It happened that one cause and another hindered Daisy from going to Crum
Elbow to fetch the strawberry-baskets, until the very Tuesday afternoon
before the birthday. Then everything was right; the pony chaise before
the door, Sam in waiting, and Daisy just pulling her gloves on, when
Ransom rushed up. He was flushed and hurried.
"Who's going out with Loupe?"
"I am, Ransom."
"You can't go, Daisy--I'm going myself."
"You cannot, Ransom. I am going on business. Papa said I was to go."
"He couldn't have said it! for he said I might have the chaise this
afternoon and that Loupe wanted exercise. So! I am going to give him
some. He wouldn't get it with you."
"Ransom," said Daisy trembling, "I have got business at Crum Elbow, and
I must go, and you must not."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Ransom, snapping his fingers at her. "Business! I
guess you have. Girls have a great deal of business! Here Sam--ride
round mighty quick to Mr. Rush's and tell Hamilton to meet me at the
cross road."
And without another word to Daisy, Ransom sprang into the chaise,
cracked his whip over Loupe's head and started him off in a very
ungraceful but very eager waddling gallop. Daisy was left with one glove
on and with a spirit thoroughly disordered. A passionate child she was
not, in outward manner at least; but her feelings once roused were by no
means easy to bring down again. She was exceedingly offended, very much
disturbed at missing her errand, very sore at Ransom's ill-bred
treatment of her. Nobody was near; her father and mother both gone out;
and Daisy sat upon the porch with all sorts of resentful thoughts and
words boiling up in her mind. She did not believe half of what her
brother had said; was sure her father had given no order interfering
with her proceedings; and she determined to wait upon the porch till he
came home and so she would have a good opportunity of letting him know
the right and the wrong of the case. Ransom deserved it, as she truly
said to herself. And then Daisy sorrowed over her lost expedition, and
her missing strawberry baskets. What should she do? for the next morning
would find work enough of its own at home, and nobody else could choose
the baskets to please her. Ransom deserved--!
In the midst of the angry thoughts that were breaking one over the other
in Daisy's mind, there suddenly came up the remembrance of some words
she had read that day or the day before. "_Lord, how oft shall my
brother sin against me and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith
unto him, I say not unto thee, until seven times, but until seventy
times seven._" This brought Daisy up short; her head which had been
leaning on her hands suddenly straightened itself up. What did those
words mean? There could be no doubt, for with the question came the
words in the Lord's Prayer which she knew well, but had never felt till
then. Forgive Ransom out and out?--say nothing about it?--not tell her
father, nor make her grievance at all known to Ransom's
discomfiture?--Daisy did not want to yield. He _deserved_ to be reproved
and ashamed and made to do better. It was the first time that a real
conflict had come up in her mind between wrong and right; and now that
she clearly saw what was right, to her surprise she did not want to do
it! Daisy saw both facts. There was a power in her heart that said, No,
I will not forgive, to the command from a greater power that bade her do
it. Poor Daisy! it was her first view of her enemy; the first trial that
gave her any notion of the fighting that might be necessary to overcome
him. Daisy found she could not overcome him. She was fain to go, where
she had just begun to learn she might go, "to the Strong for strength."
She ran away from the porch to her room, and kneeled down and prayed
that the King would give her help to keep his commandments. She was
ashamed of herself now; but so obstinate was her feeling of displeasure
against her brother, that even after she thought she had forgiven him
Daisy would not go downstairs again nor meet him nor her father, for
fear she should speak words that she ought not, or fail of a perfectly
gentle and kind manner.
But what to do about her baskets? A bright and most business-like
thought suddenly came into her head. The breakfast hour was always late;
by being a little earlier than usual she could have plenty of time to go
to Crum Elbow and return before the family were assembled. Splendid!
Daisy went down the back stairs and gave her orders in such a way that
they should not reach Ransom's ear. If not put on the alert he was sure
to be down to breakfast last of anybody. So Daisy went to bed and to
sleep with her mind at rest.
