All this while Daisy's days were divided. Silks and jewels and pictures
and practising, in one part; in the other part, the old cripple Molly
Skelton, and her basket of bread and fruit, and her reading in the
Bible. For Daisy attended as regularly to the one as to the other set of
interests, and more frequently; for the practising party met only three
times a week, but Daisy went to Molly every day.
Molly was not sick now. Daisy's good offices in the material line were
confined to supplying her with nice bread and butter and fruit and milk,
with many varieties beside. But in that day or two of rheumatic pains,
when Molly had been waited upon by the dainty little handmaiden who came
in spotless frocks and trim little black shoes to make her fire and
prepare her tea, Daisy's tenderness and care had completely won Molly's
heart. She was a real angel in that poor house; no vision of one. Molly
welcomed her so, looked at her so, and would perhaps have obeyed her as
readily. But Daisy offered no words that required obedience, except
those she read out of the Book; and Molly listened to them as if it had
been the voice of an angel. She was learning to read herself; really
learning: making advances every day that shewed diligent interest; and
the interest was fed by those words she daily listened to out of the
same book. Daisy had got a large-print Testament for her at Crum Elbow;
and a new life had begun for the cripple. The rose-bush and the
geranium flourished brilliantly, for the frosts had not come yet; and
they were a good setting forth of how things were going in the house.
One lovely October afternoon, when air and sky were a breath and vision
of delight, after a morning spent in dressing and practising, Daisy went
to Molly. She went directly after luncheon. She had given Molly her
lesson; and then Daisy sat with a sober little face, her finger between
the leaves of the Bible, before beginning her accustomed reading. Molly
eyed her wistfully.
"About the crowns and the white dresses," she suggested.
"Shall I read about those?" said Daisy. And Molly nodded. And with her
little face exceedingly grave and humble, Daisy read the seventh chapter
of the Revelation, and then the twenty-first chapter, and the
twenty-second; and then she sat with her finger between the leaves as
before, looking out of the window.
"Will they all be sealed?" said Molly, breaking the silence.
"Yes."
"What is that?"
"I don't know exactly. It will be a mark of all the people that love
Jesus."
"A mark in their foreheads?"
"Yes, it says so."
"What mark?"
"I don't know, Molly; it says, 'His name shall be in their foreheads.'"
And Daisy's eyes became full of tears.
"How will that be?"
"I don't know, Molly; it don't tell. I suppose that everybody that looks
at them will know in a minute that they belong to Jesus."
Daisy's hand went up and brushed across her eyes; and then did it again.
"Do they belong to him?" asked Molly.
"O yes! Here it is--don't you remember?--'they have washed their robes
and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'"
"So they are white, then?" said Molly.
"Yes. And his mark is on them."
"I wish," said the cripple slowly and thoughtfully,--"I wish 'twas on
me. I do!"
I do not think Daisy could speak at this. She shut her book and got up
and looked at Molly, who had put her head down on her folded arms; and
then she opened Molly's Testament and pressed her arm to make her look.
Still Daisy did not speak; she had laid her finger under some of the
words she had been reading; but when Molly raised her head she
remembered the sense of them could not be taken by the poor woman's
eyes. So Daisy read them, looking with great tenderness in the cripple's
face--
"'I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of
life freely.' That is what it says, Molly."
"Who says?"
"Why Jesus says it. He came and died to buy the life for us--and now he
will give it to us, he says, if we want it."
"What life?" said Molly vaguely.
"Why _that_, Molly; that which you were wishing for. He will forgive us,
and make us good, and set his mark upon us; and then we shall wear those
robes that are made white in his blood, and be with him in heaven. And
that is life."
"You and me?" said Molly.
"O yes! Molly--anybody. It says 'whosoever is athirst.'"
"Where's the words?" said Molly.
Daisy shewed her; and Molly made a deep mark in the paper under them
with her nail; so deep as to signify that she meant to have them for
present study or future reference or both. Then, as Molly seemed to
have said her say, Daisy said no more and went away.
It was still not late in the afternoon; and Daisy drove on, past the
Melbourne gates, and turned the corner into the road which led to Crum
Elbow. The air was as clear as October could have it; and soft, neither
warm nor cold; and the roads were perfect; and here and there a few
yellow and red maple leaves, and in many places a brown stubble field,
told that autumn was come. It was as pleasant a day for drive as could
possibly be; and yet Daisy's face was more intent upon her pony's ears
than upon any other visible thing. She drove on towards Crum Elbow, but
before she reached it she turned another corner, and drew up before
Juanita's house.
