For some days after this time, Mrs. Randolph fancied that her little
daughter was less lively than usual; she "moped," her mother said. Daisy
was not moping, but it was true she had been little seen or heard; and
then it was generally sitting with a book in the Belvidere or on a bank
under a rose-bush, or going out or coming in with a book under her arm.
Mrs. Randolph did not know that this book was almost always the Bible,
and Daisy had taken a little pains that she should not know, guessing
somehow that it would not be good for her studies. But her mother
thought Daisy was drooping; and Daisy had been a delicate child, and the
doctor had told them to turn her out in the country and "let her run;"
therefore it was that she was hardly ever checked in any fancy that came
into her head. But therefore it was partly, too, that Mrs. Randolph
tried to put books and thinking as far from her as she could.
"Daisy," she said one morning at the breakfast-table, "would you like to
go with June and carry some nice things down to Mrs. Parsons?"
"How, mamma?"
"How what? Do speak distinctly."
"How shall I go, I mean?"
"You may have the carriage. I cannot go, this morning or this
afternoon."
"O papa, mayn't I take Loupe and drive there myself?"
If Daisy had put the question at the other end of the table, there would
have been an end of the business, as she knew. As it was, her father's
"yes" got out just before her mother's "no."
"Yes she may," said Mr. Randolph--"no harm. John, tell Sam that he is to
take the black pony and go with the pony-chaise whenever Miss Daisy
drives. Daisy, see that he goes with you."
"Well," said Mrs. Randolph, "you may do as you like, but I think it is a
very unsafe proceeding. What's Sam?--he's a boy."
"Safe enough," said Mr. Randolph. "I can trust all three of the party;
Daisy, Loupe, and Sam. They all know their business, and they will all
do it."
"Well!--I think it is very unsafe," repeated Mrs. Randolph.
"Mamma," said Daisy, when she had allowed a moment to pass--"what shall
I take to Mrs. Parsons."
"You must go and see Joanna about that. You may make up whatever you
think will please her or do her good. Joanna will tell you."
And Mrs. Randolph had the satisfaction of seeing that Daisy's eyes were
lively enough for the rest of breakfast-time, and her colour perceptibly
raised. No sooner was breakfast over than she flew to the consultation
in the housekeeper's room.
Joanna was the housekeeper, and Mrs. Randolph's right hand; a jewel of
skill and efficiency; and as fully satisfied with her post and power in
the world, at the head of Mr. Randolph's household, as any throned
emperor or diademed queen; furthermore, devoted to her employers as
though their concerns had been, what indeed she reckoned them, her own.
"Mrs. Randolph didn't say anything to me about it," said this piece of
capability,--"but I suppose it isn't hard to manage. Who is Mrs.
Parsons? that's the first thing."
"She's a very poor old woman, Joanna; and she is obliged to keep her bed
always; there is something the matter with her. She lives with a
daughter of hers who takes care of her, I believe; but they haven't much
to live upon, and the daughter isn't smart. Mrs. Parsons hasn't anything
fit for her to eat, unless somebody sends it to her."
"What's the matter with her? ain't she going to get well?"
"No, never--she will always be obliged to lie on her bed as long as she
lives; and so, you see, Joanna, she hasn't appetite for coarse things."
"Humph!" said Joanna. "Custards won't give it to her. What does the
daughter live upon?"
"She does washing for people; but of course that don't give her much.
They are very poor, I know."
"Well, what would you like to take her, Miss Daisy?"
"Mother said you'd know."
"Well, I'll tell you what _I_ think--sweetmeats ain't good for such
folks. You wait till afternoon, and you shall have a pail of nice broth
and a bowl of arrowroot with wine and sugar in it; that'll hearten her
up. Will that do?"
"But I should like to take something to the other poor woman, too."
"How are you going?"
"In my pony-chaise--I can take anything."
Joanna muttered an ejaculation. "Well then, Miss Daisy, a basket of cold
meat wouldn't come amiss, I suppose."
"And some bread, Joanna?"
"The chaise won't hold so much."
"It has got to hold the basket," said Daisy in much glee, "and the bread
can go in. And, Joanna, I'll have it ready at half-past four o'clock."
There was no air of moping about Daisy, when, at half-past four she set
off from the house in her pony-chaise, laden with pail and basket and
all she had bargained for. A happier child was seldom seen. Sam, a
capable black boy, was behind her on a pony not too large to shame her
own diminutive equipage; and Loupe, a good-sized Shetland pony, was very
able for more than his little mistress was going to ask of him. Her
father looked on, pleased, to see her departure; and when she had
gathered up her reins, leaned over her and gave her with his kiss a
little gold piece to go with the pail and basket. It crowned Daisy's
satisfaction; with a quiet glad look and word of thanks to her father,
she drove off.
[Illustration: LOUPE.]
