"We are very much pleased to see you here, Daisy," her aunt

said.

"Poor Daisy," said Eloise.

"Glad to come back to life and the world again, Daisy." said

Preston, standing at the back of her sofa and drumming on it.

"I understand, Daisy," said McFarlane, "that you have been an

enchanted beauty, or a sleeping princess, during these weeks

of my absence — under the guardianship of an old black witch,

who drew incantations and water together from her well every

morning."

"I can answer for the incantations," said Preston. "I have

heard 'em."

Daisy's face flushed all over. "Preston, you do very wrong,"

she said, turning her head round to him. But Preston only

burst into a fit of laughter, which he turned away to hide.

Others of the company now came up to take Daisy's hand, and

kiss her, and say how glad they were to see her; these people

were very much strangers to Daisy, and their greeting was no

particular pleasure; but it had to be attended to. Then tea

came in, and Daisy was well petted. It was very pleasant to

have it so; after the silence and quiet of Juanita's little

cottage, the lights and dresses and people and silver urn and

tea service and flowers made quite a picture. Flowers had been

in the cottage too, but not such wealth of them. Just opposite

to Daisy, in the middle of the floor, stood a great stone

basket, or wide vase, on a pedestal; and this vase was a mass

of beautiful flowers. Trailing wreaths of roses and fuchsias

and geraniums even floated down from the edges of the vase and

sought the floor; the pedestal was half draped with them. It

was a very lovely sight to Daisy's eyes. And then her mother

ordered a little stand brought to the sofa's side; and her

father placed it; and Gary brought her cup of tea, and Dr.

Sandford spread her slice of toast. Daisy felt as if she loved

everybody, and was very happy. The summer air floated in at

the long windows, just as it used to do. It was _home_. Daisy

began to realise the fact.

Meanwhile attention ceased to be filled with her particular

affairs, and conversation flowed off as usual, away from her.

Preston still held his station at the back of the sofa, where

he dipped sponge-cake in tea with a wonderful persistency; in

fact, the question seemed to be whether he or the cake basket

would give out first; but for a while Daisy eat her toast in

happy quiet; watching everybody and enjoying everything. Till

Gary McFarlane drew near, and took a seat, as if for a regular

siege.

"So what about those incantations, Daisy?" he said.

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"No? don't you? That's odd. You have been so long in the

witch's precincts. You have heard them, of course?"

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"Why, you must have been bewitched. I wonder, now, if the

witch's house did not seem to you a palace?"

"It seemed a very nice place."

"And the witch herself a sable princess?"

"I think she is a great deal better than a princess."

"Exactly so," said Gary, with a perfectly sober face. "The

witch drew water, didn't she?"

"I don't know what you mean. Mrs. Benoit used to bring pails

of water from her well."

"Very good. And you never heard her incantations, muttering in

the morning before the dew was off the grass, or at night just

as the first beams of the moon lighted on the topmost boughs

of the trees?"

Daisy was confounded. "Mr. McFarlane," she said, after a

moment's looking at him — "I hope I do not know what you

mean."

At that, Gary McFarlane went off into an ecstasy of laughter,

delighted and amused beyond count. Preston interrupted the

sponge-cake exercise, and Daisy felt her sofa shaking with his

burden of amusement. What had she done? Glancing her eye

towards Dr. Sandford, who sat near, she saw that a very

decided smile was curling the corners of _his_ mouth. A flush

came up all over Daisy's face; she took some tea, but it did

not taste good any longer.

"What did you think I meant? — come, Daisy, tell me," said

Gary, returning to Daisy as soon as he could get over his

paroxysm of laughter. "What did you think I meant? I shouldn't

wonder if you had some private witchcraft of your own. Come!

what did you _think_ I meant?"

While he had been laughing, Daisy had been trying to get

command of herself, and to get her throat clear for talking;

there had been a very uncomfortable thick feeling in it at

first. Now she answered with simple dignity and soberness, "I

did not know, Mr. McFarlane, but you meant Juanita's prayers."

"Does she pray?" said Gary, innocently.

"Yes."

"Long prayers, Daisy?"

"Yes," — unwillingly now.

"Then, that must have been what you heard!" Gary said, looking

up to Preston. No answer came from him. Gary was as sober now

as seven judges.

"Did she speak her prayers where you could hear her, Daisy?"

"I used to hear her —"

"Mornings and evenings?"

"Yes."

"But you heard her in broad day, Preston?"

"Yes; one afternoon it was. I heard her as soon as I got near

the house. Daisy was asleep, and I went away as wise as I

came."

"This grows interesting," said Gary, returning to Daisy.

"Could you hear the words that were said?"

"No."

"Only a muttering?"

Daisy was silent. The tears came into her eyes.

"Depend upon it, Daisy, it was incantations you heard.

Description agrees exactly. Confess now, didn't a sort of

feeling grow over you — creep over you — whenever you heard

that muttering sound, as if you would do anything that black

woman told you?"

Daisy was silent.

"Don't you know it is not proper to pray so that people can

hear you? — 'tisn't the way to do. Witches pray that way — not

good Christian people. I regard it as a very fortunate thing,

Daisy, that we have got you safe out of her hands. Don't you

think that prayer ought to be private?"

"Yes," said Daisy. She was overwhelmed with the rapidity and

liveliness of Gary's utterances, which he rattled forth as

lightly as if they had been the multiplication table.

"Yes, just so. It is not even a matter to be talked about —

too sacred — so I am offending even against my own laws; but I

wanted to know how far the old witch had got hold of you.

Didn't you feel when you heard her mutterings, as if some sort

of a spell was creeping over you?"

Daisy wished some sort of a spell could come over _him_; but she

did not know what to say.

"Didn't you gradually grow into the belief that she was a sort

of saint, Daisy?"

"What is a saint, Mr. McFarlane?"

Gary at that wheeled partly round, and stroked his chin and

moustache with the most comical expression of doubt and

confusion.

"I declare I don't know, Daisy! I think it means a person who

is too good for this world, and therefore isn't allowed to

live here. They all go off in flames of some sort — may look

like glory, but is very uncomfortable — and there is a

peculiar odour about them. Doctor, what is that odour called?"

Gary spoke with absurd soberness, but the doctor gave him no

attention.

"The odour of sanctity! — that is it!" said Gary. "I had

forgot. I don't know what it is like, myself; but it must be

very disagreeable to have such a peculiarity attached to one."

"How can anybody be too good for this world?" Daisy ventured.

"Too good to live in it! You can't live among people unless

you live like them — so the saints all leave the rest of the

world in some way or other; the children die, and the grown

ones go missionaries or become nuns — they are a sort of human

meteor — shine and disappear, but don't really accomplish

much, because no one wants to be meteors. So your old woman

can't be a saint, Daisy, or she would have quitted the world

long ago."

Something called off Gary. Daisy was left feeling very

thoroughly disturbed. That people could talk so — and think so

— about what was so precious to her; talk about being saints,

as if it were an undesirable thing; and as if such were

unlovely. Her thought went back to Juanita, who seemed now

half a world's distance away instead of a few miles; her love

and gentleness and truth and wisdom, her prayers and way of

living, did seem to Daisy somewhat unearthly in their beauty,

compared with that which surrounded her now; but so unearthly,

that it could not be understood, and must not be talked about.

Juanita could not be understood here; could Daisy? She felt

hurt, and troubled, and sorry; she did not like to hear such

talk, but Gary was about as easy to stop as a cataract.

Dr. Sandford, lifting his eyes from what had occupied them,

though his ears had not been stopped, saw that the face of his

little charge was flushed with pain, and her eyes glistening.

He came and took Gary's place, and silently felt of her hand

and looked at her; but he did not ask Daisy what was the

matter, because he pretty well knew. His own face, as usual,

showed nothing; however, Daisy's came back to its accustomed

expression.

"Dr. Sandford," said she softly, "what is a meteor?"

"Meteors are fiery stones which fall on the earth

occasionally."

"Where do they come from?"

"Doctors are divided."

"But where do _you_ think they come from?"

If Dr. Sandford's vanity could be touched by a child, it

received a touch then. It was so plain, that what satisfied

him would satisfy her. He would not give the sceptical answer

which rose to his lips. Looking at the pure, wise little face

which watched his, he made answer simply, not without a smile:

"I am inclined to think they are wandering bodies, that we

fall in with now and then, in our journey round the sun."

"Dr. Sandford, what do they look like?"

"You have seen shooting-stars?"

"Yes — are those meteors?"

"Those are meteors that do not come to the earth. Sometimes

they are nearer, and look like great fire-balls."

"Have you seen them."

"Yes, a great many."

"And have you seen them after they fell on the ground?"

"Yes."

"What are they like then?"

"A very black stone, on the outside, and made up of various

metals and earths within."

"But then, what makes them look like fire-balls, before they

fall?"

"Can't tell, Daisy. As I said, the doctors are divided; and I

really have no opinion that you would understand if I gave

it."

Daisy would have liked to hear all the opinions, but she did

not ask for them. Preston was still standing at the back of

the sofa, and started a new subject.

"Dr. Sandford, how soon will Daisy's foot let her go to Silver

Lake?"

"In what way do you propose to get there?"

"By boat, sir, across the river; and the rest of the way is

walking."

"On plain ground?"

"Not exactly!" said Preston.

"How far do you call it?"

"Three miles."

"Of walking! I think Daisy may walk across this floor by next

week; and in a little while after she may go up and down

stairs."

"Oh, doctor!" exclaimed Preston. "Why, at that rate, she

cannot go to Silver Lake at all!"

"Does she want to go very much?" said the doctor. The question

was really put at Daisy's face, and answered by a little flush

that was not a flush of pain this time. He saw what a depth of

meaning there was in it; what a charm the sound of Silver Lake

had for Daisy. No wonder, to a little girl who had lain for so

many weeks looking out of one window, where there was not much

to be seen, either.

"Who is going, Daisy?" said the doctor.

"Mamma means to make up a large party — I do not know exactly

who."

"Then I think I can promise that you shall go too. You may

count upon me for that."

Daisy's eyes shone and sparkled, but she said not a word.

Preston was less sagacious.

"Will you do something to make her foot strong, sir?" he

asked.

"When you have studied in my profession, you will know more

about a physician's powers," — was all the answer he got.

The doctor turned off to conversation with other people, and

Daisy was left to herself again. She was very happy; it was

very pleasant to lie there comfortably on the sofa, and feel

that her long imprisonment was over; it was amusing to look at

so many people together, after having for days and days looked

at only one; and the old wonted scene, the place and the

lights, and the flowers and the dresses, yes, and the voices,

gave her the new sense of being at home. Nevertheless, Daisy

mused a little over some things that were not altogether

pleasant. The faces that she scanned had none of them the

placid nobleness of the face of her black nurse; no voice

within her hearing had such sweet modulation; and Daisy felt a

consciousness that Juanita's little cottage lay within the

bounds of a kingdom which Mrs. Randolph's drawing-room had no

knowledge of. Gradually Daisy's head became full of that

thought; along with the accompanying consciousness, that a

subject of that kingdom would be alone here and find nobody to

help her.

"Daisy, what's the matter?" whispered Preston. "You are as

sober as a judge."

"Am I?" said Daisy.

"What's to pay?"

"Nothing. I feel very nicely."

"Why don't you look like other people, then?"

"I suppose," said Daisy, slowly, "I do not feel like other

people."

"I wish you'd make haste about it, then," said Preston. "Do be

my own dear little old Daisy! Don't be grave and wise."

"Are you going to spend the night here, Daisy?" said Dr.

Sandford, coming up to the sofa.

"No, sir," said Daisy, smiling.

"Where then?"

"I suppose, in my room, sir — up-stairs."

"I must see you there before I go; and it is time now. Shall I

carry you up?"

"If you please, sir."

"Pray do not, Dr. Sandford!" said Mrs. Randolph. "Mr. Randolph

will do it, or one of the servants. There is no occasion for

you to trouble yourself."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I like to see after my patients myself.

Unless Daisy prefers other hands."

Mrs. Randolph protested. The doctor stood quiet, and looked at

Daisy, waiting for her to say what she would like. Now Daisy

knew, that of all hands which had touched her, the doctor's

and Juanita's were far the best; and of those two, the

doctor's; perhaps because he was the strongest. Her father was

very kind and tender, but he did not understand the business.

"I should like Dr. Sandford to take me," she said, when she

found she must speak.

"Then I will trouble you, Mrs. Randolph, for somebody to show

me the way." And the doctor stooped, and put his strong arms

under Daisy, and lifted her up.

"Quite a conquest, I declare, you have made, Dr. Sandford!"

said Mrs. Randolph, laughing. "Preston, show the way, and I'll

send June."

So the doctor marched off with Daisy, Preston going before to

show the way. He carried her, without the least jar or

awkwardness, through the company, out into the hall, and up

the stairs. There June met him, and took Preston's office from

him. Into Daisy's own room at last they came, and Dr. Sandford

laid his little charge at once on her bed.

"You must not try to move, Daisy, until I see you again. Stay

here till then."

"Yes, sir."

"Good-night."

"Good-night. Thank you, sir, for bringing me up."

Dr. Sandford smiled. "Thank you," said he, and with a wave of

his hand, away he went.

"Oh, June!" said Daisy, "how glad I am to see you."

June had seen Daisy only once during her abode at Mrs.

