throwing both arms about her neck, covered her broad, smiling face with
warm kisses. Betty returned them with a will, holding her fast in both
arms; and then, putting her from her and looking at her from head to
foot, put on an air of strong approval, and spoke to the General in the
words you have read at the beginning of this chapter.
"An' isn't it fit for a princess, she is?" she continued, quite unable
to keep back her admiration and pleasure at the child's improved
appearance. "Isn't it fit for a princess she is; and Saacyfuts or no
Saacyfuts, isn't it a right her own folks would have to the name if
they found her now? Sure I'd be saacy meself to have the ownin' of a
child like that. An' her not a bit spoiled, but just as lovin' and
free-like as when she had none but me an' Jack."
Then Daisy was told she might take Betty and Jack away and show them
the neat little wash-house, shaded by a fine clump of trees, with its
nice bleaching and drying ground beyond, its laundry on the first
floor, and two small bedrooms above, where they were to sleep. Betty
was enchanted, and expressed over and over again her satisfaction at
the change in her life. It was far better, she thought, to stand at the
wash-tub or ironing-table, breathing the sweet country air, with all
its pleasant sights and sounds about her, than to do the same at her
stall in the hot, dusty, crowded city.
As for Jack, when he saw the splendid garden, when Daisy had led
them there, and knew it was to be his privilege to work among those
lovely flowers, he could not contain himself, but shouted and shouted,
turned somersault after somersault, till recalled to himself by
Betty's reminder that he must "remember that Margaret--she begged
her pardon,--Miss Daisy--was a little lady now, and he must mind his
manners before her."
But Daisy was so like her old self, so free from any pride or
haughtiness in her new position, that Jack found it hard to remember
she was any other than the little waif whom he had pitied and petted
for so long; and his "manners" were brought to his mind with much more
force by the sight of the gray-haired old Scotch gardener under whom he
was to work, and before whom his gambols ceased at once.
Meanwhile General and Mrs. Forster were talking on a very interesting
subject, for Betty's words about Daisy's lost friends had given the
lady a new idea.
"Frank," she said to her husband, "did you notice what Betty said about
Daisy's friends?"
"Yes," he answered. "I hope she won't turn Daisy's head and make her
vain with her praise and flattery."
"I'm not afraid," said his wife. "Daisy has a right to her name, the
modest, unaffected little girl; and she has too much sense to be
spoiled by what she looks upon only as the overflowing of Betty's
affection. But don't you know that the Irish often say _saacy_ when
they mean proud?"
"Oh, yes. I have often noticed it in people of Betty's class," answered
the General; "but what has that to do with Daisy's friends?"
"Is it not possible that their name is Proudfoot or Proudfit, and that
'Saacyfut' is Betty's way of calling it?"
The General laughed heartily.
"Hardly, I think," he said; "and yet--I do not know. It may be. But it
never struck me. It took a woman's wit to think of that."
"We will ask Daisy when she comes," said Mrs. Forster. "If Proudfoot
_was_ their name, she must remember it when she hears it spoken, I
think. She can hardly have forgotten it so entirely that she would not
recognize it. And then, if it should be so, it will be a help to find
her friends." Mrs. Forster spoke the last words more slowly.
"Yes," said her husband, giving words to the thought which had made her
half unwilling to utter them; "and if found, we must give up our Daisy."
"But we must not seek them the less for that," she said, "or I shall
feel as if we had found some lovely jewel that we were striving to
hide from the rightful owner. I know what terrible longings must fill
her mother's heart;" and a tear dropped from Mrs. Forster's eye on her
baby's face, as she clasped it more tenderly than ever in her arms.
"Daisy," said the General that evening, as the little girl stood by his
knee, "did you ever hear the name of Proudfoot?"
Daisy started, drew a quick, gasping breath, and suddenly threw herself
into his arms.
"That is it!" she cried, in a rapid, excited manner, "that is it! That
is my name, that is what they called papa and mamma. I never heard it
since; but I know it now. I am Daisy Proudfoot, I am, I am!"
It was some time before the child's excitement could be calmed; but
there was no farther knowledge to be gained from her. Proudfoot was her
name, of that she was quite sure; and the recollection of it at this
late hour seemed to fill her with a kind of tremulous happiness; but
still she could not tell where she belonged.
Betty too, when she was asked if Proudfoot was the name of Daisy's
mother, answered,--
"Sure, an' it was, ma'am. Didn't I say so all along, only she was
always gainsayin' it?"[A]
The matter was settled; and General Forster, loath as he was to part
with Daisy, feeling that he must leave no stone unturned to trace her
friends, again put advertisements in the papers, saying, that if any
family of the name of Proudfoot had had a child supposed to be lost at
sea, they might hear of her at such and such a place.
