Till the sound of the carriage wheels had died away in the distance,
Juanita stood at the door looking after them; although the trees and the
darkness prevented her seeing anything along the road further than a few
yards. When the rustle of the breeze among the branches was the only
thing left to hear, beside the dripping of the rain drops shaken from
the leaves, Juanita shut the door and came to Daisy. The child was lying
white and still, with her eyes closed. Very white and thin the little
face looked, indeed; and under each eyelid lay a tear glistening, that
had forced its way so far into notice. Juanita said not a word just
then; she bustled about and made herself busy. Not that Juanita's busy
ways were ever bustling in reality; she was too good a nurse for that;
but she had several things to do. The first was to put up a screen at
the foot of Daisy's couch. She lay just a few feet from the door, and
everybody coming to the door and having it opened, could look in if he
pleased; and so Daisy would have no privacy at all. That would not do;
Juanita's wits went to work to mend the matter. Her little house had
been never intended for more than one person. There was another room in
it, to be sure, where Mrs. Benoit's own bed was; so that Daisy could
have the use and possession of this outer room all to herself.
Juanita went about her business too noiselessly to induce even those
closed eyelids to open. She fetched a tolerably large clothes-horse from
somewhere--some shed or out-building; this she set at the foot of the
couch, and hung an old large green moreen curtain over it. Where the
curtain came from, one of Mrs. Benoit's great locked chests knew; there
were two or three such chests in the inner room, with more treasures
than a green moreen curtain stowed away in them. The curtain was too
large for the clothes-horse to hold up; it lay over the floor. Juanita
got screws and cords; fixed one screw in the wall, another in the
ceiling, and at last succeeded in stretching the curtain neatly on the
cords and the clothes-horse, where she wanted it to hang. That was done;
and Daisy's couch was quite sheltered from any eyes coming to the door
that had no business to come further. When it was finished, and the
screws and cords put away, Juanita came to Daisy's side. The eyes were
open now.
"That is nice," said Daisy.
"It'll keep you by yourself, my little lady. Now what will she have?"
"Nothing--only I am thirsty," said Daisy.
Juanita went to the well for some cold water, and mixed with it a
spoonful of currant jelly. It was refreshing to the poor little dry
lips.
"What will my love have next?"
"I don't know," said Daisy--"my foot aches a good deal, and all my leg.
I think--Juanita--I would like it if you would read to me."
Juanita took a somewhat careful survey of her, felt her hands, and
finally got the book.
"Is there too much air for my love from that window?"
"No, it is nice," said Daisy. "I can see the stars so beautifully, with
the clouds driving over the sky. Every now and then they get between me
and the stars--and then the stars look out again so bright. They seem
almost right over me. Please read, Juanita."
Mrs. Benoit did not consider that it made much difference to Daisy where
she read; so she took the chapter that came next in the course of her
own going through the New Testament. It was the eighth chapter of Mark.
She read very pleasantly; not like a common person; and with a slight
French accent. Her voice was always sweet, and the words came through it
as loved words. It was very pleasant to Daisy to hear her; the long
chapter was not interrupted by any remark. But when Mrs. Benoit paused
at the end of it, Daisy said,
"How can anybody be ashamed of him, Juanita?"
The last verse of the chapter has these words--
"Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me, and of my words, in this
adulterous and sinful generation; of him also shall the Son of man be
ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy
angels."
"How _can_ anybody be ashamed of him, Juanita?"
"They not see the glory of the Lord, my lady."
"But _we_ do not see it yet."
"My love will see it. Juanita has seen it. This little house be all full
of glory sometimes, when Jesus is here."
"But that is because you love him, Juanita."
"Praise the Lord!" echoed the black woman. "He do shew his glory to his
people, before he come with the holy angels."
"I don't see how anybody can be _ashamed_ of him," Daisy repeated,
uttering the words as if they contained a simple impossibility.
"My little lady not know the big world yet. There be ways, that the Lord
know and that the people not know."
"What do you mean, Juanita?"
"My lady will find it," said the black woman folding her arms. "When all
the world go one way, then folks not like to go another way and be
looked at; they be ashamed of Christ's words then, and they only think
they do not want to be looked at."
A colour came all over Daisy's face--a suffusion of colour; and tears
swam in her eyes.
"I didn't like to be looked at, the other night!" she said, in a
self-accusing tone.
"Did my love turn and go with the world?"
"No, I didn't do that."
"Then Jesus won't turn away neither," said the black woman.
"But I ought not to have felt so, Juanita."
"Maybe. My love is a little child. The good Lord shall 'stablish her and
keep her from evil. Now she must not talk no more, but trust the Lord,
and go to sleep."