Benoit's cottage; and now Daisy squeezed her hands, and

welcomed the sight of her with great affection; and June on

her part, though not given to demonstrations, smiled till her

wrinkles took all sorts of queer shapes, and even showed her

deep black eyes twinkling with something like moisture. They

certainly were; and putting the smiles and the tears together,

Daisy felt sure that June was as glad to see her as she was to

see June. In truth, Daisy was a sort of household deity to

June, and she welcomed her back accordingly, in her secret

heart; but her words on that subject, as on all others, were

few. The business of undressing, however, went on with great

tenderness. When it was finished, Daisy missed Juanita. For

then Juanita had been accustomed to bring her Bible, and read

and pray; and that had been a time Daisy always enjoyed

wonderfully. Now, in bed, at night, she could not see to read

for herself. She dismissed June, and was left alone in her old

room, with, as she justly thought, a great deal to pray for.

And praying, little Daisy went to sleep.

CHAPTER XXII.

BEING ROBBED.

The next day Daisy felt very much at home. Her orders were not

to stir till the doctor came. So after breakfast, and after

receiving visits from everybody in the house, she was left to

her own devices, for it happened that everybody had something

on hand that morning, and nobody staid with her.

Left with June, Daisy lay for awhile feasting her eyes on all

the pleasant wonted objects around her. She was a particular

little body, and very fond of her room and its furniture and

arrangements. Then came a hankering for the sight of some of

her concealed treasures from which she had been separated so

long.

"June, I wish you would open the drawer of my bureau, the

second drawer from the top, and put your hand back at the left

side, and give me a book that lies there."

June got the key and rummaged. "Don't feel nothing, Miss

Daisy."

"Quite back, June, under everything."

"Why, Miss Daisy, it's tucked away as though you didn't mean

nobody should never find it!"

Precisely what Daisy did mean. But there it was, safe enough —

Mr. Dinwiddie's Bible. Daisy's hands and eyes welcomed it. She

asked for nothing more in a good while after that; and June

curiously watched her, with immense reverence. The thin pale

little face, a little turned from the light, so that she could

see better; the intent eyes; the wise little mouth, where

childish innocence and oldish prudence made a queer meeting;

the slim little fingers that held the book; above all, the

sweet calm of the face. June would not gaze, but she looked

and looked, as she could, by glances; and nearly worshipped

her little mistress in her heart. She thought it almost

ominous and awful to see a child read the Bible so. For Daisy

looked at it with loving eyes, as at words that were a

pleasure to her. It was no duty-work, that reading. At last

Daisy shut the book, to June's relief.

"June, I want to see my old things. I would like to have them

here on the bed."

"What things, Miss Daisy?"

"I would like my bird of paradise first. You can put a big

book here for it to stand on, where it will be steady."

The bird of paradise June brought, and placed as ordered. It

was a bird of spun glass only, but a great beauty in Daisy's

eyes. Its tail was of such fine threads of glass that it waved

with the least breath.

"How pretty it is! You may take it away, June, for I am afraid

it will get broken; and now bring me my Chinese puzzle, and

set my cathedral here. You can bring it here without hurting

it, can't you?"

"Where is your puzzle, Miss Daisy?"

"It is in the upper drawer of my cabinet," — so Daisy called a

small chest of drawers which held her varieties — "and the

cathedral stands on the top, under the glass shade. Be very

careful, June."

June accomplished both parts of her business. The "cathedral"

was a beautiful model of a famous one, made in ivory. It was

rather more than a foot long, and high, of course, in

proportion. Every window and doorway and pillar and arcade was

there, in its exact place and size, according to the scale of

the model; and a beautiful thing it was to look upon for any

eyes that loved beauty. Daisy's eyes loved it well, and now

for a long time she lay back on her pillow watching and

studying the lights among those arcades, which the rich colour

of the ivory, grown yellow with time, made so very pleasant to

see. Daisy studied and thought. The Chinese puzzle got no

attention. At last she cried, "June, I should like to have my

Egyptian spoon."

"What is that, miss Daisy?"

"My Egyptian spoon; it is a long, carved, wooden thing, with

something like a spoon at one end; it is quite brown. Look for

it in the next drawer, June, you will find it there. It don't

look like a spoon."

"There is nothing like it in this drawer, Miss Daisy."

"Yes, it is. It is wrapped up in paper."

"Nothing here wrapped in paper," said June, rummaging.

"Aren't my chessmen there? and my Indian canoe? and my

moccasins? —"

"Yes, Miss Daisy, all them's here."

"Well, the spoon is there too, then; it was with the canoe and

the moccasins."

"It ain't here, Miss Daisy."

"Then look in all the other drawers, June."

June did so; no spoon.

Daisy half raised herself up for a frightened look towards her

"cabinet." "Has anybody done anything to my drawers while 1

have been away?"

"No, Miss Daisy, not as I know of."

"June, please, look in them all — every one."

" 'Taint here, Miss Daisy."

Daisy lay down again and lay thinking. "June, is mamma in her

room?"

"Yes, Miss Daisy."

"Ask her — tell her I want to speak to her very much."

Mrs. Randolph came.

"Mamma," said Daisy, "do you know anything about my Egyptian

spoon?"

"Do you want it, Daisy?"

"Oh, yes, mamma! I do. June cannot find it. Do you know where

it is?"

"Yes — it is not a thing for a child like you, Daisy, and I

let your aunt Gary have it. She wanted it for her collection.

I will get you anything else you like in place of it."

"But, mamma, I told aunt Gary she could not have it. She asked

me, and I told her she could not have it."

"I have told her she might, Daisy. Something else will give

you more pleasure. You are not an ungenerous child."

"But, mamma! it was _mine_. It belonged to me."

"Hush, Daisy; that is not a proper way to speak to me. I allow

you to do what you like with your things in general; this was

much fitter for your aunt Gary than for you. It was something

beyond your appreciation. Do not oblige me to remind you that

your things are mine."

Mrs. Randolph spoke as if half displeased already, and left

the room. Daisy lay with a great flush upon her face, and in a

state of perturbation.

Her spoon was gone; that was beyond question, and Daisy's

little spirit was in tumultuous disturbance — very uncommon

indeed with her. Grief, and the sense of wrong, and the

feeling of anger strove together. Did she not appreciate her

old spoon? when every leaf of the lotus carving and every

marking of the duck's bill had been noted and studied over and

over, with a wondering regard to the dark hands that so many,

many years and ages ago had fashioned it. Would Mrs. Gary love

it as well? Daisy did not believe any such thing. And then it

was the gift of Nora and Mr. Dinwiddie, and precious by

association; and it was _gone_.

Daisy lay still on her pillow, with a slow tear now and then

gathering in her eyes, but also with an ominous line on her

brow. There was a great sense of injustice at work — the

feeling that she had been robbed; and that she was powerless

to right herself. Her mother had done it; in her secret

thought Daisy knew that, and that she would not have done it

to Ransom. Yet in the deep-fixed habit of obedience and awe of

her mother, Daisy sheered off from directly blaming her as

much as possible, and let the burden of her displeasure fall

on Mrs. Gary.

She was bitterly hurt at her mother's action, however; doubly

hurt, at the loss and at the manner of it; and the slow tears

kept coming and rolling down to wet her pillow. For a while

Daisy pondered the means of getting her treasure back; by a

word to her father, or a representation to Preston, or by

boldly demanding the spoon of Mrs. Gary herself. Daisy felt as

if she must have it back somehow. But any of these ways, even

if successful, would make trouble; a great deal of trouble;

and it would be, Daisy had an inward consciousness all the

time, unworthy of a Christian child. But she felt angry with

Mrs. Gary, and as if she could never forgive her. Daisy,

though not passionate, was persistent in her character; her

gentleness covered a not exactly yielding disposition.

In the midst of all this, Dr. Sandford came in, fresh from his

morning's drive, and sat down by the bedside.

"Do you want to go downstairs, Daisy?"

"No, sir; I think not."

"Not? What's the matter? Are you of a misanthropical turn of

mind?"

"I do not know, Dr. Sandford; I do not know what that is."

"Well, now you have got back to human society and fellowship,

don't you want to enjoy it?"

"I should not enjoy it to-day."

"If I do not see you downstairs, you will have to stay up till

another day."

"Yes, sir."

"What is the matter, Daisy?" And now the doctor bent over and

looked hard in her face. The wet spot in her pillow no doubt

he had seen long ago. Daisy's eyes drooped.

"Look up here, and give me an answer.

"I can't very well tell you, sir."

"Why do you not want to go downstairs?"

"Because, Dr. Sandford, I am not good."

"Not good!" said he. "I thought you always were good."

Daisy's eye reddened, and her lip twitched. He saw that there

was some uncommon disturbance on hand; and there was the wet

spot on the pillow.

"Something has troubled you," he said; and with that he laid

his hand — it was a fresh, cool hand, pleasant to feel — upon

Daisy's forehead, and kept it there; sometimes looking at her,

and as often looking somewhere else. It was very agreeable to

Daisy; she did not stir her head from under the hand; and

gradually she quieted down, and her nerves, which were all

ruffled, like a bird's feathers, grew smooth. There were no

lines in her forehead when Dr. Sandford took away his hand

again.

"Now tell me," said he, smiling, "what was the matter? Shall I

take you down to the library now?"

"Oh, no, sir, if you please. Please do not, Dr. Sandford! I am

not ready. I am not fit."

"Not fit?" said the doctor, eyeing her, and very much at a

loss what to make of this. "Do you mean that you want to be

more finely attired before you make your appearance in

company?"

"No, sir," said Daisy. It struck her with a great sorrow, his

saying this. She knew her outward attire was faultless; bright

and nice as new silver was every bit of Daisy's dress, from

her smooth hair to her neat little slippers; it was all white

and clean. But the inward adorning which God looked at — in

what a state was that? Daisy felt a double pang; that Dr.

Sandford should so far mistake her as to think her full of

silly vanity, and, on the other hand, that he should so much

too well judge of her as to think her always good. The

witnessing tinge came about Daisy's eyelids again.

"Dr. Sandford, if people tell you their private affairs, of

course it is confidential?"

"Of course," said the doctor, without moving a muscle.

"Then I will tell you what I meant. I am not good. I am

dressed well enough; but I have anger in my heart."

Dr. Sandford did not say how much he was surprised; for Daisy

looked as meek as a lamb. But he was a philosopher, and

interested.

"Then I am sure you have had reason, Daisy."

"I think I had," sail Daisy, but without looking less

sorrowful.

"Do you not consider that one has a right to be angry when one

has a reason?"

"But one shouldn't stay angry," said the child, folding her

hands over her heart.

"How are you going to help it, Daisy?"

"There is a way, Dr. Sandford."

"Is there? But you see I am in the dark now. I am as much

abroad about that, as you were about a journey of three

hundred years to the sun. When I am angry I never find that I

can help it. I can maybe help using my horsewhip; but I cannot

manage the anger."

"No —" said Daisy, looking up at him, and thinking how

terrible it must be to have to encounter anger from his blue

eye.

"What then, Daisy? how do you make out your position."

Daisy did not very well like to say. She had a certain

consciousness — or fear — that it would not be understood, and

she would be laughed at — not openly, for Dr. Sandford was

never impolite; but yet she shrunk from the cold glance of

unbelief, or of derision, however well and kindly masked. She

was silent.

"Haven't we got into a confidential position yet?" said the

doctor.

"Yes, sir, but —"

"Speak on."

"Jesus will help us, Dr. Sandford, if we ask Him." And tears,

that were tears of deep penitence now, rushed to Daisy's eyes.

"I do not believe, Daisy, to begin with, that you know what

anger means."

"I have been angry this morning," said Daisy, sadly. "I am

angry now, I think."

"How do you feel when you are angry?"

"I feel wrong. I do not want to see the person — I feel she

would be disagreeable to me, and if I spoke to her I should

want to say something disagreeable."

"Very natural," said the doctor.

"But it is wrong."

"If you can help it, Daisy. I always feel disagreeable when I

am angry. I feel a little disagreeable now that you are

angry."

Daisy could not help smiling at that.

"Now, suppose we go downstairs."

"Oh, no, sir. Oh, no, Dr. Sandford, please! I am not ready — I

would rather not go downstairs to-day. Please don't take me!"

"To-morrow you must, Daisy. I shall not give you any longer

than till then."

Away went Dr. Sandford to the library; kept Daisy's counsel,

and told Mrs. Randolph she was to remain in her room to-day.

"She thinks too much," he said. "There is too much self-

introversion."

"I know it! but what can we do?" said Mr. Randolph. "She has

been kept from books as much as possible."

"Amusement, and the society of children."

"Ay, but she likes older society better."

"Good-morning," said the doctor.

"Stay! Dr. Sandford, I have great confidence in you. I wish

you would take in hand not Daisy's foot merely, but the

general management of her, and give us your advice. She has

not gained, on the whole, this summer, and is very delicate."

"Rather —" said the doctor. And away he went.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MAP OF ENGLAND.

Meanwhile Daisy turned away from her beautiful little ivory

cathedral, and opened Mr. Dinwiddie's Bible. Her heart was not

at all comforted yet; and indeed her talk with Dr. Sandford

had rather roused her to keener discomfort. She had confessed

herself wrong, and had told him the way to get right; yet she

herself, in spite of knowing the way, was not right, but very

far from it. So she felt. Her heart was very sore for the hurt

she had suffered; it gave her a twinge ever time she thought

of the lotus carving of her spoon handle, and those odd

representations of fish in the bowl of it. She lay over on her

pillow, slowly turning and turning the pages of her Bible, and

tear after tear slowly gathering one after another, and

filling her eyes, and rolling down to her pillow to make

another wet spot.

There was no harm in that, if that had been all. Daisy had

reason. But what troubled her was, that she was so strongly

displeased with her aunt Gary. She did not want to see her or

hear her, and the thought of a kiss from her was unendurable.

Nay, Daisy felt as if she would like to punish her, if she

could; or at least to repossess herself of her stolen property

by fair means or by foul. She was almost inclined to think

that she must have it at all events. And at the same time, she

had told Dr. Sandford that she was not right. So Daisy lay

slowly turning the pages of her Bible, looking for some word

that might catch her eye and be a help to her.