It was not the first visit she had made here since going home; though
Daisy had in truth not come often nor stayed long. All the more glad
were Juanita and she to see each other now. Daisy took off her flat and
sat down on the old chintz couch, with a face of content. Yet it was
grave content; not joyous at all. So Juanita's keen eyes saw, through
all the talking which went on. Daisy and she had a great deal to say to
each other; and among other things the story of Molly came in and was
enlarged upon; though Daisy left most of her own doings to be guessed
at. She did not tell them more than she could well help. However, talk
went on a good while, and still when it paused Daisy's face looked
thoughtful and careful. So Juanita saw.
"Is my love quite well?"
"O yes, Juanita. I am quite well. I think I am getting strong, a
little."
Juanita's thanksgiving was earnest. Daisy looked very sober.
"Juanita, I have been wanting to talk to you."
Now they had been talking a good deal; but this, the black woman saw,
was not what Daisy meant.
"What is it, my love?"
"I don't know, Juanita. I think I am puzzled."
The fine face of Mrs. Benoit looked gravely attentive, and a little
anxiously watchful of Daisy's.
"The best way will be to tell you. Juanita, they are--I mean, we
are--playing pictures at home."
"What is that, Miss Daisy?"
"Why, they take pictures--pictures in books, you know--and dress up
people like the people in the pictures, and make them stand so or sit
so, and look so, as the people in the pictures do; and so they make a
picture of living people."
"Yes, Miss Daisy."
"They are playing pictures at home. I mean, we are. Mamma is going to
give a great party next week; and the pictures are to be all made and
shewn at the party. There are twelve pictures; and they will be part of
the entertainment. There is to be a gauze stretched over the door of the
library, and the pictures are to be seen behind the gauze."
"And does Miss Daisy like the play?" the black woman inquired, not
lightly.
"Yes, Juanita--I like some things about it. It is very amusing. There
are some things I do not like."
"Did Miss Daisy wish to talk to me about those things she not like?"
"I don't, know, Juanita--no, I think not. Not about those things. But I
do not exactly know about myself."
"What Miss Daisy not know about herself?"
"I do not know exactly--whether it is right."
"Whether what be right, my love?"
Daisy was silent at first, and looked puzzled.
"Juanita--I mean--I don't know whether _I_ am right."
"Will my love tell what she mean?"
"It is hard, Juanita. But--I don't think I am quite right. I want you to
tell me what to do."
Daisy's little face looked perplexed and wise. And sorry.
"What troubles my love?"
"I do not know how it was, Juanita--I did not care at all about it at
first; and then I began to care about it a little--and now--"
"What does my love care about?"
"About being dressed, Juanita; and wearing mamma's jewels, and looking
like a picture."
"Will Miss Daisy tell Juanita better what she mean?"
"Why, you know, Juanita," said the child wistfully, "they dress up the
people to look like the pictures; and they have put me in some very
pretty pictures; and in one I am to be beautifully dressed to look like
Queen Esther--with mamma's jewels all over me. And there is another
little girl who would like to have that part,--and I do not want to give
it to her."
Juanita sat silent, looking grave and anxious. Her lips moved, but she
said nothing that could be heard.
"And Juanita," the child went on--"I think, somehow, I like to look
better than other people,--and to have handsomer dresses than other
people,--in the pictures, you know."
Still Juanita was silent.
"Is it right, Juanita?"
"Miss Daisy pardon me. Who Miss Daisy think be so pleased to see her in
the beautiful dress in the picture?"
"Juanita--it was not that I meant. I was not thinking so much of _that_.
Mamma would like it, I suppose, and papa;--but I like it myself."
Juanita was silent again.
"Is it right, Juanita?"
"Why do Miss Daisy think it not right?"
Daisy looked undecided and perplexed.
"Juanita--I wasn't quite sure."
"Miss Daisy like to play in these pictures?"
"Yes, Juanita--and I like--Juanita, I like it!"
"And another little girl, Miss Daisy say, like it too?"
"Yes, I think they all do. But there is a little girl that wants to take
my part."
"And who Miss Daisy want to please?"
Daisy hesitated, and her eyes reddened; she sat a minute still; then
looked up very wistfully.
"Juanita, I think I want to please myself."
"Jesus please not himself"--said the black woman.
Daisy made no answer to that. She bent over and hid her little head in
Mrs. Benoit's lap. And tears undoubtedly came, though they were quiet
tears. The black woman's hand went tenderly over the little round head.
"And he say to his lambs--'Follow me.'"
"Juanita"--Daisy spoke without raising her head--"I want to please him
most."
"How Miss Daisy think she do that?"
Daisy's tears now, for some reason, came evidently, and abundantly. She
wept more freely in Juanita's lap than she would have done before father
or mother. The black woman let her alone, and there was silent
counsel-taking between Daisy and her tears for some time.
"Speak to me, Juanita"--she said at last.
"What my love want me to say?"
"It has been all wrong, hasn't it, Juanita? O have I, Juanita?"
"What, my love?"
"I know I have," said Daisy. "I knew it was not right before."
There was yet again a silence; a tearful silence on one part. Then Daisy
raised her head, looking very meek.