Daisy was not told of this; she was contented and happy in her new home
and among her new friends, and it was not thought best to disturb her
mind with fresh hopes of finding those who might never come to claim
her.
But although she was still called Daisy Forster by all in Glenwood, it
was a satisfaction to herself and to the kind friends who had taken her
up and cared for her, to know the name which rightly belonged to her.
However, days and weeks and months went by, and still no one came to
seek the Daisy blossom which had been transplanted to such pleasant
soil. And there it grew and flourished, and did its Master's work;
proving how much even such a simple floweret can do by its own modest
example and teaching to win others to honor Him.
It was surprising to see how much her schoolmates thought of her
opinion; how they profited by the simple lesson she had taught them,
and tried to break themselves of the foolish and sinful habit into
which nearly all of them had fallen, of using sacred names and things
in such a heedless, unthinking manner.
It was not only the very little girls, but the older ones also, and
even Miss Collins herself, who learned from our Daisy to set a watch
upon their lips, and to remember whose ear was ever present, hearing
each thoughtless word which dishonored Him or that which especially
belonged to Him.
Perhaps they gave more heed to Daisy's words than they would have
done to those of any other one of their number. There was such a
half-mystery about her, and their thoughts were so tender towards her,
that they checked their heedless speech for her sake at first; then, as
they learned to think more about it, for a better and higher reason,
till at last the bad habit was broken up; and if, by chance, such a
word as "mercy," "heavens," "good Lord," or the like, came from the
lips of any child, the surprised and reproving looks of her companions
told her of her fault, and punished her sufficiently.
And the good influence spread far and wide. Since the little ones were
so careful, their parents and older friends felt that they, too, must
take heed lest they offended in this way; and so it came to pass that
among the families of Glenwood God's name and word came to be held in
such true reverence and honor as had never been before.
And so nearly a year passed by, and brought the Daisy and her
sister-flowerets to another spring.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] If this is considered far-fetched, the writer can only say that
Betty's rendering of the name of Proudfoot was actually given by a
domestic in her own family, and occasioned considerable bewilderment,
till the quick wit of one of its members solved the riddle.
[Illustration]
THE LOST FOUND.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IX.
THE LOST FOUND.
"IS that you, Daisy?"
"Yes, sir. Is that you, Uncle Frank?" answered Daisy, playfully.
"Well, I thought it was this morning when I went to town; but I am
doubtful of it now."
"Why?" asked Daisy, laughing, as she reached up on tiptoe to offer the
kiss with which she always welcomed her uncle on his return from the
city.
"Baby Daisy is not doubtful, at least," said Mrs. Forster, coming
forward, and putting her little daughter, all crows and smiles, in her
father's arms. "Let her pull your hair a little to convince you of the
fact."
"It will be difficult," said the General. "There was a man in the cars
so like me, face, height, and figure, that some of my friends were
taking him for me; others accusing me of having a brother whom I have
never owned. He sat two or three seats in front of me, and I could not
help being amused. Ward came in, nodded familiarly to my double, with,
"How are you, General?" passed on to me, stopped, and looked from one
to the other with a mixture of surprise and curiosity that was droll;
then asked for information which I could not give him. It was the same
with many others. I hope the stranger will keep himself out of mischief
while he is in Glenwood, or I may be held responsible for his wrong
doings."
"Did he come to Glenwood?" asked Daisy.
"Yes: I left him standing on the platform at the station, and I hardly
knew whether my own carriage belonged to him or to me. However, he made
no claim as I stepped into it."
"Who was he?" asked Mrs. Forster. "Did not you find out?"
"No. No one could tell me, and I could not go and ask the man who he
was, merely for the reason that he resembled me so much. There, there,
little woman," as the baby gave a vigorous pull at his hair. "I've
had enough of mamma's proofs, and am satisfied that no other man than
Frank Forster would submit to such usage at these tiny hands. I rather
imagine this stranger came up to look at Beechgrove, which is to let,
as I heard him asking the railway porter in which direction it lay, and
where the agent was to be found."
A fortnight went by, and nothing more was seen of the stranger who
looked so like General Forster; nor after that evening did the General
or his wife think of him.