It was so pleasant when she came out at half past six the next morning,
that Daisy almost thought it was the prettiest time of all. The morning
air smelt so fresh, with the scent of the trees and flowers coming
through the dew; and the light was so cool and clear, not like the hot
glow of later hours, that Daisy felt like dancing for very gladness.
Then it was such a stroke of business to go to Crum Elbow before
breakfast!
The pony and the chaise came up presently, and Sam and the black pony,
all right, and every one of them looking more brisk and fresh than
usual. And off they went; under the boughs of the dew-bright trees,
where the birds seemed to be as glad as Daisy, to judge by the songs
they were singing; and by and by out from the beautiful grounds of
Melbourne, into the road. It was pleasanter there, Daisy thought, than
she had ever seen it. The fields looked more gay in that clear early
light, and the dust was kept down by the freshness in the air. It was
delightful; and Loupe never went better. Daisy was a very good little
driver, and now the pony seemed to understand the feeling in her fingers
and waddled along at a goodly rate.
Crum Elbow was not a great many miles off, and in due time they reached
it. But Daisy found that other people kept earlier hours than her father
and mother at Melbourne. She saw the farmers were getting to work as she
went on; and in the houses of the village there were signs that
everybody was fully astir to the business of the day. It was a
scattering village; the houses and the churches stood and called to each
other across great spaces of fields and fences between; but just where
the crossing of two roads made a business point, there was a little more
compactness. There was the baker's, and the post-office, and two stores
and various other houses, and a blacksmith's shop. Up to the corner
where the principal store stood, came the pony and his mistress, and
forthwith out came Mr. Lamb the storekeeper, to see what the little pony
chaise wanted to take home; but Daisy must see for herself, and she got
out and went into the store.
"Baskets," said Mr. Lamb. "What sort of baskets?"
"Baskets to hold strawberries--little baskets," said Daisy.
"Ah! strawberry baskets. That, ma'am, is the article."
Was it? Daisy did not think so. The storekeeper had shewed her the kind
of baskets commonly used to hold strawberries for the market; containing
about half a pint. She remarked they were not large enough.
"No, ma'am? They are the kind generally used--regular strawberry
baskets--we have sold 'em nearly all out, but we've got a few left."
"They are not large enough, nor pretty enough," repeated Daisy.
"They'll look pretty when they get the strawberries in them," said the
storekeeper with a knowing look at her. "But here's a kind, ma'am, are a
little neater--may be you would like these--What do you want, child?"
There had come into the store just after Daisy a little poor-looking
child, who had stood near, watching what was going on. Daisy turned to
look at her as Mr. Lamb's question was thrown at her over the counter,
in a tone very different from his words to herself. She saw a pale,
freckled, pensive-faced little girl, in very slim clothing, her dress
short and ragged, and feet bare. The child had been looking at her and
her baskets, but now suddenly looked away to the shopkeeper.
"Please, sir, I want--"
"There! stop," said Mr. Lamb; "don't you see I'm busy. I can't attend to
you just now; you must wait.--Are these baskets better, ma'am?" he said
coming back to Daisy and a smooth voice.
Daisy felt troubled, but she tried to attend to her business. She asked
the price of the baskets.
"Those first I shewed you, ma'am, are three pence apiece--these are
sixpence. This is quite a tasty basket," said Mr. Lamb, balancing one on
his forefinger. "Being open, you see, it shews the fruit through. I
think these might answer your purpose."
"What are those?" said Daisy pointing to another kind.
"Those, ma'am, are not strawberry baskets."
"But please let me see one.--What is the price?"
"These fancy baskets, ma'am, you know, are another figure. These are not
intended for fruit. These are eighteen pence apiece, ma'am."
Daisy turned the baskets and the price over. They were very neat! they
would hold as many berries as the sixpenny ones, and look pretty too, as
for a festival they should. The sixpenny ones were barely neat--they had
no gala look about them at all. While Daisy's eye went from one to the
other, it glanced upon the figure of the poor, patient, little waiting
girl who stood watching her. "If you please, Mr. Lamb," she said, "will
you hear what this little girl has to say?--while I look at these."