There were a good many marks in the Bible, scattered here and

there, made by its former owner. One of these stopped Daisy's

search, and gave her something to think of. It stood opposite

these words: "I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech

you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are

called." Daisy considered that. What "vocation" meant, she did

not know, nor who was "the prisoner of the Lord," nor what

that could mean; but yet she caught at something of the sense.

"Walk worthy," she understood that; and guessed what

"vocation" stood for. Ay! that was just it, and that was just

what Daisy was not doing. The next words, too, were plain

enough. "With all lowliness and meekness, with long-suffering,

forbearing one another in love."

"Forbearing one another" — easy to read, how hard to do! Mrs.

Gary's image was very ugly yet to Daisy. Could she speak

pleasantly to her aunt? could she even look pleasantly at her?

could she "forbear" all unkindness, even in thought? Not yet!

Daisy felt very miserable, and very much ashamed of herself,

even while her anger was in abiding strength and vigour.

She went on, reading through the whole chapter; not because

she had not enough already to think about, but because she did

not feel that she could obey it. Some of the chapter she did

not quite understand; but she went on reading, all the same,

till she came to the last verse. That went through and through

Daisy's heart, and her eyes filled so full that by the time

she got to the end of it she could not see to read at all.

These were the words: "And be ye kind one to another, tender-

hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake

hath forgiven you."

That quite broke Daisy's heart. She rolled herself over upon

her open Bible, so as to hide her face in her pillow, and

there Daisy had a good cry. She standing out about a little

thing, when Jesus was willing to forgive such loads and loads

of naughtiness in her! Daisy would have no friendship with her

resentment any more. She turned her back upon it, and fled

from it, and sought eagerly that help by which, as she had

told Dr. Sandford, it might be overcome. And she had said

right. He who is called Jesus because He saves His people from

their sins, will not leave anybody under their power who

heartily trusts in Him for deliverance from them.

Daisy received several visits that day, but they were all

flying visits; everybody was busy. However, they put to the

proof the state of her feeling towards several persons. The

next day, the first person she saw was the doctor.

"How do you do, Daisy? Ready to go downstairs to-day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you got the better of your anger?"

"Yes, sir."

"Pray, at what hour did your indignation take flight?" said

the doctor, looking at the gentle little face before him.

"I think — about three hours after you were here yesterday,"

said Daisy, soberly.

The doctor looked at her, and his gravity gave way, so far at

least as to let the corners of his lips curl away from some

very white teeth. Dr. Sandford rarely laughed. And there was

nothing mocking about his smile now, though I have used the

word "curl;" it was merely what Daisy considered a very

intelligent and very benign curve of the mouth. Indeed she

liked it very much.

"Have you seen the offending party since that time, Daisy?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you feel no return of displeasure?"

"No, sir."

There was something so exceedingly sweet in Daisy's expression

of face, so unruffled in its loving calm and assurance, that

Dr. Sandford received quite a new impression in his views of

human character.

"I shall have an account to settle with that young Preston one

of these days," he remarked, as he took Daisy's little form in

his arms.

"Oh, he did nothing!" said Daisy. "It wasn't Preston at all.

He had nothing to do with it!"

"He had not?" said the doctor.

"Not at all; nor any other boy."

"Beyond my management, then!" said the doctor; and he moved

off.

He had stood still to say that word or two; Daisy's arm was

round his neck to help support herself; the two looked into

each other's faces. Certainly that had come to pass which at

one time she had thought unlikely; Daisy was very fond of the

doctor.

He carried her now down to the library, and laid her on a

sofa. Nobody at all was there. The long windows were standing

open; the morning sweet air blew gently in; the books, and

chairs, and tables which made the room pretty to Daisy's eyes,

looked very pleasant after the long weeks in which she had not

seen them. But along with her joy at seeing them again was

mixed a vivid recollection of the terrible scene she had gone

through there, a few days before her accident. However,

nothing could make Daisy anything but happy just now.

"You must remain here until I come again," said the doctor;

"and now I will send some of the rest of the family to you."

The first one that came was her father. He sat down by the

sofa, and was so tenderly glad to have her there again, that

Daisy's little heart leaped for joy. She put her hand in his,

and lay looking into his face.

"Papa, it is nice," she said.

"What?"

"Oh, to be here, and with you again."

Mr. Randolph put his lips down to Daisy's, and kissed them a

good many times.

"Do you know we are going to Silver Lake with you as soon as

you are strong enough?"

"Oh, yes, papa! Dr. Sandford says he can manage it. But I

don't know when."

"In a week or two more."

"Papa, who is going?"

"Everybody, I suppose."

"But I mean, is anybody to be invited?"

"I think we must ask Dr. Sandford."

"Oh, yes, papa! I wish he would go. But is anybody else to be

asked?"

"I do not know, Daisy. Whom would you like to have invited?"

"Papa, I would like very much to have Nora Dinwiddie. She has

come back."

"Well, tell your mother so."

Daisy was silent a little; then she began on a new theme.

"Papa, what is a 'vocation'?"

"What is what, Daisy?"

"Vocation, papa."

"Where did you get that word?"

"I found it in a book."

"It means commonly a person's business or employment."

"Only that, papa?"

"There is another sense in which it is used, but you would

hardly understand it."

"Please tell me, papa."

"Why?"

"Papa, I like to know the meanings of things. Please tell me."

"Daisy, it means a 'calling' — in the idea that some persons

are particularly appointed to a certain place or work in the

world."

Daisy looked a little hard at him, and then said, "Thank you,

papa."

"Daisy, I hope you do not think you have a 'vocation,' " said

Mr. Randolph, half smiling.

"Papa," said the child, "I cannot help it."

"No, perhaps not," said Mr. Randolph, stooping again to

Daisy's lips. "When you are older and wiser you will know

better. At present your vocation is to be a good little

daughter. Now what are you going to do to-day? Here is Preston

— if you want him; or I will do for you what you please."

"Yes, Daisy, what shall we do?" said Preston.

"Oh, are you at leisure?"

"All your own, Daisy, for this morning at any rate. What shall

we do?"

"Preston, would you mind getting my tray for me; and let us go

on with the battle of Hastings?"

"With what?" said Mr. Randolph, laughing.

"The battle of Hastings, papa — English history, you know.

Captain Drummond and I got just there, and then we stopped.

But Harold was killed — wasn't he, papa?"

"I believe he was, Daisy."

"Good for him, too," said Preston. "He was nothing but a

usurper. William the Conqueror was a great deal more of a

man."

"But he was just as much of a usurper, wasn't he?" said Daisy.

"You must mind your ethics, Preston," Mr. Randolph said,

laughing. "Daisy is on the Saxon side."

"Preston, will you get the tray, please? June will give it to

you."

Preston did not quite understand the philosophy of the tray;

however, Daisy must be humoured. It was brought. By Daisy's

order it had been carefully protected from dust and danger;

and the lineaments of England, as traced by the captain some

time ago, were fresh and in good order.

Daisy hung over the map with great interest, renewing her

acquaintance with various localities, and gradually getting

Preston warmed up to the play. It was quite exciting; for,

with every movement of William's victorious footsteps, the

course of his progress had to be carefully studied out on a

printed map, and then the towns and villages which marked his

way noted on the clay map, and their places betokened by

wooden pins. Daisy suggested that these pins should have

sealing-wax heads of different colours to distinguish the

cities, the villages, and the forts from each other. Making

these, interrupted doubtless the march of the Conqueror and of

history, but in the end much increased Daisy's satisfaction,

and if the truth be told, Preston's too.

"There, — now you can see at a glance where the castles are;

don't their red heads look pretty! And, Oh, Preston! we ought

to have some way of marking the battle-fields; don't you think

so?"

"The map of England will be nothing but marks then, by and

by," said Preston.

"Will it? But it would be very curious. Preston, just give me

a little piece of that pink blotting paper from the library

table; it is in the portfolio there. Now I can put a little

square bit of this on every battle-field, and pressing it a

little, it will stick, I think. There! — there is Hastings. Do

you see, Preston? That will do nicely."

"England will be all pink blotting paper by and by," said

Preston.

"Then it will be very curious," said Daisy. "Were new kings

_always_ coming to push out the old ones?"

"Not like William the Conqueror. But yet it was something very

like that, Daisy. When a king died, two of his children would

both want the place; so they would fight."

"But two men fighting would not make a battlefield."

"Oh, Daisy, Daisy!" cried Preston; "do you know no better than

that?"

"Well, but who else would fight with them?"

"Why, all the kingdom! Part would fight for the right, you

know, as the Saxons did with Harold; and part would fight to

be the best fellows, and to get the fat places."

"Fat places?" said Daisy. At which Preston went off into one

of his laughs. Daisy looked on. How could she be expected to

understand him?

"What is the matter, my dear? What are you doing?" Daisy

started. "We are studying English history, aunt Gary."

"_History_, my dear? And what is all this muss, and these red

and black spots? does your mamma allow this in the library?"

"Just the place to study history, I am sure, mamma," said

Preston; "and you cannot have less muss than this where people

are fighting. But I really don't know what you mean, ma'am;

there cannot be a cleaner map, except for the blood shed on

it."

"Blood?" said Mrs. Gary. "My dear" — as Preston burst into

another laugh — "you must not let him tease you."

Daisy's look was so very unruffled and gentle that perhaps it

put Mrs. Gary in mind of another subject.

"Did you know, Daisy, that I had robbed you of your old-

fashioned spoon?"

"I found it was not among my things," said Daisy.

"My dear, your mother thought you would not value it; and it

was very desirable to my collection. I took it with her

consent."

"I am willing you should have it, aunt Gary."

"Were you very angry, my dear, when you found where it had

gone?"

"I am not angry now, aunt Gary."

Certainly Daisy was not; yet something in the child's look or

manner made the lady willing to drop the subject. Its very

calm gentleness did not testify to anything like unconcern

about the matter; and if there had been concern, Mrs. Gary was

not desirous to awaken it again. She kissed Daisy, said she

was a good girl, and walked off. Daisy wondered if her aunt

had a fancy for trilobites.

"What was all that about, Daisy?" Preston asked.

"Oh, never mind — let us go on with William the Conqueror."

"What spoon of yours has she got?"

"My Egyptian spoon."

"That old carved thing with the duck's bill?"

"Yes. Now, Preston, what comes next?"

"Didn't you say she could not have it?"

"No matter what I said, if I say that she can have it now."

"Did you give it to her?"

"Preston, that has nothing to do with William the Conqueror.

Please let us go on."

"Daisy, I want to know. Did you give it to her?"

"I am willing she should have it. Now, Preston, go on."

"But, I say, did you give my mother that spoon."

"Preston," said Daisy, "do you think it is quite proper to

question me in that manner about what you see I do not wish to

have you know?"

Preston laughed, though he looked vexed, and kissed her,

nobody being in the library; he was too big a boy to have done

it if anybody had been looking on. And after that he played

the historico-geographical play with her for a very long time;

finding it, with Daisy's eagerness and freshness, a very good

play indeed. Only he would persist in calling every cause of

war, every disputed succession, every rivalry of candidates,

an _Egyptian spoon_. Daisy could not prevent him.

She had a very happy morning; and Dr. Sandford was well

satisfied with her bright face when he came, towards night,

and carried her up stairs again.

But Daisy was getting well now. It was only a few days more,

and Dr. Sandford permitted her to walk a little way herself on

her own feet. A little way at first, across the floor and

back; no more that day; but from that time Daisy felt whole

again. Soon she could walk to please herself, up and down

stairs, and everywhere; though she was not allowed to go far

enough to tire her foot while it was yet unused to exercise.

Now all her home ways fell again into their accustomed order.

Daisy could get up, and be dressed; nobody knows what a luxury

that is unless he has been hindered of it for a good while.

She could stand at her window and look out; and go down on her

own feet to join the family at breakfast. Her father procured

her a seat next himself now, which Daisy did not use to have;

and she enjoyed it. She knew he enjoyed it too; and it made

breakfast a very happy time to Daisy. After breakfast she was

at her own disposal, as of old. Nobody wished her to do

anything but please herself.

At this moment nothing pleased Daisy better than to go on with

English history. With Preston, if she could get him; if not,

alone, with her book and her tray map. Poring over it, Daisy

would lie on the sofa, or sit on a little bench with the tray

on the floor; planting her towns and castles, or going back to

those already planted with a fresh interest from new

associations. Certain red-headed and certain black-headed and

certain green-headed pins came to be very well known and

familiar in the course of time. And in course of time, too,

the soil of England came to be very much overspread with

little squares of pink blotting-paper. To Daisy it grew to be

a commentary on the wickedness of mankind. Preston remarked on

the multitude there was of Egyptian spoons.

"What do you mean by that, Preston?" said his aunt.

"Causes of quarrel, ma'am."

"Why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"

"Causes of trouble, I should say, ma'am."

"And again I say, why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"

"I beg your pardon, aunt Felicia. Egypt was always a cause of

trouble to the faithful; and I was afraid little Daisy had had

just a spoonful of it lately."

"Daisy, what have you been saying to your cousin?"

"Nothing, mamma, about that; only what Preston asked me."

"I am sure you did not say what I asked of you, Daisy. She

told me nothing at all, aunt Felicia, except by what she did

not tell me."

"She behaved very sweetly about it, indeed," said Mrs. Gary.

"She made me feel quite easy about keeping it. I shall have to

find out what I can send to Daisy that she will like."

"What are you and Preston doing there?" Mrs. Randolph asked

with a cloudy face.

"Studying, mamma; I am. English history."

"That is no way of studying; and that tray — what have you got

in it?"

"England, mamma!"

