this he could tell Daisy; there was never a

stick or a leaf to be found in those old rocks that ever lived

and grew on dry ground, though there were plenty that grew in

the sea, until in the very topmost or latest of those rocks

some few bits of fern-growth began to appear.

"But what plants live under water?" said Daisy.

"Sea weeds."

"Oh! So many of them?"

"So many, that the rocks are sometimes darkened by their

fossil remains, and in some places those remains form beds of

coal several feet thick."

"And are there a great many remains of the trilobites?"

"There are whole rocks, Daisy, that are formed almost entirely

of trilobites."

"Sea-weeds and trilobites — what a strange time!" said Daisy.

"Was that all that was living?"

"No; there were other sea creatures of the lower kind, and at

last fishes. But when the fishes became very numerous, the

trilobites died out and passed away."

That old time had a wonderful charm for Daisy; it was, as she

thought, better than a fairy tale. The doctor at last let her

into the secret that he had a trilobite too; and the next time

he came he brought it with him. He was good enough to leave it

with Daisy a whole day; and Daisy's meditations over it and

her own together were numberless and profound.

The next transition was somewhat sudden; — to a wasp or two

that had come foraging on Daisy's window-sill. But Dr.

Sandford was at home there; and so explained the wasp's work

and manner of life, with his structure and fitness for what he

had to do, that Daisy was in utter delight; though her eyes

sometimes opened upon Dr. Sandford with a grave wistful wonder

in them, that he should know all this so well, and yet never

acknowledge the hand that had given the wasp the tools and

instinct for his work, one so exactly a match for the other.

But Dr. Sandford never did. He used to notice those grave

looks of Daisy, and hold private speculation with himself what

they might mean; private amused speculation; but I think he

must have liked his little patient as well as been amused at

her, or he would hardly have kept up as he did this personal

ministering to her pleasure, which was one of the great

entertainments of Daisy's life at this period. In truth only

to see Dr. Sandford was an entertainment to Daisy. She watched

even the wave of his long locks of hair. He was a fascination

to her.

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" he would ask her every now

and then. Daisy always said, "No sir; not till you think it is

time;" and Dr. Sandford never thought it was time. No matter

what other people said, and they said a good deal; he ordered

it his own way; and Daisy was almost ready to walk when he

gave permission for her to be taken home in the carriage.

However, the permission was given at last.

"To-morrow night I shall not be here, Juanita," Daisy remarked

as she was taking her supper.

"No, Miss Daisy."

"You will be very quiet when I am gone."

It had not been a bustling house, all those weeks! But the

black woman only answered. "My love will come to see Juanita

sometimes?"

"Oh, yes. I shall come very often, Juanita — if I can. You

know when I am out with my pony, I can come very often, — I

hope."

Juanita quite well understood what was meant by the little

pauses and qualifying clauses of this statement. She passed

them over.

But Daisy shed a good many tears during Juanita's prayer that

night. I do not know if the black woman shed any; but I know

that some time afterwards, and until late in the night, she

knelt again by Daisy's bedside, while a whisper of prayer, too

soft to arouse the child's slumbers, just chimed with the

flutter and rustle of the leaves outside of the window moving

in the night breeze.

CHAPTER XXI.

TEA AT HOME.

The next day turned out so warm, that the carriage was not

brought for Daisy till late in the afternoon. Then it came,

with her father and Dr. Sandford; and Daisy was lifted in Mr.

Randolph's arms, and carefully placed on the front seat of the

carriage, which she had all to herself. Her father and the

doctor got in and sat opposite to her; and the carriage drove

away.

The parting with Juanita had been very tenderly affectionate,

and had gone very near to Daisy's heart. Not choosing to show

this more than she could help, as usual, Daisy at first lay

still on the cushions with an exceedingly old-fashioned face;

it was as demure and sedate as if the gravity of forty years

had been over it. But presently the carriage turned the corner

into the road to Melbourne; Daisy caught sight for a second of

the houses and church spires of Crum Elbow, that she had not

seen for so long. A pink flush rose over her face.

"What is it, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, who had been watching

her.

"Papa — it's so nice to see things again!"

"You had a pretty dull time of it at Mrs. Benoit's?" remarked

the doctor.

"No — Oh, no, I didn't. I did not have it dull at all."

"How did you escape that, Daisy?"

"I do not know, Dr. Sandford. There was no room for dulness."

The gentlemen smiled, but Daisy's father with a not altogether

satisfied expression. He grew satisfied, as he marked the

changes in Daisy's face. The ride was delightful to her. The

carriage was easy; she was nicely placed; and through the open

glass before her she could look oat quite uninterruptedly. It

was so pleasant, she thought, even to see the road and the

fences again. That little bit of view before Mrs. Benoit's

window she had studied over and over, till she knew it by

heart. Now every step brought something new; and the roll of

the carriage-wheels was itself enlivening. There was a reaped

grain-field; there a meadow, with cattle pasturing. Now they

passed a farm wagon going home, laden with sheaves; next came

a cottage, well known, but not seen for a long time, with its

wonted half-door open and the cottager's children playing

about. Then came patches of woodland, with the sun shining

through; and a field of flourishing Indian corn with the

sunlight all over it; then more meadows with cattle.

"Do you ride comfortably, Daisy?" her father asked, bending

over to her.

"Yes, papa. It is so nice!"

Mr. Randolph gave up care about Daisy, and the two gentlemen

fell into a conversation which did not regard her, and lasted

till the carriage stopped at the door of Melbourne House. And

there was her mother, and there were Preston and his mother

and sister, and Gary McFarlane, who had been away, and come

back again, all waiting to welcome her; besides some other

guests who were now at Melbourne.

Mr. Randolph got out of the carriage first. Dr. Sandford

followed him; but then, without giving place to anybody else,

he himself took Daisy carefully off the seat where she lay,

lifted her out in his arms, and carried her into the house.

All the others trooped around and after him, through the hall

and into the drawing-room, where the doctor laid his little

charge on the sofa and put the pillows behind her so that she

could sit up comfortably. Then he stood back and let the

others come to her. Mrs. Randolph gave her some very contented

kisses; so did Mr. Randolph. Very glad and tender his were, at

having his little daughter back there again.