Not so Daisy. She thought often of him with a kind of half wish that
she might see him; why she scarcely knew herself, but she never spoke
of it. She was rather a shy, quiet child, keeping her ideas and wishes
pretty much to herself, unless they were drawn out by some one whom she
loved or trusted; and neither the General nor Mrs. Forster suspected
what was working in her mind.
Her idea, too, that the General looked so like her own papa, they
regarded only as a childish fancy, ready to see a likeness between
the two she most admired and loved in all the world. And they never
imagined how the child was dreaming and wondering over this unseen
stranger who had had such a passing interest for them.
Meanwhile, it became certain that Beechgrove, as the place was called,
was taken; for the placards advertising it to rent were taken down, and
the house was going through a thorough cleaning.
But the General and his wife, being people who never gossiped or
concerned themselves about their neighbors' affairs, did not trouble
themselves in the matter. And those who were curious and asked
questions received no satisfaction from old Dr. Harding, who had charge
of the property.
All Miss Collins' young scholars, however, thought themselves very much
concerned in the letting of Beechgrove, and with good reason. For a
large aviary belonged to the place, containing many rare and beautiful
birds, and the former owner, who was fond of children, often used to
invite the young people of Glenwood to see these birds, and to amuse
themselves in other ways about his grounds. But since Dr. Harding had
had the care of the place, not a child had been suffered to come within
sight or hearing of the aviary, which had a new charm for them since it
was a forbidden pleasure.
So the new occupants of Beechgrove, and the question as to whether
they were likely to recover their old privileges there or no, had been
a subject of great interest to our young friends, and they were very
anxious for information on the matter.
One morning when Daisy came to school, she found the rest of the
class grouped about Mattie Prime and Rosie Pierson, who lived beyond
Beechgrove, and had to pass it on their way to Miss Collins'.
"The new people have gone to Beechgrove," said Violet Swan, when Daisy
asked what they were talking about; "and Mattie and Rosie saw a little
girl there this morning. We are glad there is a child there, because
maybe having her will make the papa good to other children, and he will
let us go in and see the birds because of her."
"She's a very little thing," said Rosie. "She can't speak plain. Such a
crooked tongue."
"But she's very cunning," said Mattie. "We were going past the gate and
she called out to us, 'Itty dirls, itty dirls;' and when we stopped she
put her face through the rails to kiss us, and handed us some flowers
she had. She was real sweet."
"What is her name?" asked Daisy.
"We asked her, but we could not make out what she said. Mamy Modwit it
sounded like; but she did speak so crooked," said Mattie.
"Do you know," said Rosie, "I think she looked like Daisy. Don't you,
Mattie?"
"Why, so she does," said Mattie. "Isn't that funny? Only Daisy's eyes
always look sorry except when she is laughing or speaking, and that
little girl's were so full of mischief and laughing."
"How big was she?" asked Lola.
"Oh, about as large as your sister Bertie. Not near old enough to come
to school."
"I s'pose there are no other children but her," said Fanny Delisle.
"Willie saw the family come yesterday; and he said there were only the
lady and gentleman, and the little girl and servants. If there are no
children as old as us, maybe it won't come into their heads to let us
see the aviary again."
This short conversation put an end to the half hope, half wish, that
had been in Daisy's heart. Even supposing the stranger who looked so
like General Forster were the gentleman who had taken Beechgrove, he
could be nothing to her (not until now had she said even to herself
that she had hoped it might be so), for the family did not answer to
her own. She had papa and mamma, little brother Theodore, and a baby
sister, a very little baby; and only this child of three years old or
more seemed to belong to the new-comers; and she had no sister so old.
Daisy reasoned this all out for herself with a sad, disappointed little
heart, forgetting that time had not stood still with her own family any
more than it had with her, and that changes might have come to them as
well as to herself.
This was on Friday, and nothing more was seen or heard of the strangers
by Daisy or her playmates, till Sunday came. But then such a strange
and happy thing came to pass, and in such a wonderful way. "Just like a
book thing," Lily Ward afterwards said.
It was the loveliest of Sabbath days, and every thing seemed to feel it.
"What day is it, Bertie?" asked Mr. Swan, as his youngest daughter
stood on the piazza steps ready for church.
"Jesus' happy Sunday," answered the little one; "and, oh, didn't He
mate a nice one!"
Other people than Bertie thought so; a nice one indeed.