Preston laughed. Mrs. Randolph did not join him.

"What have you got in that thing, Daisy? sand?"

"Oh, no, mamma — it's something — it's prepared clay, I

believe."

"Prepared!" said Mrs. Randolph. "Prepared for something

besides my library. You are hanging over it all day, Daisy — I

do not believe it is good for you."

"Oh, mamma, it is!"

"I think I shall try whether it is not good for you to be

without it."

"Oh, no, mamma." Daisy looked in dismay. "Do ask Dr. Sandford

if he thinks it is not good for me."

"There he is, then," said Mrs. Randolph. "Doctor, I wish you

would see whether Daisy is occupying herself, in your

judgment, well, when she is hanging over that thing half the

day."

Dr. Sandford came up. Daisy was not afraid of his decision,

for she knew he was on her side. Mrs. Randolph, on the other

hand, did not wish to dispute it, for she was, like most other

people, on the doctor's side. He came up and looked at the

tray.

"What is this?"

"The map of England, sir."

"Pray, what are you doing with it?"

"Making it, sir, and studying English history."

"What are these pins? armies? or warriors? they are in

confusion enough."

"Oh, there is no confusion," said Daisy. "They are castles and

towns."

"For instance? —"

"This is Dover Castle," said Daisy, touching a redheaded pin;

"and this is Caernarvon, and Conway; and these black ones are

towns. There is London — and Liverpool — and York — and Oxford

— don't you see?"

"I see, but it would take a witch to remember. What are you

doing?"

"Studying English history, sir; and as fast as we come to a

great town or castle we mark it. These bits of paper show

where the great battle-fields are."

"Original!" said the doctor.

"No sir, it is not," said Daisy. "Captain Drummond taught it

to me."

"What, the history?"

"No; but this way of playing."

Preston was laughing and trying to keep quiet. Nothing could

be graver than the doctor.

"Is it interesting, this way of playing."

"Very!" said Daisy, with a good deal of eagerness, more than

she wished to show.

"I wish you would forbid it, Dr. Sandford," said Daisy's

mother. "I do not believe in such a method of study, nor wish

Daisy to be engrossed with any study at all. She is not fit

for it."

"Whereabouts are you?" said the doctor to Daisy.

"We are just getting through the wars of the Roses."

"Ah! I never can remember how those wars began — can you?"

"They began when the Duke of York tried to get the crown of

Henry the Sixth. But I think he was wrong — don't you?"

"Somebody is always wrong in those affairs," said the doctor.

"You are getting through the wars of the Roses. What do you

find was the end of them?"

"When the Earl of Richmond came. We have just finished the

battle of Bosworth Field. Then he married Elizabeth of York,

and so they wore the two roses together."

"Harmoniously?" said the doctor.

"I don't know, sir. I do not know anything about Henry the

Seventh yet."

"What was going on in the rest of the world while the Roses

were at war in England?"

"Oh, I don't know, sir!" said Daisy, looking up with a sudden

expression of humbleness. "I do not know anything about

anywhere else."

"You do not know where the Hudson River was then."

"I suppose it was where it is now?"

"Geographically, Daisy; but not politically, socially, or

commercially. Melbourne House was not thinking of building;

and the Indians ferried their canoes over to Silver Lake,

where a civilised party are going in a few days to eat chicken

salad under very different auspices."

"Were there no white people here?"

"Columbus had not discovered America, even. He did that just

about seven years after Henry the Seventh was crowned on

Bosworth Field."

"I don't know who Columbus was," Daisy said, with a glance so

wistful and profound in its sense of ignorance, that Dr.

Sandford smiled.

"You will hear about him soon," he said, turning away to Mrs.

Randolph.

That lady did not look by any means well pleased. The doctor

stood before her looking down, with the sort of frank, calm

bearing that characterised him.

"Are you not, in part at least, a Southerner?" was the lady's

first question.

"I am sorry I must lose so much of your good opinion as to

confess myself a Yankee," said the doctor, steadily.

"Are you going to give your sanction to Daisy's plunging

herself into study, and books, and all that sort of thing, Dr.

Sandford?"

"Not beyond _my_ depth to reach her."

"I do not think it is good for her. She is very fond of it,

and she does a great deal too much of it when she begins; and

she wants strengthening first, in my opinion. You have said

enough now to make her crazy after the history of the whole

world."

"Mrs. Randolph, I must remind you that though you can hinder

a tree from growing, in a particular place, you cannot a

fungus; if the conditions be favourable."

"What do you mean?"

"I think this may be a good alternative."

The lady looked a little hard at the doctor. "There is one

book I wish you could hinder her from reading," she said,

lowering her tone.

"What is that, madam?"

"She is just the child not to bear it; and she is injured by

poring over the Bible."

"Put the Bibles out of her way," suggested the doctor.

"I have, as much as I can; but it is not possible to do it

perfectly."

"Then I counsel you to allow her the use of this medicine,"

said Dr. Sandford, glancing towards the tray, which no longer

held Daisy's attention. For, together with her mother's

lowering of voice, the one word "Bible" had come to her

consciousness.

Daisy was at no loss to guess what it meant. The low tones of

the speakers gave her sufficient information. Thus far; that

her Bible was reckoned an undesirable treasure for her by her

mother. Was her own dear little particular Bible in danger?

the one that Mr. Dinwiddie had given her? Daisy was alarmed.

She did not enjoy any more battle-fields, nor enter with good

heart into her history work from that time, until she could

get up stairs again and see that it was safe, and contrive

some way or place to keep it safe in time to come. Where could

such a place be? It was a puzzle, because all Daisy's things

were, of course, open to her mother. Perhaps Daisy's fears

were needless; but, after the affair of her Egyptian spoon,

she looked with jealous eyes not only on her Bible, but on her

trilobite.

She sat down with a dismayed little face, to think where she

could find a hiding-place. She thought of putting the Bible

under her bed or pillow; but the bed was turned over every

morning, and the servants would find it. None of her bureau

drawers or cabinet drawers were secure. Daisy pondered all

manner of impossible places. At last fixed upon a spot of the

floor covered by an ottoman. The ottoman was hollow and not

very heavy, and never moved after the room was put in order

every day. Till the room was put in order Daisy hid her Bible

in a drawer; then took it out, and consigned it to the

obscurity of the ottoman.

She was greatly afraid, then, of being found reading it. She

had not heard the words which passed between the doctor and

her mother; only the word "Bible;" but the low tones made her

well enough aware that the matter of their talk was somehow

adverse; it boded nothing kindly to her and the Bible. So

Daisy was in another perplexity; and resolved that to be as

safe as she could, she would read with locked doors for the

future. And as doors must not be locked at times when her

mother might be coming and going, Daisy chose early morning

and late evening for her Bible-reading. She used to let June

undress her, and finish all her duties of dressing-maid; then

she sent her away, and locked her doors, and read in comfort.

This lasted a little while; then one unlucky night Daisy

forgot to unlock her doors. The morning came, and June with

it; but June could neither get in nor dare knock loud enough

to make Daisy hear; she was obliged to come round through her

mistress's dressing-room. But Daisy's door on that side was

locked too! June was going softly away.

"What do you want?" said her mistress.

"If you please, ma'am," said June, stopping very unwillingly —

"I thought it was time to wake Miss Daisy."

"Why do you not go in, then?"

"Ma'am — the door is locked," said June, in a scarce audible

undertone.

"Locked? — knock." June went back and knocked.

"Louder," said Mrs. Randolph, who was under her maid's hands;

"you would not waken a cat at that rate. Make yourself heard."

June's taps, however, continued so fearfully gentle, that Mrs.

Randolph arose and came to the door herself. One or two of the

touches of her imperative fingers brought a little figure in

white night-dress and just-awakened face, to open the door.

"Daisy," said her mother, "what is your door fast for?"

"Mamma — I wanted it fast for a few minutes."

"Did you lock it last night or this morning?"

"Last night — I thought — I meant to have opened it."

"Both your doors?"

"Yes, mamma."

"All night locked! Now, Daisy, I forbid you ever to turn the

key in your door again, night or day."

"Oh, mamma! — I want it shut sometimes."

"Hush. Go and let June dress you."

June was vexed enough with herself to have inflicted some

punishment on her awkward tongue and head, when she saw that

Daisy was for some reason or other deeply grieved. The tears

gathered and fell, quietly, all through the process of

dressing; and a sort of sob heaved from the child's breast now

and then, without words and most involuntary. Juanita's

cottage was a palace to Melbourne House, if peace made the

furniture. But June did not know what to say; so she was

silent too.

When June was gone, Daisy went to her beloved window, and

stood there. She did not like to kneel, because her mother

might come in, or even June, while she was doing so. She stood

at the sweet open window, and prayed that the Lord would take

care of her, and help her to pray however she could. And then

the thought of those words came to Daisy: — "Thou, therefore,

endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ." She

remembered very well how Captain Drummond had described the

way a good soldier takes things — hard and disagreeable

things, as well as others. It is part of his business to

endure them; he expects them, and minds them not at all in

comparison with the service in which he is engaged. And a

soldier of Jesus Christ has only to obey Him, and take

willingly whatever comes in the line of his service. What

matter? The only thing was to obey orders, and do the work she

was set upon. Hardships did not seem much like hardships when

she thought of them in this way. And then it occurred to

Daisy, that, if she _could_ not fasten her doors, she had better

just kneel down as usual with them open. She could not do

without praying; and if she must be intruded upon, why, it was

a little hardship that she had better not mind. And when she

had thought that, Daisy kneeled down; and she never had any

more trouble about it. She did fancy, even that first morning,

that she heard the lock of her door turn; but she did not move

to see, and hearing nothing more, she soon forgot it. Nobody

wore such a bright and fresh face at the breakfast-table as

Daisy; such a glad and uncareful face; and Mrs. Randolph,

seeing it, was reassured; though she had just seen her little

daughter at her prayers, on her knees, by the window. She

looked so happy now, that the lady was inclined to hope her

religion was a childish folly, which would pass away and be

forgotten in time.

But for the present Daisy was a soldier; and meditating much

on a service which she had to perform. That very day, if you

had been there, and worn an invisible cap, you might have gone

into her room, and seen what she was about. On the ottoman

aforesaid Daisy's writing-desk was placed; and before it, on a

cricket, sat Daisy, with a face, oh, how grave and busy! A

very weight of care of some sort seemed to lie under her

childish little brow. She was opening her desk and looking out

paper; some she felt and rejected — it was too thin or too

blue, or something; she tried her pen on another kind; it did

not go well. At last a thick little sheet of note paper was

chosen; and Daisy began to write. Or rather, sat over the

paper with her pen in her fingers, thinking how to write. She

looked very anxious; then took bits of paper and a pencil, and

tried different forms of a sentence. At last, with slow care,

and fingers that trembled, a line or two was inscribed on the

beautiful thick little sheet of English note-paper.

"Dear papa, won't you think about being a Christian? Do not be

displeased with

"DAISY."

It was written all out, as fair as she could; and then you

might have seen Daisy's little round head go down on her hands

on the desk. It did not move for a good while. When it was

lifted up, she sought out an envelope rather hurriedly,

directed it, folded and put in her note, and sealed it.

Daisy shut her desk then, and with a manner not quite as calm

and careless as usual, went to her father's dressing table,

and stood considering where she should put the note. Under the

cushion, it might be seen first by a servant, and then

delivered to Mr. Randolph in the midst of company. Under his

dressing-box, the same fate threatened it. Daisy peered about,

and thought, and trembled for several minutes. She had a fancy

that she did not want him to get it before the next morning,

when he would be quietly dressing here alone. He would

certainly be opening his dressing-box before that. The only

place Daisy could be sure would not be invaded before that,

was the place she chose; she took off the cover of his box of

shaving soap, and with some trouble squeezed the note in so

that it would lie safely hid; then put on the cover, and put

the box in its place, and went away with light hands and a

heavy heart. — Heavy, that is, with a burden of doubt mingled

with fear. Would Mr. Randolph be angry? Daisy could not feel

sure that that would not be the consequence of her proceeding.

Perhaps he would be very much displeased, and think it very

disrespectful and improper that his little daughter should

take so much upon herself. Daisy knew quite well all that. But

who else in the world would take the responsibility if she did

not? No one; and Daisy with all her fear did not once think of

going to get her note away again before it should be read.

Her heart yearned towards her father. He was so very gentle

and tender in his manner with her, more than ever, Daisy

thought; she felt that the love between them was growing,

strong and deep, even beyond what it used to be. And while he

knew nothing of the joy that filled her own heart, and while

he refused obedience to the laws that she knew were binding on

him as well as on her, he must be also, she knew, without the

favour and blessing of God. He had no part in it; nothing to

do with it; and Daisy's heart swelled with childish sorrow and

longing. She had thought a great deal about it, and concluded

that she must bear "the message," even plainly in words, to

her father, before she could feel satisfied. Little hands

might take the message, Juanita had said; so humbly Daisy's

took it; and then she prayed that it might not be for nothing.

She knew all her hands could do was not much. All the

remainder of that day, Daisy never forgot her note in the box

of shaving soap. She knew it was extremely unlikely that the

box would be opened sooner than the next morning;

nevertheless, whenever Mr. Randolph came near where she was,

Daisy looked up with something like a start. There was nothing

in his face to alarm her; and so night came, and Daisy kissed

him twice for good night, wondering to herself whether he

would feel like kissing her when they met again. Never mind,

the message must be delivered, cost what it might. Yes, this

was soldier's service. Daisy was going into the enemy's

country.

Mr. Randolph had felt the lingering touch of Daisy's lips, and

the thought of it came to him more than once in the course of

the evening — "like the wind that breathes upon a bank of

violets" — with a breath of sweetness in the remembrance.