The pony waddled along nicely, but as his legs were none of the longest,
their rate of travelling was not precisely of the quickest. Daisy was
not impatient. The afternoon was splendid, the dust had been laid by
late rains, and Daisy looked at her pail and basket with great
contentment. Before she had gone a quarter of a mile from home, she met
her little friend of the wintergreens. Nora sprang across the road to
the chaise.
"O Daisy, where are you going?"
"I am going to carry some things for mamma, to a house."
"All alone?"
"No, Sam is there to take care of me."
Nora looked back at the black pony, and then at Daisy. "Isn't it nice!"
she said, with a sort of half-regretful admiration.
"It's as nice as a fairy tale," said Daisy. "I'm just as good as a
princess, you know, Nora. Don't you want to go, too? Do come."
"No, I musn't--there are people coming to tea. Mrs. Linwood, and Charles
and Jane--I wish I could go! How far is it, Daisy?"
"About five miles. Down beyond Crum Elbow, a good nice way; but I shan't
go through Crum Elbow."
"It's so splendid!" sighed Nora. "Well, good-bye. I can't go."
On went the pony. The roads were good and pleasant, leading through
farm, fields and here and there a bit of wood, but not much. It was
mostly open country, cultivated by farmers; and the grain fields not yet
ripe, and the grass fields not yet mown, looked rich and fair and soft
in bright colours to Daisy's eyes, as the afternoon sun shone across
them and tree shadows lay long over the ground. For trees there were, a
great many, growing singly about the fields and fences, and some of
them, very large and fine. Daisy was not so busy with her driving but
that she could use her eyes about other things. Now and then she met a
farm wagon, or a labourer going along the road. The men looked at her
curiously and pleasantly, as if they thought it a pretty sight; but once
Daisy, passing a couple of men together, overheard one say to the other:
"It's Randolph's folks--they stick themselves up considerable--"
The tone of the voice was gruff and coarse, and Daisy marvelled much in
her little mind what had displeased the man in her or in "Randolph's
folks." She determined to ask her father. "Stick ourselves up?" said
Daisy thoughtfully--"we _never_ do!"
So she touched the pony, who was falling into a very leisurely way of
trotting, and in good time came to Mrs. Parsons' door.
Daisy went in. The daughter was busy at some ironing in the outer room;
she was a dull, lack-lustre creature, and though she comprehended the
gifts that had been brought her, seemed hardly to have life enough to
thank the donor. _That_ wasn't quite like a fairy tale, Daisy thought.
No doubt this poor woman must have things to eat, but there was not much
fun in bringing them to her. Daisy was inclined to wonder how she had
ever come to marry anybody with so lively a name as Lark. But before she
got away, Mrs. Lark asked Daisy to go in and see her mother, and Daisy,
not knowing how to refuse, went in as requested.
What a change! Another poor room to be sure, very poor it looked to
Daisy; with its strip of rag carpet on the floor, its rush-bottomed
chairs, and paper window-shades; and on the bed lay the bed-ridden
woman. But with such a nice pleasant face; eyes so lively and quiet,
smile so contented, brow so calm, Daisy wondered if it could be she that
must lie there always and never go about again as long as she lived. It
had been a matter of dread to her to see anything so disagreeable; and
now it was not disagreeable. Daisy was fascinated. Mrs. Lark had
withdrawn.
"Is your mother with you, dear?"
"No ma'am, I came alone. Mamma told me to ask Mrs. Parsons if there is
anything she would like to have, that mamma could do for her."
"Yes; if you would come in and see me sometimes," said the old lady, "I
should like it very much."
"Me?" said Daisy.
"Yes. I don't see young faces very often. They don't care to come to see
an old woman."
"I should like to come," said Daisy, "very much, if I could do anything;
but I must go now, because it will be late. Good-bye, ma'am."
Daisy's little courtesy it was pleasant to see, and it was so pleasant
altogether that Mrs. Parsons had it over and over in her thoughts that
day and the next.
"It's as nice as a fairy tale," Daisy repeated to herself, as she took
her seat in the chaise again and shook up her reins. It was better than
a fairy tale really, for the sunshine coming between the trees from the
sinking sun, made all the world look so beautiful that Daisy thought no
words could tell it. It was splendid to drive through that sunlight. In
a minute or two more she had pulled up her reins short, and almost
before she knew why she had done it or whom she had seen, Mr. Dinwiddie
stood at her side. Here he was. She must not go where ha was; she had
not; he had come to her. Daisy was very glad. But she looked up in his
face now without speaking.
"Ha! my stray lamb," said he, "whither are you running?"
"Home, sir," said Daisy meekly.
"Do you know you have run away from me?"
"Yes, Mr. Dinwiddie."
"How came that?"
"It was unavoidable, sir," said Daisy, in her slow, old-fashioned way.
But the bright eye of the young man saw that her eye fell and her face
clouded over; it was not a slight nor a chance hindrance that had been
in her way, he was sure.
"Then you don't mean to come to me any more?"