"What do you want, child?"
The answer came very low, but though Daisy did not want to listen she
could not help hearing.
"Mother wants a pound of ham, sir."
"Have you brought the money for the flour?"
"No, sir--mother'll send it."
"We don't cut our hams any more," said the storekeeper. "Can't sell any
less than a whole one--and that's always cash. There! go child--I can't
cut one for you."
Daisy looked after the little ragged frock as it went out of the door.
The extreme mystery of some people being rich and some people poor,
struck her anew, and perhaps something in her look as it came back to
the storekeeper made him say,
"They're very poor folks, Miss Randolph--the mother's sickly, and I
should only lose my money. They came and got some flour of me yesterday
without paying for it--and it's necessary to put a stop to that kind of
thing at once. Don't you think that basket'll suit, ma'am?"
Baskets? and what meant those words which had been over and over in
Daisy's mind for the few days past?--"Whatsoever ye would that men
should do to you, do ye even so to them." Her mind was in great
confusion.
"How much does a ham cost, Mr. Lamb?"
"Sixteen pence a pound, ma'am," said the storekeeper rather drily, for
he did not know but Daisy was thinking a reproof to him.
"But how many pounds are there in a ham?"
"Just as it happens, ma'am--sometimes twenty, and from there down to
ten."
"Then how much does a whole ham cost?" said Daisy, whose arithmetic was
not ready.
"A ham of fifteen pounds, ma'am, would be about two dollars and forty
cents."
Daisy stood looking at the baskets, and thinking how much money she
would have over if she took the sixpenny ones. She wanted twenty
baskets; she found that the difference of price between the plain and
the pretty would leave her twenty shillings in hand. Just enough!
thought Daisy,--and yet, how could she go to a strange house and offer
to give them a ham? She thought she could not. If she had known the
people; but as it was--Daisy bought the pretty baskets and set off
homewards.
"Whatsoever ye would that others should do to you, do ye even so to
them"--Daisy could see nothing along the road but those words. "That is
my King's command to me--and those poor people have got no breakfast. If
I was in that little girl's place, I would _like_ to have it given to
me. But those other baskets--would they do?--I could make them do
somehow--Nora and I could dress them up with greens and flowers!"--
The pony chaise stopped. Sam came up alongside.
"Sam, take those baskets back to the store. I am going back there."
Round came the chaise, and in five minutes more they were at the Crum
Elbow corner again, for Daisy's heartburning had not let her go far. Mr.
Lamb was exceedingly mystified, as it was very unusual for young ladies
like this one to come buying whole hams and riding off with them.
However he made no objections to the exchange, being a gainer by ten
cents; for Daisy had asked for a ham of fifteen pounds. Then Daisy
enquired the way to the girl's house, and her name, and set off in a new
direction. It was not far; a plain little brown house, with a brown gate
a few yards from the door. Daisy got out of the chaise and opened the
gate, and there stood still and prayed a little prayer that God would
help her not to feel foolish or afraid when she was trying to do right.
Then she went up to the door and knocked. Somebody said in a very
uninviting tone of voice, "Come in!"
It was hard for Daisy; she had expected that somebody would open the
door, but now she must go in and face all that was there. However, in
she went. There was a poor room to be sure, with not much in it. A woman
was taking some hot bread, just baked, out of a little cooking stove.
Daisy saw the little girl standing by; it was the right place.
"Well!" said the woman looking up at Daisy from her stove oven--"what is
it?" She looked pale and unhappy, and her words were impatient. Daisy
was half afraid.
"I am Daisy Randolph"--she began gently.
"Go on," said the woman, as Daisy hesitated.
"I was in Mr. Lamb's store just now, when your little girl came to buy
some ham."
"Well!--what then?"
"Mr. Lamb said he would not cut any, and she was obliged to go without
it."
"Well, what have you to do with all that?"
"I was sorry she was disappointed," said Daisy more steadily; "and as
Mr. Lamb would not cut one for her I have brought a whole one--if you
will please accept it. It is at the gate, because the boy could not
leave the horses."