Nevertheless, he had pretty well forgotten it, when he pulled

off the cover of his box of shaving soap the next morning. He

was belated, and in something of a hurry. If ever a man

suddenly forgot his hurry, Mr. Randolph did, that morning. He

knew the unformed, rather irregular and stiff handwriting in a

moment; and concluded that Daisy had some request to make on

her own account which she was too timid to speak out in words.

That was what he expected when he opened the paper; but Eve

could not have been much more surprised when the serpent spoke

to her in the garden of Eden, than was Mr. Randolph at finding

that his little lamb of a child had dared to open her mouth to

him in this fashion.

"Mr. Randolph, you will be late," said the lady who owned that

name, coming to his door. And, seeing her husband standing

still, with his elbow leaning on his dressing-table, she

walked in.

"You will assuredly be late! what have you got there?"

The little sheet of English note-paper lay spread out on the

dressing-table. Mr. Randolph was looking at it. He did not

answer, and the lady bent nearer for a moment and then stood

upright.

"Daisy!" — exclaimed Mrs. Randolph.

Her husband made an inarticulate sort of a noise, as he turned

away and took up his neglected shaving soap.

"What is this?" said the lady, in astonishment.

"What you see —" said Mr. Randolph.

"Where did it come from?"

"The signature tells you."

"But where did you get it?"

"Here — this moment."

"The impertinent little minx!"

"Hush. She does not mean to be impertinent, Felicia."

"Do you like misbehaviour that is not meant, Mr. Randolph?"

"Better than that which is meant."

"I told you the child would get ruined in that place," said

Mrs. Randolph, after musing a few minutes over the little

sheet of note-paper.

Mr. Randolph made a lather, and applied it. That might be the

reason why he made no answer.

"I call it impertinence," the lady went on, "and very well-

grown impertinence too — from a child like that! It is the

trick of all religious people, to think themselves better and

wiser than the rest of the world; but I think Daisy has learnt

the lesson early!"

Still silence on Mr. Randolph's part, and steady attention to

his toilet duties.

"What notice do you mean to take of this?"

"I think, none at all."

"Mr. Randolph, Daisy is ruined!"

"I do not quite see it yet."

"I wish you would see it. She is full of stupid stiff ways,

which will be habits fixed as iron in a little time, if we do

not break them up. She does not act like a child."

"She is very like a child to me," said Mr. Randolph.

"You do not see. Do you observe her way whenever she sits

down to table? She covers her face, and remains in silent

prayer, I suppose, a minute or so." A slight laugh came from

Mrs. Randolph with the words.

Mr. Randolph could not well laugh, for he was shaving. He

remarked that he had never seen it.

"I wish you would remember and take notice. She does it

regularly. And she is not a docile child any longer, I give

you warning. You will find it very difficult to do anything

with her in the way of breaking up this religious stiffness of

hers."

Mr. Randolph was silent a while, and Mrs. Randolph looked

vexed. At length he remarked that indirect ways were the best.

"It will take both," said his wife; "direct and indirect." And

after that they went down to breakfast.

Mr. Randolph was the last, and he was not early; but this

morning Daisy was later still. Her father watched for her

coming, and did not see it after all; Daisy stole in so

quietly, she was in her seat by his side before he had noticed

her. Then, perceiving the gentle, sweet, quiet little face

beside him, and recognising the timid feeling which made Daisy

afraid to meet his eye, he could not refrain; — he bent down

and gave her a kiss. He was very much touched by the little

fluttering start and glance which Daisy returned to this

salutation, and he saw that a pink flash of pleasure came into

her cheeks. Perhaps all this put the subject of watching her

out of Mr. Randolph's head; he certainly did not see the

minute, a few minutes later, when Daisy's hand stole to her

brow, and her eyes were for a short space hidden and her hand

moveless. Mrs. Randolph saw it, and saw that he did not. Daisy

had forgotten that anybody could see her. The thanksgiving of

her heart had more burden to-day than the ordinary gifts of

the morning which she was wont to remember. Her father was not

angry with her! It took a load off Daisy's heart; and she

looked so happy all breakfast time that Mr. Randolph was very

much inclined to slight his wife's fears.

Juanita's constant habit of thankfulness and of expressing her

thankfulness, during the weeks Daisy had spent with her, had

gone down into the child's heart. With every meal, though

taken by herself all alone, Daisy had seen the old woman

acknowledging gratefully from whose hand she got it. And with

other things beside meals; and it had seemed sweet and

pleasant to Daisy to do so. At home, when she was suddenly

transferred to her father's stately board, — where every

beauty and luxury were gathered together, and an array of

friends to help each other enjoy it; and no one remembered, no

one acknowledged that any gratitude was due to the hand that

had supplied the board and given the friends, — Daisy's heart

was pained by a great sense of want. Not thank God for all

these things? give no acknowledgment of praise to Him? She

could not bear to have it so.

She thought nobody would notice her, or know what she was

doing if they did notice her; and she used to put her hand

over her brow, and comfort her own heart with giving the

thanks she wanted to express. She soon forgot to be afraid

anybody would notice her. But Mrs. Randolph marked it all, and

now never missed the minute when Daisy's face was shielded.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE PIC-NIC PARTY.

The thing on hand now was the expedition to Silver Lake.

Daisy's foot and ankle were getting sufficient strength to

bear all the work that need be asked of them; and it was best

to go while the hot weather still lingered. It was early in

September, and the day was fixed. Quite a party was going.

There were no visitors at Melbourne House now except Mrs. Gary

and her children; but that brought the home party up to seven.

Dr. Sandford was going, of course. Then some other neighbours.

Mrs. Stanfield had promised to go, with her little daughter

Ella, and her older daughter Theresa. Mrs. Fish was coming

from another quarter of the country, with her children,

Alexander and Frederica. Mr. Fish and Mr. Stanfield were to go

too; and Mr. and Mrs. Sandford, the doctor's brother and

sister-in-law. However, though this was to be such a strong

muster, Daisy thought of only two or three of the number that

concerned her personally. Preston and Ransom, of course;

Alexander Fish; though the two latter she thought of as likely

to make disturbance more than anything else; and Daisy liked a

most lady-like quietness and propriety in everything in which

she was engaged. But, besides these, there was only Ella

Stanfield whose age would bring her into contact with Daisy;

and Daisy, very much of late accustomed to being alone or with

older people, looked with some doubtfulness at the prospect of

having a young companion to entertain. With that exception,

and it hardly made one, nothing could look brighter in the

distance than Silver Lake.

Several days passed between Daisy's giving the note to her

father and the one fixed on for the expedition. In all that

time Daisy was left to guess whether or not it had been seen

and read by him. No sign or token told her; there was none;

and Daisy could only conclude that he _must_ have seen it,

because he could not very well help doing so. But she was not

at all discouraged. Rather the contrary; seeing that certainly

her father was not displeased with her.

In all these days too, Mr. Randolph had ample time and chance

to observe Daisy's action which had so disturbed her mother at

meal times. Yet hitherto he had never spoken of it. In fact it

was so quietly done that often the moment escaped him; and at

other times, Daisy's manner so asked for a shield rather than

a trumpet, and the little face that looked up from being

covered with her hand was so bright and sweet, that perhaps

his heart shrank from saying anything that would change the

expression. At any rate, Daisy had been safe thus far.

Great preparations were making for the Silver Lake day.

Thursday it was to be. Wednesday evening, Dr. Sandford was at

Melbourne. Daisy was considering the arrangements of a little

packed basket of her own.

"Are you expecting to have a good time to-morrow, Daisy?" he

asked.

Daisy smiled as she said yes.

"But you will have to keep quiet. I shall not let you run

about like the rest."

"I can sit quiet and look at the lake," said Daisy; with so

absolutely contented a face, that the doctor smiled.

"But in parties of pleasure, do you know, my friend, it

generally happens that people cannot do what they expected to

do."

"Then I can do something else," said Daisy, looking very

fearless of anything disagreeable.

"Will you let your old friend, Nora Dinwiddie, join the

party?"

"Nora! Oh, is Nora coming?" exclaimed Daisy.

"Mrs. Sandford commissioned me to make the enquiry, Mrs.

Randolph, whether one more would be too many? Her little

relation, Daisy's friend I believe, has returned to her for

the rest of the season."

"Certainly!" Mrs. Randolph said, — "there was room for

everybody."

The lady's manner told nothing; but, nevertheless, Daisy did

not venture to show her joy. She did not say another word

about Nora. The hour of meeting was determined, and the doctor

withdrew. Daisy looked over the contents of her basket again

with fresh satisfaction, made sure that all was right and

everything there; and went to bed happy.

Thursday morning broke fair as eye could see. The September

sun rose in a haze of warm rays; promising, as Mrs. Randolph

said, that the heat would be stifling by and by. Daisy did not

care, for her part. They had breakfast earlier than usual; for

the plan was to get on the other side of the river before the

sun should be too oppressive. They had scarcely risen from the

table when the Sandford party drove up to the door. These were

to go in a boat with the party from Melbourne House. Mr. and

Mrs. Fish, from higher up the river, were to cross in their

own boat, and join the rest at the spot appointed on the

opposite shore. The Stanfields were to do the same, starting

from a different point; friends having arrived that would

swell their numbers beyond the original four.

Of all this, Daisy cared just for one thing; — that Nora was

come, and was to go in the boat with her, and no other. The

meeting between the two children, on the steps at Melbourne,

was most joyous. "Oh, Nora! I'm so glad you have come!" — and,

"Oh Daisy! I'm so glad to be here!" — and a small host of

small questions and answers, that indeed meant a great deal,

but would not read for much.

"Oh, Nora, isn't it nice!" said Daisy, as they stood on the

steps, while the carriages waited below before the door.

"It's grand," said Nora. "Why, aunt Frances says we shall be

gone all day."

"To be sure, we shall," said Daisy. "Papa is going to fish;

and so is Preston, and Dr. Sandford, and other people, I

suppose; and some of the men take their tackle along too.

There is nice fish in the Lake."

"What men do you mean?" said Nora.

"Oh, the men that manage the boat, and carry the baskets;

there are ever so many baskets to go, you know; and the men

must carry them; because the path won't let a wagon go."

"Who is going to carry you?" said Dr. Sandford coming out

behind them.

"Me?" said Daisy.

"Yes."

"Why, I do not want anybody to carry me, Dr. Sandford."

"Don't you? I do. And I shall want two men to do it. Whom will

you have? I have arranged a mountain chair for you, Daisy."

"A chair!" said Daisy. How could that be? And then she saw in

Dr. Sandford's wagon, a chair to be sure; a common, light,

cane-bottomed arm-chair; with poles sticking out before and

behind it very oddly. She looked up at the doctor, and Nora

demanded what that was?

"Something like the chairs they use in the mountains of

Switzerland, to carry ladies up and down."

"To carry me?" said Daisy.

"For that purpose. Now see whom you will have to do it."

Daisy and Nora ran away together to consult her father. The

matter was soon arranged. James the footman, and Michael the

coachman, were to go to carry baskets, and help manage the

boat; James being something of a sailor. Now Logan and Sam

were pressed into the service; the latter to take James's

business, as porter, and leave the latter free to be a chair-

bearer.

"I don't see how the boat is to carry all the people," Nora

remarked.

"Oh, yes," said Daisy, "it is a big boat; it will hold

everybody, I guess; and it goes with a sail, Nora. Won't that

be nice? Papa knows how to manage it."

"It will want a very large boat to take us all," Nora

persisted. "I went out with Marmaduke in a sail-boat once — he

knows how to manage a sail-boat too; — and I am sure it

wouldn't have held half as many people as we have got here.

No, nor a quarter as many."

"Oh, yes, but our boat is bigger, I suppose," said Daisy.

"Don't you like to go in a boat, Nora?"

"I like it if it don't lean over too far," said Nora. "I

thought it was going to turn over once or twice, when I was

out with Marmaduke that time. I was afraid."

"I am not afraid with papa," said Daisy. "I know he can manage

it."

"Why, so can Marmaduke manage it," said Nora; "and he said I

needn't be afraid; but I was."

The carriages took the whole party down to the shore in a few

minutes. There lay the sail-boat all ready, her sails shaken

out; and James and Sam, on board already, received basket

after basket from the hands of Logan and the coachman, and

stowed them away in what seemed to be a place of ample

accommodations.

Daisy and Nora, hand in hand, stood on the shore looking at

all that was done, and with eager eyes. The summer breeze just

played lightly and rippled the water, on which the morning sun

made a warm glow, early in the day as it was.

"What _could_ so many baskets be wanted for?" said Nora.

"Why, to carry all the things. You know there will be a great

many people to eat dinner at Silver Lake."

"Dinner?" said Nora; "do people eat dinner when they go to a

pic-nic?"

"Why, yes. What do you think they do?"

"I thought it was just a pie-nic."

"What is that?" said Daisy, curiously.

But just then there was a stir; the ladies and gentlemen were

getting into the boat, and the children had to be ready for

their turn. It came; and Mr. Randolph handed one after other

safe over the gunwale of the big sail-boat, and placed them

happily beside each other in the middle space, where they

could have an excellent time for talking. But they wanted no

talking at first.

When all were aboard and ready, the boat was cast loose from

the shore, and her sail trimmed to catch the soft northerly

air that came blowing down the river. Slowly the sail caught

the breeze — would it be strong enough to take her? the

children thought — slowly, very slowly, the boat edged its way

out from the shore — then the breeze filled the sail full,

took good hold, and began to push the little vessel with a

sensible motion out towards the river channel. Steady and

sweet the motion was, gathering speed. The water presently

rippled under the boat's prow, and she yielded gently a little

to the pressure on the sail, tipped herself gracefully a

little over, and began to cleave her way through the rippling

water in good earnest. Then how the waves sparkled! how cheery

the movement was! how delicious the summer air over the water!

although the sun was throwing down his beams with great power

already, and the day promised to be sultrily hot.