"Juanita, what ought I to do?"
"What my love said," the black woman replied very tenderly. "Please the
Lord."
"Yes; but I mean, how shall I do that?"
"Jesus please not himself; and he say, 'Follow me.'"
"Juanita, I believe I began to want to please myself very soon after all
this picture work and dressing began."
"Then it not please the Lord," said Juanita decidedly.
"I know," said Daisy; "and it has been growing worse and worse. But
Juanita, I shall have to finish the play now--I cannot help it. How
shall I keep good? Can I?"
"My love knows the Good Shepherd carry his lamb in his bosom, if she let
him. He is called Jesus, for he save his people from their sins."
Daisy's face was very lowly; and very touching was the way she bent her
little head and passed her hand across her eyes. It was the gesture of
penitent gentleness.
"Tell me some more, Juanita."
"Let the Lord speak," said the black woman turning over her well used
Bible. "See, Miss Daisy--'Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity
envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not
behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own--'"
"I was puffed up," said Daisy, "because I was to wear those beautiful
things. I will let Nora wear them. I was seeking my own, all the time,
Juanita. I didn't know it."
"See, Miss Daisy--'That women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with
shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broidered hair, or gold, or
pearls, or costly array.'"
"Is there any _harm_ in those pretty things, Juanita? They are so
pretty!"
"I don't know, Miss Daisy; the Lord say he not pleased with them; and
the Lord knows."
"I suppose," said Daisy----but what Daisy supposed was never told. It
was lost in thought.
"My love see here what please the Lord--'the ornament of a meek and
quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.'"
Daisy lifted her little face and kissed the fine olive cheek of her
friend.
"I know now, Juanita," she said with her accustomed placidness. "I
didn't know what was the matter with me. I shall have to play in the
pictures--I cannot help it now--but I will let Nora be Queen Esther."
It was quite late by this time and Daisy after a little more talk went
home; a talk which filled the child's heart with comfort. Daisy went
home quite herself again, and looked as happy and busy as a bee when she
got there.
"Daisy! what late doings!" exclaimed her father. "Out all the afternoon
and practising all the morning--Where have you been?"
"I have been visiting, papa."
"Pray whom?"
"Molly, papa--and Juanita," Daisy said, not very willingly, for Mrs.
Randolph was within hearing.
"A happy selection!" said she. "Go and get ready for dinner, Daisy."
"Have you been all the afternoon at those two places, Daisy?" asked her
father, within whose arms she stood.
"Yes, papa."
He let her go; and a significant look passed between him and his wife.
"A little too much of a good thing," said Mr. Randolph.
"It will be too much, soon," the lady answered.
Nevertheless Daisy for the present was safe, thanks to her friend Dr.
Sandford; and she passed on up stairs with a spirit as light as a bird.
And after she was dressed, till it was time for her to go in to the
dinner-table, all that while a little figure was kneeling at the open
window and a little round head was bowed upon the sill. And after that,
there was no cloud upon Daisy's face at all.
In the drawing-room, when they were taking tea, Daisy carried her cup of
milk and cake to a chair close by Preston.
"Well, Daisy, what now?"
"I want to talk to you about the pictures, Preston."
"We did finely to-day, Daisy! If only I could get the cramp out of
Frederica's fingers."
"Cramp!" said Daisy.
"Yes. She picks up that handkerchief of hers as if her hand was a bird's
claw. I can't get a blue jay or a canary out of my head when I see her.
Did you ever see a bird scratch its eye with its claw, Daisy?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is what she puts me in mind of. That handkerchief kills
Marie Antoinette, dead. And she won't take advice--or she can't. It is a
pity you hadn't it to do; you would hold it right queenly. You do Esther
capitally. I don't believe a Northern girl can manage that sort of
thing."
Daisy sipped her milk and eat crumbs of cake for a minute without making
any answer.
"Preston, I am going to let Nora be Queen Esther."
"What!" said Preston.
"I am going to let Nora be Queen Esther."
"Nora! Not if I know it," said Preston.
"Yes, but I am. I would like it better. And Nora would like to be Queen
Esther, I know."
"I dare say she would! Like it! Of course. No, Daisy; Queen Esther is
yours and nobody's else. What has put that into your head?"
"Preston, I think Nora would like it; and you know, they said she was
most like a Jewess of all of us; I think it would be proper to give it
to her."
"I shall not do it. We will be improper for once."
"But I am going to do it, Preston."
"Daisy, you have not liberty. I am the manager. What has come over you?
You played Esther beautifully only this morning. What is the matter?"
"I have been thinking about it," said Daisy; "and I have concluded I
would rather give it to Nora."