The woman set her bread on the floor, left the oven door open, and rose
to her feet.
"What did you tell her, Hephzibah?" she said in a threatening voice.
"I didn't tell her nothing," said the girl hurriedly--"I never spoke to
her."
"How did she know what you came for?"
"I was so near," said Daisy bravely, though she was afraid, "that I
couldn't help hearing."
"Well what business was it of yourn?" said the woman turning upon her.
"If we are poor, we don't throw it in anybody's face; and if you are
rich, you may give charity to those that ask it. _We_ never asked none
of you--and don't want it."
"I am not rich," said Daisy gently, though she coloured and her eyes
were full of tears;--"I did not mean to offend you; but I thought you
wanted the ham, and I had money enough to get it. I am very sorry you
won't have it."
"Did Mr. Lamb tell you we were beggars?"
"No, not at all."
"Then what put into your head to come bringing a ham here? who told you
to do it?"
"Nobody told me," said Daisy. "Yes there did, though. The Lord Jesus
Christ told me to do it, ma'am."
"What do you mean?" said the woman, suddenly sobering as if she was
struck.
"That's all, ma'am," said Daisy. "He had given me the money to buy the
ham, and I heard that your little girl wanted it. And I remembered his
commandment, to do to others what I would like they should do to me--I
didn't mean to offend you."
"Well I ain't offended," said the woman. "I s'pose you didn't mean no
harm; but we have some feelings as well as other folks. Folks may work,
and yet have feelings. And if I could work, things would be well enough;
but I've been sick, miss, and I can't always get work that I would like
to do--and when I can get it, I can't always do it," she added with a
sigh.
Daisy wanted to go, but pity held her fast. That poor, pale, ragged
child, standing motionless opposite her! Daisy didn't venture to look
much, but she saw her all the same.
"Please keep the ham this time!" she broke out bravely--"I won't bring
another one!"
"Did nobody send you?" said the woman eyeing her keenly.
"No," said Daisy, "except the Lord Jesus--he sent me."
"You're a kind little soul!" said the woman, "and as good a Christian as
most of 'em I guess. But I won't do that. I'd die first!--unless you'll
let me do some work for you and make it up so." There was relenting in
the tone of these last words.
"O that will do," said Daisy gladly. "Then will you let your little girl
come out and get the ham? because the boy cannot leave the horses. Good
bye, Mrs. Harbonner."
"But stop!" cried the woman--"you hain't told me what I am to do for
you."
"I don't know till I get home and ask there. What would you like to do?"
"My work is tailoring--I learnt that trade; but beggars mustn't be
choosers. I can do other things--plain sewing, and washing, and
cleaning, and dairy work; anything I _can_ do."
Daisy said she would bring her word, and at last got off; without her
ham and in glee inexpressible. "They will have some for breakfast," she
said to herself; for there had been something in little Hephzibah's eye
as she received the great ham in her arms, that went through and through
Daisy's heart and almost set her to crying. She was _very_ glad to get
away and to be in the pony chaise again driving home, and she almost
wondered at her own bravery in that house. She hardly knew herself; for
true it was, Daisy had considered herself as doing work not of her own
choosing while she was there; she felt in her Master's service, and so
was bold where for her own cause she would have shrunk away. "But they
have got something for breakfast! I think mine will be good when I get
it," said Daisy.
Daisy however fell into a great muse upon the course of her morning's
experience. To do as she would be done by, now seemed not quite so easy
as she had thought; since it was plain that her notions and those of
some other people were not alike on the subject. How _should_ she know
what people would like? When in so simple a matter as hunger, she found
that some would prefer starving to being fed. It was too deep a question
for Daisy. She had made a mistake, and she rather thought she should
make more mistakes; since the only way she could see straight before her
was the way of the command and the way of duty therefore; and she was
very much inclined to think, besides, that in that way her difficulties
would be taken care of for her. It had been so this morning. Mrs.
Harbonner and she had parted on excellent terms--and the gleam in that
poor child's eyes!--