"It is going to be intense," said Mrs. Randolph.

"Melting!" — said Mrs. Gary.

"You will have enough of it before the end of the day —"

remarked Mr. Sandford.

Mr. Sandford was a good-humoured looking gentleman, with a

sensible face and black whiskers; but he was a gentleman, and

Daisy approved of him. He was very unlike his brother. His

wife was a very plain person, in feature, and not very

talkative; letting her husband do that for her; but kindly and

pleasant, nevertheless; and Daisy approved of her too.

"At what hour do you expect the day _will_ end, practically?"

inquired Mrs. Randolph of her husband.

He smiled. "I should say — judging from present tokens — not

till the sun gets well down on his western way."

"First-rate!" said Preston, aside. "We'll have a good time for

fishing."

"But that will make it very late crossing the river, Mr.

Randolph? will it not?"

"It may."

"There is a moon," said Mrs. Sandford.

"Moon! I hope we are not to be beholden to the moon's good

offices!" exclaimed the other lady. "It is only ten o'clock

now — not that. We shall be tired to death of the woods before

we have done with them."

"You must try fishing, aunt Felicia," said Preston.

"Yes — a good idea," remarked Mr. Sandford. "I do not know how

the ladies can get along without some sport — ha, ha! There is

a boat on the lake — isn't there?"

"They say so," Mr. Randolph returned. "I have not been there

for a long time."

"Then I shall take the charge of your entertainment, Mrs.

Randolph," Mr. Sandford went on. "I shall persuade you to put

yourself under my guidance, and let me initiate you into the

mysteries of pickerel catching."

"I do not think you can persuade me out of the shade — if once

I get in it again —" said the lady.

"Why, mamma," said Ransom, "pickerel-fishing is splendid!"

Mr. Randolph looked at Daisy. No heat nor shadow too much for

her! With one hand clasped in Nora's, her little face was a

pattern of perfect content; nay, it was full of delighted joy.

Mr. Randolph thought he could endure his portion of the heat.

"Nora," said Daisy, "isn't it nice?"

"It goes nicely now," said Nora.

"But isn't it pleasant?"

"Yes. It is a great deal pleasanter than in a little boat.

This one is good and large."

"Isn't the water pretty?"

"I like the green grass better," said Nora.

"Oh, yes! but then I like this too. I like it very much. Nora,

what did you mean by a pic-nic?"

"A pic-nic?" said Nora.

"Yes; you said you thought people did not eat dinner, but it

was a pic-nic."

"Well, I thought they didn't."

"What did you mean by a pic-nic?"

"Why I meant just that. You know what a pic-nic is."

"We always have dinner when we go on a pie-nic," said Daisy.

"Then I don't think it is a pic-nic."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Daisy, are you going to ride in that queer

chair?"

"I suppose so. My ankle isn't quite strong yet, you know.

Wasn't it nice of Dr. Sandford to prepare it for me?"

"I don't know. _I_ don't think he is nice," said Nora. — Which

expression of opinion was so very startling to Daisy that it

took her some time to recover from it. She sought out the

doctor with her eye where he was sitting forward of the mast,

somewhat hid from her by a piece of the sail; she scanned his

countenance, with its calm nobleness of feature, and

steadfast, reserved, beautiful blue eyes. Doubtless, he was

not everything Daisy wished him; nevertheless, to her he was

very "nice" indeed. Her eye came back satisfied.

At the other end of the boat the party were talkative and gay.

Mr. Randolph held the main sheet in his own hand; Mr. Sandford

had the rudder; neither of them had much to do; for the wind

was gentle and fair, and the boat kept her straight course for

the opposite shore. The river was wide, however, at this

place; the other shore was an object in view for a good while

before they reached it. Slowly and steadily the little skiff

skimmed over; they got to the middle of the river; then the

trees before them on the other side, with the cleared fields

in one or two spots, began to show in more distinct forms and

colours. The sun was very hot! So hot, that it seemed to kill

the breeze. As they drew near their place of disembarkation,

the motion of the vessel grew slack; the sail fluttered now

and then; the propelling force just lasted till they got to

shore, and then nobody said anything more of any air felt to

be stirring.

"I think we had better stay on the water," said Mrs. Gary. "It

is positively stifling here."

"It will be better when we get in the woods," suggested Mr.

Sandford.

"No, — begging your pardon," Mr. Randolph answered.

"No? — will it be worse, Mr. Randolph?" said his wife.

"I hope not — for I think you could broil a beefsteak here in

another hour; when the sun gets on the meridian."

"Then do let us move away from here at once! it is oppressive.

I do not know how we are going to walk, but I suppose we shall

find out. We may hope there will be a little freshness by the

lake."

Mr. Stanfield's boat however had to be waited for a few

minutes. It got to shore just as Mr. Fish's skiff appeared in

sight coasting down on the same side, from behind a point. The

whole party were soon together, exchanging shakes of the hand

and puffs of condolence on the state of the atmosphere. There

was presently a division of forces. All the boys, Preston,

Ransom, and Alexander Fish, compared notes and fishing tackle.

The ladies and gentlemen, with one or two elder girls,

Frederica Fish and Theresa Stanfield and Eloise Gary,

congregated into a moving mass of muslins and parasols. While

Daisy and Nora were joined by Ella Stanfield; and a great

constraint fell upon all three. Ella was a comparative

stranger; a nice-looking child, thoughtful and old beyond her

years. She looked like gravity; Nora liked gaiety; while Daisy

was most like the thing that bears her name.

They stood like little pinks of propriety, without saying

anything to each other. This constraint was soon broken up by

the preparations for the march. On enquiry it was found I that

there were two or three ways to the lake. One was short and

easy — in comparison — but very narrow; a mere footpath

through the woods. Another had a wider track; but it had also

a rough footing of rocks and stones, and was much longer;

taking a circuit to reach the place. Another still was only

used by eager lovers of the picturesque, though it was said to

reward them.

As soon as all this was explained to the understanding of the

company, the larger division set off immediately for the

easiest and quickest road to the lake; no other recommendation

was worth a moment's considering. With quick disappearance one

after another muslin dress and gay parasol was lost within the

edge of the woods which their chosen path immediately entered.

They vanished from the shore. Every one of them was presently

out of sight. Mr. Randolph had seen that Dr. Sandford was

putting Daisy into her travelling conveyance; and thinking no

attention of his own could be needful, he had gone on in

advance of the party with Mrs. Stanfield. The very last of

them, muslins and parasols and all, was swallowed up in the

enclosing woods, almost before Daisy was established in her

chair. Her bearers lifted it then to receive instructions from

Dr. Sandford as to their method of playing their part. They

were Logan and Sam; James was devoted to his own particular

charge.

"Why, where are Nora and Ella?" Daisy suddenly exclaimed.

"Everybody seems to have gone on," answered the doctor.

"Except the boys. Now Daisy, are you comfortable? is it all

right?"

"It is nice, Dr. Sandford!" — But at the same time Daisy

wondered much, and grieved not a little that her companions

should have left her to go alone. Was that kindness? or good

manners?

"Did they know which way I was going?" she said.

"I fancy so," said the doctor; "they have done as everybody

else does — gone with the crowd. Now, you fellows, you know

the way."

"Yes, sir."

"When you come to a house, remember, you must turn sharp to

the right. Boys, you must go with the chair as a body-guard."

"Why must we?" said Ransom.

"You would not have your sister go alone?"

"You are going that way."

"You are mistaken. I am not."

"She has got Logan and Sam to take care of her. Girls always

have to be taken care of!" exclaimed Ransom, in disgust.

"I am astonished at your want of gallantry. Preston, I shall

depend on you to see that the chair is properly attended."

"Which way are you going, sir?"

"By myself — to see if I can get a shot at something."

Preston did not look delighted, Daisy saw, though he accepted

the charge the doctor gave him. The doctor himself strode off

with his gun, disappearing in the woods at the nearest point.

Daisy was left with her two bearers and her three attendants.

"Well, boys, we may as well get along," said Ransom,

discontentedly. "There is no occasion that we should keep

poking on behind this concern."

They passed it and took the lead. Preston as he passed asked

Daisy how it went, and if she were comfortable. It went very

nicely, and she was very comfortable; and receiving this

assurance, Preston sprang forward to regain Alexander Fish's

company, with whom he was holding an animated discourse on the

making and using of artificial flies. The three boys trudged

along in advance; the motions of their busy heads, and of

their active feet, telling that there was no lack of interest

or excitement there.

The chair followed steadily with its little burden. It went

nicely; she was very comfortable; it was a new and most

pleasant mode of getting over the ground; and yet — there was

something at work in Daisy's heart that was not pleasure. She

was sadly disappointed. She was left alone. It had tried her a

good deal that Nora and Ella should have run after the larger

party with so cavalier an abandonment of her, when they knew

her chair must go another road. Then she was very sorry that

the doctor had seen good to forsake her; and felt that from

the thoughtfulness or unselfishness of boys she had little to

hope for. Look at them! there they went before her, putting

more and more distance between them and the chair every

minute. Perhaps they would entirely forget their little

convoy? and be out of sight in a trifle more time. And in all

that big party of pleasure, everybody engaged with somebody

else, she was left with no one to speak to her, and no company

at all but that of Logan and Sam. Daisy two or three times put

up her hand stealthily to her face to get rid of a tear that

had found its way there.

Daisy thought at first that she would not have done so to her

friends, as they had done to her; but then presently she

reflected what reason she had to know better and to do better,

that they had not; and instead of anything like resentment, a

very gentle and tender feeling of pity and kindness arose in

Daisy's mind toward them.

Her hurt sense of unfriendliness quite soothed itself away;

and now Daisy began to enjoy herself and the day and the party

of pleasure. — Her share of it, at least. Her chair was under

shadow of the tall woods now. It is true, it was very hot

there. No air seemed moving. The chair-bearers often raised an

arm to their brows to wipe away the heated moisture that stood

there and ran down their faces. But Daisy had no exertion to

make; and instead of that, her own motion seemed to give a

little life to the lifeless air. Then she was at leisure to

look and enjoy; not having even to take care of her own

footing. The depth of green leafage over her head when she

looked up; the depth of green shade on either hand of her,

pierced by the endless colonnade of the boles of trees; how

wildly beautiful it was!

Daisy thought of a good many things she would like to ask Dr.

Sandford — if she had the liberty; but he did not talk about

wonderful things to her now that she was well, and had her own

means of amusement.

Now and then Daisy had the sight of a red squirrel, running

along a tree bough, or scampering over the ground from one

rock to another. What jumps he would make to get out of her

way! And birds were singing too, sometimes; and mosses were

spread out in luxuriant patches of wood carpeting in many

places; and rocks were brown and grey, and grown with other

mosses and ferns; and through all this fairy work of beauty,

Daisy's chair went at an easy, quiet pace, with a motion that

she thought it very pleasant to feel.

It was a wild old wood, which nobody had ever meddled with.

Things were just as nature's work had made them. The path the

little party were travelling was a wood road merely, where

country wagons had made a track; or more properly, where the

country people had made a track for their wagons. It was but a

rough way; stumps of trees that had been cut down stood right

in the middle of it; and rocks and stones were in some places

very thickly strewn over it. After some time of wandering over

level ground, the path took a turn and began to get among the

hills. It wound up and down, and was bordered now by steep

hillsides and sharp-rising rocks. It was all the wilder and

prettier. The house Dr. Sandford spoke of had been passed; the

turn had been taken; there was nothing to do now but follow on

till they found the lake; but there were no signs of it yet,

nor any sound of voices to be heard in the distance. Even the

boys were gone on out of sight; the stillness of summer noon

was all through the deep woods, for it is a time of day when

the birds do not feel like singing much. Daisy enjoyed it. She

thought no one of all their company was having a better time

probably than she.

Suddenly Sam, who was foremost of the bearers, gave a great

shout; and at the same instant dropped his end of Daisy's

chair and sprang to one side. Then stood still.

"What for air ye playing capers like that?" inquired Logan,

with an ail of great disgust and a strong Scotch accent.

Sam stood still, drawing his countenance into all manner of

grimaces.

"Speak then, can't ye! What ails ye? Don't stand there like a

Merry Andrew, boy!"

"I've hurted myself!" Sam groaned.

"And how did ye hurt yourself? When ye were walking along,

couldn't ye go for'rard quietly? Where's the hurt?"

"My foot!" said Sam, bending down to it. "I can't stir it.

Oh!"

"Did ye hurt yourself before or after ye gave such a loup?"

Logan grunted, going over, however, now to bring his own

wisdom to bear on Sam's causes of trouble. "Whatever possessed

ye, boy, with the end of the chair in your hand?"

"I see a sarpent —" said Sam, submissively.

"A sarpent!" echoed Logan — "it's not your pairt to be

frighted if you see a sarpent. What hurt would the sight of

the brute do ye? There's no harm come to ye, boy, but the

start."

"I can't move it —" repeated Sam, under his breath.

"Logan, perhaps he has sprained his ankle," said Daisy from

her chair; where at first she had been pretty well frightened.

"Weel — I don't see it," replied Logan, slowly and

unbelievingly.

"How does it feel, Sam?" Daisy asked.

"It don't feel without I stir it, Miss Daisy — and then, it's

like a knife."

"He has sprained it, I am afraid, Logan," said Daisy, getting

out of her chair and coming to the consultation. "I think it

is swelling now."

Sam had bared his unfortunate ankle. Logan looked up from it

to the little speaker whose words were so quietly wise, with

unspoken admiration.