It was the softest, sweetest, warmest of May Sundays. A busy little
breeze, carrying with it the perfume of the apple-blossoms over which
it had passed, stole in at the open windows of the church, and wandered
around among aisles, pillars, and pews, now fluttering the leaves of
a book, now toying with a ribbon, now tossing a curl upon some sunny
head, now fanning some cheek flushed with a walk in the almost summer
heat. A robin, saucy birdie, swung himself lightly to and fro on the
branch of one of the fine old elms outside the church-door, and poured
forth his hymn of praise; while from far and near came the answering
notes of his mates; and mingling with his song were heard the voices of
the children in the Sunday school beyond, as they sang the closing hymn.
Then they came trooping in gently, and with soft footsteps, as became
the house of God (honoring His name and His word had taught them also
to honor the place where He was worshipped), and took their places
beside their parents and friends.
Watching them from one of the pews which ran by the side of the pulpit,
were a pair of roguish, dancing eyes, which Rosie Pierson and Mattie
Prime recognized at once. They were those of the little girl who had
peeped at them through the railing of the Beechgrove grounds. Now they
were peeping over the top of the pew-door as she stood at its foot,
her hands crossed upon it, her chin resting upon them. What a bright,
merry, laughing face it was, and how like Daisy's! General and Mrs.
Forster had noticed it from their seat, which commanded a full view of
that of the strangers.
Beside the little girl sat a gentleman, half turned from the
congregation, his face partly shaded by his hand; but there could be no
doubt that he was the man who was so like the General. Mrs. Forster saw
the likeness at once, even in the turn and shape of his head. Beyond
him was a lady in deep mourning, closely veiled.
"Frank must find out who they are," said Mrs. Forster to herself. "That
child is so like Daisy. Can it be--oh, can it be?" Then she tried to
collect her thoughts and bring them back to the service of Him whom she
had come to worship.
Daisy came in a little behind the rest of the infant class (she had
lingered for a word with her teacher), and took her seat. Almost
immediately her eye fell on the new-comers to Glenwood. Mrs. Forster
saw her start, flush all over, neck and face, and press her small hands
tightly together, as if trying to keep back some exclamation which rose
to her lips.
With a beating heart the child watched the strangers, striving in vain
to get a better view of the face of the gentleman, gazing from him to
the veiled lady, and then at the little girl.
The bell ceased tolling, the congregation were gathered, the hour of
service had come, and the clergyman rose in the pulpit.
But at that moment the lady drew aside her veil; and ere Dr. Parker had
opened his lips, a little voice rang through the still church.
"Mamma! Oh, my own mamma!"
How much was in those few words! What a tale they told! What a world of
longing, of love, of joy, they held!
The stranger lady--ah! no stranger was she to our Daisy--started to her
feet, stretched out her hands, then with a little cry sank fainting
into the arms of the gentleman who had also suddenly arisen.
She was carried out; General and Mrs. Forster following with the
excited, trembling Daisy; and so the father and mother found the
long-lost child.
Who could describe it? Who could find words for the joy, the wonder,
the gratitude of those concerned; who tell the sympathy which filled
the hearts of all in that congregation, which dimmed their eyes with
tears, and filled their hearts with adoration, as, before another word
of the morning service was begun, the beloved minister called on all
to render thanks for the great and signal mercy just shown to those
long-parted parents and their little one!
And now there is little more to tell. Only how Daisy's mamma, and
the little sister whom she remembered only as a tiny baby, had been
rescued from the sinking ship with some of the other passengers; how,
having been unable to trace their lost treasure, and believing that the
boat, with all whom it contained, had gone down in the deep waters,
the parents had gone abroad, where they had remained till a few months
before this time, and so had never seen the advertisements which might
have told them she was still living: all this was soon explained.
And then Daisy must tell her story, and Betty must come in to help her
out where memory failed and the past was a blank, because of that long,
wasting illness. And how Betty laughed and cried by turns, and would
hear of no praise or thanks for what she had done, declaring that "Miss
Daisy had done her and Jack far more good nor she resaved, taching them
to mind their tongues afore God Almighty."
And though General and Mrs. Forster must now give up, to her rightful
owners, the darling of whom they had grown so fond, yet they did not
have to part with her altogether; for she was so near to them that they
saw her every day; indeed, the two families became almost as one, and
Daisy felt as if she had two homes.
The little brother, whom Daisy remembered so well, had gone to a home
beyond the sky, but a few weeks before her father and mother came to
Glenwood.
And so the Daisy blossom, which had been parted from its parent stem
and cast by the wayside, where stranger hands had gathered and lovingly
tended it, was planted once more in the soil where it belonged, after
it had done the Master's work, and scattered the good seed which budded
for His glory; proving well, that those who "honor" the Lord He will
"delight to honor."
[Illustration]
Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son