Preston was abundantly vexed, for he knew by the signs that Daisy had
made up her mind; and he was beginning to know that his little cousin
was exceedingly hard to move when once she was fully set on a thing. He
debated within himself an appeal to authority; but on the whole
dismissed that thought. It was best not to disgust Daisy with the whole
affair; and he hoped coaxing might yet do the work. But Daisy was too
quick for him.
"Nora," she said at the next meeting, "if you like, I will change with
you in the fainting picture. You shall be the queen, and I will be one
of the women."
"Shall I be the queen?" said Nora.
"Yes, if you like."
"But why don't you want to do it?"
"I would rather you would, if you like it."
"Well, I'll do it," said Nora; "but Daisy, shall I have all the dress
you were going to wear?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Because, if I don't, I won't. I must have just exactly what you were
going to wear."
"Why you will of course, I suppose," said Daisy, a good deal astonished.
"Every bit," said Nora. "Shall I have that same white satin gown?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Of course you will. It is only you and I that
change; not the dress."
"And shall I have the ornaments too?"
"Just the same, I suppose; unless Mrs. Sandford thinks that something
else will look better."
"I won't have anything else. I want that same splendid necklace for my
girdle--shall I?"
"I suppose so, Nora."
"You say 'I suppose so' to everything. I want to _know_. Shall I have
that same pink silk thing over my hair?"
"That scarf? yes."
"And the red necklace on it? and the bracelets? and the gold and
diamonds round my neck? I won't be Esther if I don't have the dress."
"I suppose you will have the dress," said Daisy; "of course you will.
But if you say you do not want to be Esther, they will make me do it."
A hint that closed Nora's mouth. She did not say she did not want to be
Esther. Mrs. Sandford was astonished at the change of performers; but
Daisy's resignation was so simply made and naturally, and Nora's
acceptance was so manifestly glad, that nobody could very well offer any
hindrance. The change was made; but Preston would not suffer Daisy to be
one of the attendants. He left her out of the picture altogether and put
Jane Linwood in Nora's vacated place. Daisy was content; and now the
practising and the arrangements went on prospering.
There was a good deal of preparation to be made, besides what the
mantua-maker could do. Mr. Stilton was called into the library for a
great consultation; and then he went to work. The library was the place
chosen for the tableaux; the spectators to be gathered into the
drawing-room, and the pictures displayed just within the wide door of
communication between the two rooms. On the library side of this door
Mr. Stilton laid down a platform, slightly raised and covered with green
baize cloth, and behind the platform a frame-work was raised and hung
with green baize to serve as a proper background for the pictures. A
flower stand was brought in from the greenhouse and placed at one side,
out of sight from the drawing-room; for the purpose, as Preston informed
Daisy, of holding the lights. All these details were under his
management, and he managed, Daisy thought, very ably indeed. Meantime
the dresses were got ready. Fortitude's helmet was constructed of
pasteboard and gilt paper; and Nora said it looked just as if it were
solid gold. The crown of Ahasuerus, and Alfred's six-foot bow were also
made; and a beautiful old brown spinning wheel was brought from Mrs.
Sandford's house for Priscilla. Priscilla's brown dress was put
together, and her white vandyke starched. And the various mantles and
robes of velvet and silk which were to be used, were in some way
accommodated to the needs of the young wearers. All was done well, and
Preston was satisfied; except with Daisy.
Not that Daisy did not enter into the amusement of what was going
forward; for perhaps nobody took so much real share in it. Even Mr.
Stilton's operations interested her. But she was not engrossed at all.
She was not different from her usual self. All the glory of the tableaux
had not dazzled her, so far as Preston could see. And daily, every
morning, she stepped into that little pony chaise with a basket and
drove off--Preston was at the pains to find out--to spend a couple of
hours with Molly Skelton. Preston sighed with impatience. And then in
the very act of dressing and practising for the pictures, Daisy was
provokingly cool and disengaged. She did her part very well, but seemed
just as much interested in other people's parts and as much pleased with
other people's adornment. Queen Esther in particular was Daisy's care,
since she had given up the character; and without putting herself
forward she had once or twice made a suggestion to Mrs. Sandford, of
something that she either thought would please Nora or that she felt
called for by her own tastes; and in each case Mrs. Sandford declared
the suggestion had been an improvement.
But with a pleasure much greater and keener, Daisy had seen the pot
containing the 'Jewess' geranium taken up out of the ground, and set,
with all the glory of its purple-red blossoms, in Molly's poor little
room. There it stood, on a deal table, a spot of beauty and refinement,
all alone to witness for the existence of such things on the earth. And
heeded by Molly as well as by Daisy. Daisy knew that. And all the
pleasure of all the tableaux put together could give nothing to Daisy
equal to her joy when Molly first began to read. That day, when letters
began really to be put together into words to Molly's comprehension,
Daisy came home a proud child. Or rather, for pride is a bad word, she
came home with a heart swelling with hope and exultation; hope and
exultation that looked forward confidently to the glory to be revealed.