"Can't ye walk then, Sam?" he urged. "Here is Miss Daisy in

the middle of the road, and wanting to be at the Lake — and

how much further it may be to the Lake is a subject unknown to

me. Can't ye bear your foot surely?"

Sam's reply was sorrowful but decided; he could not bear it at

all, with any weight upon it.

"Never mind, Logan," said Daisy; "I can wait. You had better

go forward and see if you can find the boys. They can take

care of me."

Logan felt the justness of this proposition, and at once put

his long legs in swift motion to overtake the advance party;

exercising a good strong voice too presently in hallooing to

them. Daisy was left with Sam. The thought crossed her mind

that this was getting to be an odd party of pleasure; but her

real concern was for the sprained ankle. That, she was very

sorry for. Her own delay and disappointment she took

patiently.

Logan's halloos brought the boys to a stand. They waited till

he came up to them, not deeming it necessary on their part to

go back to see what was the matter. When they heard his news

there was a disagreeable pause. What was to be done?

"Daisy can walk the rest of the way," was the decision of her

brother.

"How far is it?" said Preston.

"I don't know! — it's no great things of a walk anyhow. Girls

are always getting into trouble!"

"But what has got to be done with Sam?" said Preston.

"He can take care of himself," said Sam's young master

"He can't move, sir, on his own feet," said Logan.

"You'll have to carry him, then. I suppose we cannot leave him

in the woods, for humanity."

"There's Miss Daisy, sir."

"What a plague!" exclaimed Ransom. "Daisy can walk. She must,

at any rate; and you can bring her chair along to make

firewood. Boys, we ought to be there this minute — at the

Lake. We shall be cheated out of all our fishing before

dinner. That's along of mounting guard on a girl! And after

dinner there won't be two inches of time."

"Hush, Ransom!" said Preston.

At this point the consultation was enlarged, and its character

somewhat modified by the coming of Dr. Sandford upon the

scene. From a height not far off, where he was roaming with

his gun, he had perceived the group, discerned that something

was wrong, and come down with a quick step to reach them. His

eye rather than his voice asked what was the matter. He was

answered in various styles by the different members of the

group.

"Here is a muss!" said Ransom.

"Miss Daisy, sir — she is left standing in the middle o' the

forest!" — said Logan.

"Sam has very stupidly sprained his ankle," said Preston, "and

cannot move."

The doctor without a word turned in the direction from which

Logan had come. "Follow me, young gentlemen," said he, looking

over his shoulder, — "I shall need your help." So, unwillingly

enough, the boys, fishing tackle and all, turned back upon

their steps, and followed. They soon came to Daisy's emptied

chair, where she stood mounting guard over Sam.

The ankle was badly sprained; there was no doubt of that. Sam

not only could carry nobody; he must himself be carried. The

doctor ordered that Logan should take him on his back and

convey him as far as the poor little house they had passed on

the way. A good lift it was, for Sam was a well grown, stout

fellow; but Logan was a long-limbed, sinewy, brawny Scotchman,

and he made no difficulty of the job. The doctor in the first

place deposited his gun against a tree, and did what was

needful for the hurt ankle.

"Now," said he to Daisy, "how are you going to get forward?"

"I can walk the rest of the way," said Daisy.

"Pardon me. Not with my leave. Boys, which of you will take

the honour of being chair-bearers? I have my gun to care for."

"I will be one," said Preston.

"And Ransom will be the other. Come, sir!"

"Honour!" — said Ransom, as he moved sullenly forward. "I

think girls ought to stay at home when there is anything going

on. They are plaguily in one's way!"

"That is a very womanish speech," said the doctor; "in so far

as that it is very unmanly."

Ransom's temper nowise improved by this reply, he took up

sulkily his ends of the chair-poles; and once more the party

set forward. It was not quite so pleasant now for Daisy; her

chair was no longer carried smoothly. Preston, who was in

advance, did his part perfectly well; but Ransom, behind her,

let the chair go up and go down and sway about very

unsteadily, besides that every step was with a jolting motion.

It kept Daisy in constant uneasiness. Dr. Sandford walked on

just before with his gun; Alexander Fish came after, laughing

and jesting with the other boys.

"How does it go, Daisy?" said the doctor, stopping after a

while to inquire.

"Mayn't I get out and walk, Dr. Sandford?"

"What for?"

"I should like it very much!"

"Do you not ride easily."

"Not quite," said Daisy. "It throws me about a good deal."

"Ah! Did it do so when Logan and Sam carried you?"

"I did not feel it then," said Daisy, unwillingly.

"Your porters are unskilled."

The doctor took his station by Ransom's hand, remarking that

he would see that he did his work well. And he was as good as

his word. He kept a constant eye on the management of the

chair; and when Ransom neglected his duty, gave him a word of

admonition or advice, so keen and contemptuous in its rebuke,

though slight and dry, that even Ransom's thickness of

apprehension felt it, and sheered off from meeting it. The

last part of the distance Daisy was thoroughly well cared for,

and in silence; for the doctor's presence had put a stop to

all bantering between the boys. In furious silence on Ransom's

part this last portion of the way was accomplished.

At the lake at last! And in Daisy's breast at least,

everything but pleasure was now forgotten. A very beautiful

sheet of water, not very small either, with broken shores, lay

girdled round with the unbroken forest. Close to the edge of

the lake the great trees rose up and flung their arms over;

the stems and trunks and branches were given back again in the

smooth mirror below. Where the path came out upon the lake, a

spread of greensward extended under the trees for a

considerable space; and this was spotted and variegated now

with the scattered members of the pleasure party. Blue and

pink and white and green, the various light muslins contrasted

with the grey or the white dresses of the gentlemen; while

parasols were thrown about, and here and there a red shawl lay

upon the ground, for somebody's reclining carpet. To add to

all this, which made already a very pretty picture under the

canopy of the great trees, a boat lay moored at a little point

further on; baskets and hampers congregated with great promise

in another quarter under guard of James and one or two of his

helpers; and upon it all the sunlight just peeped through the

trees, making sunny flecks upon the ground. Nobody wanted more

of it, to tell the truth; everybody's immediate business upon

reaching the place had been to throw himself down and get

cool. Daisy and Dr. Sandford were the two signal exceptions.

Nora and Ella came running up, and there was a storm of

questions. "Oh, Daisy, isn't it beautiful?" "How came you to

be so long getting here?" "Did you have a nice ride?" "Oh,

Daisy, what are we going to do, you and Ella, and I? Everybody

else is going to do something."

"What are they going to do?" said Daisy.

"Oh, I don't know! everything. Mr. Randolph is going out in

the boat to fish, and all the ladies are going with him. —

Mrs. Sandford and Mrs. Stanfield and your mother; only Mrs.

Fish isn't going; but Mr. Sandford is. And Eloise, your

cousin, is going to see about having the dinner ready; and

Theresa Stanfield is in that too; I think they have got the

most fun; but nobody is doing anything yet. It's too hot. Are

you hot, Daisy?"

"Not very."

"Oh, Daisy," said Ella Stanfield, "couldn't we fish?"

"There are so many boys —" said Daisy; "I do not believe there

will be any fishing tackle for us."

"Can you fish, Daisy?" asked the doctor, who stood near,

looking after his gun.

"No, sir. I did catch a fish once — but it was only my line

caught it."

"Not your hand at the end of the line?"

"My hand was not there. The line was lying on the bank and my

hook in the water."

"Oh! that was it!"

Away went the doctor with his gun, and the boys sped off with

their fishing rods. The heat was too great for anybody else to

move. Nevertheless, what are parties of pleasure for _but_

pleasure? they must not let the whole day slip away with

nothing done but lying in the shade of the trees. There was a

little island in the lake, well wooded like its shores. It was

proposed that the ladies' fishing party should row over to the

island, and there, under another shady grove, carry on their

designs against the pickerel. Daisy's wish was to go with that

party in the boat and watch their sport; especially as Mr.

Randolph was the leader and manager of it. She was not asked

to go — there was no room for the little people; so they stood

on the shore and saw the setting off, and watched the bright

dimples every stroke of the oars made in the surface of the

lake.

The people were pretty well scattered now. Nobody was left on

the ground but Mrs. Gary and Mrs. Fish, sitting under a tree

at some distance, talking; and Eloise and Theresa, who were

charged to superintend the laying of the cloth. Having nothing

particular to do, the three children became hangers-on, to

watch how this business would be conducted; ready to help if

they got a chance.

It was found a difficult business to arrange places for so

many people on the grass; and the girls finally and wisely

gave it up. They determined to set out the eatables only, on a

tablecloth spread to receive them; but to let everybody eat

where he felt disposed, or where he could find the best bit of

shade. Shade was the best thing that day, Theresa Stanfield

declared. But the first thing of all was to light a fire; for

coffee must be boiled, and tea made. The fire was not a

troublesome thing to have, for dead wood was in plenty for the

gathering. James and Logan, who had come to the scene of

action, soon had that going; and the children forgot that it

was hot, in the beauty and the novelty of the thing, and

laughed at Theresa's red cheeks as she stooped over the coals

with her coffee-pot. About coffee Daisy was ignorant. But tea

had been made in her behalf by Juanita too many times for her,

not to have the whole proceeding fixed in her memory.

"Oh, Eloise, you must not make that tea now!" she exclaimed.

"Mustn't I!"

"No. It will be spoiled."

"Some other things have had the same fate," said Eloise.

"It will not be good for anything, Eloise," Daisy persisted,

gently. "It should not be made but just before you want it —

just a few minutes."

"You are wise, Daisy," returned her cousin. "I do not know so

much as you do, you see."

Daisy fell back a little. Eloise and Theresa went to unpacking

the hampers; and James, acting under their direction, carried

and placed the various articles they took out, placed and

replaced; for as new and unlooked-for additions were made to

the stock of viands, the arrangement of those already on the

tablecloth had to be varied. There was a wonderful supply; for

a hamper had come from every house that had sent members to

the party.

"What shall we do with it all?" said Eloise. "Find out what

people like — or are expected to like. Just look at the cold

chickens! and the ham! I am so thankful for that red lobster,

to make a variety. There are three boxes of sardines — and

what is that?"

"Anchovy paste."

"Well! — and look at the other things! We want an army to eat

them. There is a dog, to begin with."

Theresa said it with comical coolness; but Eloise screamed, as

a little spaniel was perceived to be snuffing round the

tablecloth.

"It's Ransom's dog! Run, Daisy, run, and keep him off. Just

stay there and keep watch of him, or he'll be all over

everything. Daisy, run!"

Daisy left the hampers, and walked, or indeed obeyed orders

and ran, to where the little spaniel was threatening a rout

among the whole army of cold chickens. Daisy called him off,

and then stood by to take care of him. It was very amusing to

see Eloise and Theresa unpack the hampers; and Ella and Nora,

finding it so, made no move to join Daisy in her distant

watch. The men were busy running to and fro with the unpacked

eatables, and keeping up the fire, and setting piles of plates

everywhere, and laying glasses all round the tablecloth — for

they would not stand up — and putting wine in coolers, that is

to say, in pails of ice water. Daisy felt alone again, left

out of the play. She looked at Nora and Ella in the distance —

that is, just far enough away to be out of her society,

eagerly standing over the hampers; and for a moment felt not

very well pleased, either with them or her cousin Eloise. But

then she remembered that she was tired, and sat down with her

back against a tree; resolved to take all things patiently, if

she could; and she very soon found enough to do, and amusing

enough, in ordering the arrangement of the dishes on the

tablecloth. Logan was sure to set a thing down in the wrong

place, if he set it anywhere; and even James was confused in

such a very novel state of his department. Daisy found

exercise for all her wisdom, and full content came with full

employment, naturally.

You can make pleasure out of almost anything, if you set about

it. In the intervals, she rested, and watched the distant

figures of the fishing party on the island; and gladdened

herself with the beauty and the sweet air of the wood, and the

flecks of sunshine and moving shadow on the ground beneath the

trees. I am afraid nobody else found the air sweet, unless it

were the doctor. He was hardy, and besides had a philosophical

way of looking at things. Daisy watched for his coining,

afraid that he might wander off beyond luncheon time; but he

did not come. The three boys, however, a less welcome sight,

had recollected that there was something forward besides

fishing; and came strolling along through the trees towards

the tablecloth. Preston was stopped to speak to his mother;

the other two approached Daisy.

"Hollo!" said Ransom, "here we are! now where's everybody

else? I'm furious as a lion."

"A hungry lion," said Alexander Fish. "I wish we had got some

fish for the people to cook. That's fun. I tell you, Ransom,

it's fun to see the work they make with it."

"Fish is no count, I think," said Ransom. "Its only good to

catch. I can stand a lobster salad, though. But I can't stand

long without something. What's the use of waiting? They aren't

coming back yonder till night. They haven't stirred yet."

Ransom's eyes indicated the party on the island. And acting

upon his announced opinion, Ransom paid his respects in a

practical form, not to cold chicken and bread, but to a dish

of cream cakes which stood conveniently near. And having eaten

one, in three mouthfuls, he stretched out his hand, and took

another. Happily then, some meringues attracted his attention;

and he stood with a cream cake in one hand, and a meringue in

the other, taking them alternately, or both together. The

meringues began to disappear fast. Daisy warned him that the

only dish of those delicacies in all the entertainment was the

one into which he was making such inroads. Ransom paid her no

heed, and helped himself to another.

"Ransom, — that is not fair," said his sister. "There are no

more but those, and you will have them all gone. Just look,

now, how the dish looks!"

"How the dish looks!" said Ransom, mockingly. "None of your

business."

"It is not right. Don't, Ransom!" Daisy said, as his hand was

extended for a fourth meringue.