It was a dreadful question, but Mr. Dinwiddie's way of speaking was so
clear and quick and business-like, and he seemed to know so well what he
was talking about, that the answer was forced from Daisy. She looked up
and said, "No, sir." He watched the soft thoughtful face that was raised
towards him.
"Then if this is the last time we are to talk about it, Daisy, shall I
look for you among those that will 'shine as the sun' in the Lord's
kingdom?"
"O sir,--Mr. Dinwiddie,"--said Daisy, dropping her reins and rising up,
"that is what I want to know about. Please tell me!"
"Tell you what?" said Mr. Dinwiddie, gathering up the reins.
"Tell me how to do, sir, please."
"What have you done, Daisy?"
"Nothing, sir--only reading the Bible."
"And you do not find it there?"
"I find a great deal, sir; but I don't quite understand--I don't know
how to be a Christian."
Daisy thought it might be her last chance; she was desperate, and spoke
out.
"Do you love the Lord Jesus, Daisy?"
"I don't know, Mr. Dinwiddie."
"You know how he loves you? You know what he has done for you?"
"Yes--I know--"
"He died to save you from death and sin. He will do it if you trust him.
Now what he wants is that you should love him and trust him. 'Let the
little children come to me,' he said a great while ago, and says now.
Daisy, the good Lord wants you to give him your heart."
"But suppose, Mr. Dinwiddie--"
"Yes. What?"
"Suppose I can't. I don't know how."
"Do you want to do it?"
"Yes, sir. Indeed I do."
"Very well; the Lord knows just what your difficulty is; you must apply
to him."
"Apply to him?" said Daisy.
"Ask him."
"How, sir?"
"Pray to him. Tell the Lord your trouble, and ask him to make it all
right for you. Did you never pray to him?"
"No, sir--not ever."
"My lamb," said Mr. Dinwiddie, "he will hear you, if you never prayed to
him before. I will shew you the word of his promise." And he opened a
pocket-Bible and found the place of these words which he gave Daisy to
read. "'_I will put a new spirit within you; and I will take the stony
heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh; that
they may walk in my statutes, and keep mine ordinances, and do them: and
they shall be my people, and I will be their God_.' Now is that what you
want, Daisy?"
"Yes, sir; only I don't know how."
"Never mind; the Lord knows. He will make it all right, if only you are
willing to give yourself to be his little servant."
"I will give him all I have got, sir," said Daisy, looking up.
"Very well; then I will shew you one thing more--it is a word of the
Lord Jesus. See--'_If ye love me, keep my commandments_.' Now I want you
to keep those two words, and you can't remember where to find them
again--I must let you take this book with you." And Mr. Dinwiddie folded
down leaves in the two places.
"But Mr. Dinwiddie,"--said Daisy softly--"I don't know when I can get it
back to you again, sir."
"Never mind--keep it, and when you don't want it, give it to some poor
person that does. And remember, little one, that the good Lord expects
his servants to tell him their troubles and to pray to him every day."
"Thank you, sir!" was Daisy's deep ejaculation.
"Don't thank me. Now will your pony get you home before dark?"
"O yes, Mr. Dinwiddie! Loupe is lazy, but he can go, and I will make
him."
The chaise went off at a swift rate accordingly, after another soft
grateful look from its little driver. Mr. Dinwiddie stood looking after
it. Of a certain woman, of Thyatira it is written that "the Lord opened
her heart, that she attended to the things which were spoken." Surely,
the gentleman thought, the same had been true of his late little charge.
He went thoughtfully home. While Daisy, not speculating at all, in her
simplicity sat thinking that she was the Lord's servant; and rejoiced
over and over again that she had for her own and might keep the book of
her Lord's commandments. There were such things as Bibles in the house,
certainly, but Daisy had never had one of her own. That in which she had
read the other night and which she had used to study her lessons for Mr.
Dinwiddie, was one belonging to her brother, which he was obliged to use
at school. Doubtless Daisy could also have had one for the asking; she
knew that; but it might have been some time first; and she had a certain
doubt in her little mind that the less she said upon the subject the
better. She resolved her treasure should be a secret one. It was right
for her to have a Bible; she would not run the risk of disagreeable
comments or commands by in any way putting it forward. Meanwhile she had
become the Lord's servant! A very poor little beginning of a servant she
thought herself; nevertheless in telling Mr. Dinwiddie what she had, it
seemed to Daisy that she had spoken aloud her oath of allegiance; and a
growing joy in the transaction and a growing love to the great Saviour
who was willing to let her be his servant, filled her little heart. She
just knew that the ride home was lovely, but Daisy's mind was travelling
a yet more sunshiny road. She was intelligent in what she had done. One
by one Mr. Dinwiddie's lessons had fallen on a willing and open ear. She
knew herself to be a sinner and lost; she believed that the Lord Jesus
would save her by his death; and it seemed to her the most natural and
reasonable and pleasant thing in the world, that the life for which his
blood had been shed, should be given to him. "If ye love me, keep my
commandments." "I wonder," thought Daisy, "what they are."