"Want 'em for yourself?" said Ransom, sneeringly. "I say,

Alexander — here's a game! Here's something just fit for a

man's luncheon in a summer day — something nice and light and

nourishing. Here's a lark pie — I know what it is, for I saw

Joanna making it. Now we'll have this and be off."

"You must not, Ransom," Daisy urged, anxiously.

But Ransom seized the pie from its place, and proceeded to cut

into it, seeing that nobody was near to hinder him.

"Ransom, you ought not to do it," pleaded Daisy. "You ought to

wait your turn. You are worse than Fido."

"Am I?" said Ransom, fiercely. "Take that! Mind your own

affairs, and let mine alone. You are not queen here yet, if

you think you are."

A tolerably smart box on the ear was the accompaniment to this

speech. Nobody was near. Alexander, after joining his friend

in a meringue or two with a cream cake, not feeling quite

comfortable in the connection, had moved off. So did Ransom

now, but he carried his pie with him, and called the other two

boys to bear him company in making lunch of it. Preston was

much too gentlemanly a fellow to take part even of a lark pie

in such circumstances; he walked off in disdain, leaving

Ransom and Alexander to do what they liked. And they liked the

pie, so well that I am bound to say nothing of it remained

very soon excepting the dish. Even the bones were swallowed by

Fido.

Daisy was left alone under the tree with her occupation gone;

for Fido was after the lark bones. Her ear rang a few minutes

from the application of Ransom's hand; but that effect had

passed off long before Daisy's mind was quieted. For, gentle

as she was, Daisy was a little lady who had a very deep and

particular sense of personal dignity; she felt wronged as well

as hurt. Her father and mother never indulged in that method

of punishment; and if they had, Ransom's hand was certainly

not another one to inflict it.

Daisy was quite as much stung by the insult as by the

unkindness; but she felt both. She felt both so much that she

was greatly discomposed. Her watch over the feast was entirely

forgotten; luckily Fido had gone off with his master, and

chickens were no longer in immediate danger. Daisy rubbed away

first one tear and then another, feeling a sort of bitter fire

hot at her heart; and then she began to be dissatisfied at

finding herself so angry. This would not do; anger was

something she had no business with; how could she carry her

Lord's message, or do anything to serve Him, in such a temper?

It would not do; but there it was, offended dignity and pride,

hot at her heart. Nobody would have thought perhaps that Daisy

was proud; but you never can tell what is in a person's heart

till it is tried; and then the kinds of pride are various. It

does not follow because you have none of one sort that you

have not plenty of another sort. However, finding this fire at

her heart quite too much for her to manage, Daisy went away

from her watching-place; crept away among the trees without

any one's observing her; till she had put some distance

between her and the party, and found a further shelter from

them in a big moss-grown rock and large tree. There was a bed

of moss, soft and brown, on the other side of the rock; and

there Daisy fell down on her knees and began to remember —

"Thou therefore endure hardship, as a good soldier of Jesus

Christ."

CHAPTER XXV.

A SHOWER.

Certainly the sun was very hot that day. The fishers on the

island found it so, notwithstanding that they had sought out

every one for himself the shadiest, freshest nook that could

be found. Nothing was fresh; and if the trees did hinder the

sunshine from falling on some parts of the ground, they kept

off none of it from the water; and the glare from that was

said to be unendurable. Even where there was not much glare

strictly speaking; people were not particular in their speech

that day. At last they voted that holding lines in the water

was of no use; fish could not be expected to leave their cool

depths below to seek the sunny regions near the surface of the

water; — "they would be fools if they did," one of the ladies

remarked. Fish never were supposed to be very wise creatures,

Mr. Sandford informed her; but, nevertheless, it was resolved

not to reckon upon their want of wisdom at this time, but to

put up and go back to shore, and try what cold chicken would

do. So just about the hour when the sun's work for the day

verges towards the hottest, the little boat was seen again

stealing over the sunny surface of the lake, back to where the

tablecloth lay spread for the tired people.

A little while before it reached that place, Dr. Sandford

arrived upon the scene. He locked a little warm in the face;

but his white shooting coat did not seem less affected by the

state of the weather than the doctor's temper. Mrs. Gary and

Mrs. Fish he found sunk in somnolency at the foot of the tree

where they had been talking. The young ladies were sitting by

the emptied hampers, deep in confab. The boys and Fido, over

against the outspread feast, were arranging fishing-tackle,

and watching the return of the boat; with eyes of

anticipation. To them came the doctor.

"Where is your sister, Ransom?"

"I don't know." The tone meant, "I don't care."

"I do not see her anywhere."

"No more do I," said Ransom, without raising his eyes from his

fishing line.

"Where is she?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Did she go with the fishing party?"

"No, sir; she was here when we came," Alexander Fish spoke up.

"Yes, I remember she was here," said Preston. "I remember

seeing her. She cannot be far off. It's hot enough to keep

people from straying far."

The doctor, being not absolutely satisfied with this

reasoning, and having nothing better to do, occupied himself

with a search after the missing Daisy. It lasted some time,

and he was beginning to be not quite easy in his mind; when,

being a sportsman, his eye detected something at a distance

which was not moss nor stone. In two minutes the doctor came

up with it. It was Daisy, fast asleep on her moss bed behind

the rock. Her head lay on her arm which was curled up under

it; and profound slumber had left the little pale face as

serene as usual. The doctor was warm by this time. He sat down

on the moss beside her; and putting his arm under Daisy's

shoulders lifted her up, by way of waking her, speaking to her

at the same moment. But to his amusement, Daisy no sooner got

her eyes well open than she shook herself free of him, and sat

as demure as possible opposite to him on the moss.

"Dr. Sandford! — I believe — I got asleep," she said, in a

bewildered kind of way.

"How did you get _here_, Daisy?"

"I came here, sir."

"What for did you come here?"

Daisy looked troubled; glanced at the doctor's face, and then

rested her head on her hand.

"Who has been vexing you now?" said he at haphazard.

"I am not vexed," said Daisy, in the gentlest of all possible

tones.

"Tired?"

"I think I am tired."

"Honour bright, Daisy! — has not some one been vexing you?"

"I ought not to have been vexed," said Daisy, slowly.

"I will wager that you are wrong there, and that you ought to

have been vexed. Who was it, Daisy?"

"Never mind, please, Dr. Sandford! It is no matter at all

now."

She put her little hand confidingly in the doctor's as she

spoke, and looked very earnest. He could not resist her.

"I wish I had come sooner," he said. "I shall be suspicious of

everybody, Daisy. Come — you and I must go to dinner, or there

will be a hue and cry after us."

Indeed by this time the whole party were gathered, and in

impatient expectation that the dinner would make up to them in

some degree for the various disappointments of the morning.

All were gathered and had arranged themselves conveniently

upon the grass, around the feast which was spread out upon the

tablecloth, before anybody knew that two of their number were

wanting. The cry was just raised, "Where is the doctor?" —

when the doctor hove in sight, with Daisy by his side.

Everybody was placed already; and it was very natural that the

doctor, keeping hold of Daisy's hand, led her with him to the

spot that seemed to be left for his occupancy, and seated her

there beside him. On the other side of Daisy was Mrs.

Stanfield. She was very well satisfied with this arrangement,

seeing that her father was surrounded by people, and busy

besides; and that Nora and Ella were with Alexander and

Ransom.

What a gay tableful they were! all talking and laughing,

though everybody declared himself exceeded by the heat, and

bored by the fishing, and generally tired of everything but

eating and drinking. But iced champagne was now at the parched

lips, and boned turkey and jellied ham were waiting attention,

and a good time had come.

It was some while, of course, before Daisy could be served.

She waited, feeling very happy and amused; for a party of

people taking a cold dinner out of doors do not look nor act

exactly like the same people taking a hot dinner in the house.

Daisy never dreamed that anybody was noticing her. She had a

disagreeable surprise.

"Daisy," said Mrs. Randolph, from a little distance, and

across several people, — "Daisy, what did you do that for?"

"Mamma!" — said Daisy. "What, mamma?"

"Have you a headache?"

"Oh, no, mamma."

"What did you put up your hand to your brow for?"

"Mamma?" — said Daisy, very much bewildered. For she knew

nothing was the matter, and she could not guess what her

mother was thinking of. Moreover, somehow, Mrs. Randolph's

words or manner had acted to stop the voices of all the

company in her neighbourhood; and everybody was waiting and

looking to see what the subject of interest might be. Mrs.

Randolph's words could come now with their usual calm

distinctness; and Daisy's answers, no matter how softly

spoken, could be well heard. In a good deal of wonder Daisy

repeated, "Mamma?"

"You put up your hand and sat with your eyes covered — did you

not, just now?"

"Yes, mamma." —

No need to bid anybody look and listen now; the rosy flush

that had spread itself all over Daisy's pale cheeks

sufficiently aroused curiosity.

"I notice that you do so before every meal — is it not the

case?"

"Yes, mamma."

Dr. Sandford could hear the caught breath. He did not look,

except by a glance, but he listened.

"What does that mean, Daisy?"

"Mamma?" — said the child in distress.

"I ask you, what that means? what is it for?"

"Mamma — may I come round there and speak to you?"

"Certainly not. Sit still in your place and answer."

But Daisy was silent, very flushed.

"Do you hear, Daisy? what does that action mean? I wish to

know."

"Mamma, may I speak to you in private and tell you?"

"Are you ashamed of it? are you ashamed to tell me?"

"No, mamma."

"Then, do it at once."

But everybody waited in vain to hear the answer. It did not

come.

"I shall not ask you again, Daisy."

"Mamma," said the child, low and modestly, but with

steadiness, — "I was praying."

"Praying! were you! Why do you choose that particular time for

your private devotions?"

It was almost too much. The tears started in Daisy's eyes; but

presently she answered, — "Because God is good to us, mamma."

"He is always good," said Mrs. Randolph. "That is a very silly

practice of yours, Daisy, and very unbecoming. There is a

proper way of doing everything."

The lady's manner said that the subject was dismissed, and her

guests returned to their ordinary conversation. — Except the

doctor and Daisy. She was overwhelmed, and he was gravely

unsocial.

Was it silly? — that bound her heart had made up to the feet

of her King? That joyful thanksgiving, and expression of love,

and pledge of obedience, and prayer for help? It was something

better than the meal often to Daisy; something sweeter and

happier. Was it silly? and must she do so no more except when

she was alone?

Daisy had quite forgotten that eating and drinking was part of

the present matter in hand, when Dr. Sandford softly asked her

what she would like to have. Daisy said anything he pleased;

not caring herself, and indeed in too much confusion of mind

yet to know or think about the business. And her appetite was

gone. Dr. Sandford provided for her with kind care, what she

liked too; but nothing was good to Daisy. She broke bread and

swallowed milk mechanically; the more substantial food she

refused utterly. Bread and milk and grapes were Daisy's

dinner.

"It's good to be somebody's favourite," Ransom said to her

after the meal was over. "Nobody got any grapes but you."

"Nobody? Why, Ransom, I thought everybody had them."

"_I_ didn't, — nor Preston, nor Alexander — not a berry; and

Nora and Ella Stanfield didn't. You are the favourite."

"Oh, Nora," said Daisy, "didn't you have any grapes? I'm

sorry!"

"I had peaches," said Nora. "I like peaches a great deal the

best. Daisy, what shall we do now?"

"Suppose we sit down, and have a talk."

"A talk?" said Nora. "Suppose we have a game of hide and seek?

It's such a good place."

"Or forfeits?" said Ella. "It is too hot to play hide and

seek."

"I don't think it is hot," said Nora. "The sun don't shine

now."

"Daisy, don't you want to go out with me in the boat?" said

Preston, coming up. "We'll get in the shade, and see if you

can catch a pickerel as well as you did a trout."

"Oh, I should like that!" said Daisy, eagerly. She saw the

kindness of Preston's meaning. He wanted to make her forget

her vexations.

"And may we go too?" Nora asked.

"Certainly; but Daisy and I are going to do the fishing. You

must be content to look on. We will go round to the other side

of the island, Daisy; it is pretty there, I know. And we shall

have a better chance for the pickerel, for the sun is gone

under a cloud."

So the sun had; but at that very moment the cloud passed off

and the brilliant hot beams fell with what seemed renewed

brilliancy on the lake, and on all the ground which they could

touch.

"It will go under again," said Preston. "We do not mind

trifles. Come, Daisy."

"Daisy, you must not go," said Dr. Sandford, looking round. He

was just moving away to see some one else, and was gone in a

minute.

"The doctor is all very well when one is sick," said Preston;

" but I never heard he had a right to command people when they

are well. Daisy, we will not mind him."

"I must," said Daisy, meekly. "But you can go without me, if

you want to."

"Nonsense, dear little Daisy! you are not obliged to do what

_everybody_ says," her cousin urged. "Dr. Sandford has no more

business to say what you shall do than what I shall do. I will

not let him rule you so. Come! we will go try for the

pickerel. Go, Nora and Ella, run away with the baskets to the

boat. Come, Daisy, come!"

"No, Preston, I cannot."

"Because of what that stupid man says? or don't you want to

go!"

"I would like to go very much, thank you, Preston."

"Then you shall!"

"No. I cannot."

"Daisy, you might as well obey me as Dr. Sandford."

"I do not think so."

"Nora and Ella are going. You will be left alone."

"I hope you will catch some pickerel," said Daisy, steadily.

But Preston was vexed. He did not like it that his word should

not have as much weight with his little cousin as any other

person's, after her father and mother. Like other boys, and

men, for the most part, he was fond of having his own way even

in little things; though he sought it in a polite fashion. And

Daisy was very fond of him, and always followed his lead; but

now he could not move her. He went off at a bound, and soon

was out upon the water, with the girls, and Alexander and

Ransom also who had joined him.