"I can't sleep, Juanita--my leg aches so."
"That will be better. Is my love thirsty again?"
"Very thirsty! I wish I had some oranges."
"They would be good," said Juanita, bringing another glass of jelly and
water for Daisy. And then she sat down and sang softly; hymns in French
and English; sweet and low, and soothing in their simple and sometimes
wild melody. They soothed Daisy. After a time, wearied and exhausted by
all her long day of trial, she did forget pain in slumber. The eyelids
closed, and Juanita's stealthy examination found that quiet soft
breathing was really proving her fast asleep. The singing ceased; and
for a while nothing was to be heard in the cottage but the low rush and
rustle of the wind which had driven away the storm clouds, and the
patter of a dislodged rain drop or two that were shaken from the leaves.
Daisy's breathing was too soft to be heard, and Juanita almost held her
own lest it should be too soon disturbed. But the pain of the hurt foot
and ankle would not suffer a long sleep. Daisy waked up with a sigh.
"Are you there, Juanita?"
"I am here."
"What o'clock is it?"
Juanita drew back the curtain of the window by Daisy's couch, that the
moonlight might fall in and shew the face of the little clock. It was
midnight.
"It won't be morning in a great while, will it?" said Daisy.
"Does my lady want morning?"
"My foot hurts me dreadfully, Juanita--the pain shoots and jumps all up
my leg. Couldn't you do something to it?"
"My dear love, it will be better by and by--there is no help now for it,
unless the Lord sends sleep. I s'pose it must ache. Can't Miss Daisy
remember who sends the pain?"
The child answered her with a curious smile. It was not strange to the
black woman; she read it and knew it and had seen such before; to
anybody that had not, how strange would have seemed the lovingness that
spread over all Daisy's features and brightened on her brow as much as
on her lips. It was not patient submission; it was the light of joyful
affection shining out over all Daisy's little pale face.
"Ay, it isn't hard with Jesus," said the black woman with a satisfied
face. "And the Lord is here now,--praise his name!"
"Juanita--I have been very happy to-day," said Daisy.
"Ay? how has that been, my love?"
"Because I knew he was taking care of me. It seemed that Jesus was so
near me all the time. Even all that dreadful ride."
"The Lord is good!" said the black woman with strong expression. "But my
love must not talk."
She began to sing again.
"O what shall I do, my Saviour to praise!
So faithful and true, so plenteous in grace.
So good to deliver, so strong to redeem
The weakest believer that hangs upon him."
"O that's good, Juanita!" said Daisy. "Hush!--Juanita, it is very late
for anybody to be out riding!"
"Who is out riding, Miss Daisy?"
"I don't know--I hear a horse's feet. Don't you hear?--there!"
"It's some young gentleman, maybe, going home, from a dinner-party."
"Don't draw the curtain, Juanita, please! I like it so, I can look out.
The moonlight is nice. Somebody is very late, going home from a dinner
party."
"They often be. Miss Daisy, the moonlight will hinder you sleeping, I am
afraid."
"I can't sleep. It's so good to look out! Juanita--there's that horse's
feet, stopping just here."
Juanita went to her door, and perceived that Daisy spoke truth. Somebody
down at her little wicket had dismounted and was fastening his horse to
the fence. Then a figure came up the walk in the moonlight.
"Juanita!" cried Daisy with an accent of joy, though she could not see
the figure from where she lay,--"it's papa!"
"Is she asleep?" said the voice of Mr. Randolph the next minute softly.
"No, sir. She knows it's you, sir. Will his honour walk in?"
Mr. Randolph with a gentle footfall came in and stood by the side of the
couch.
"Daisy--my poor little Daisy!"--he said.
"Papa!--"
This one word was rich in expression; joy and love so filled it. Daisy
added nothing more. She put her arms round her father's neck as he
stooped his lips to her face, held him fast and returned his kisses.
"Cannot you sleep?" The question was very tenderly put.
"I did sleep, papa."
"I did not wake you?"
"No, papa. I was awake, looking at the moonlight."
"Pain would not let you sleep, my poor darling?"
The sympathy was a little too trying. Tears started to the child's eyes.
She said with a most gentle, loving accent, "I don't mind, papa. It will
be better by and by. I am very happy."
An indignant question as to the happiness which had been so rudely
shaken, was on Mr. Randolph's lips. He remembered Daisy must not be
excited; nevertheless he wondered, for he saw the child's eyes full, and
knew that the brow was drawn with pain; and the poor little thin face
was as white as a sheet. What did she mean by talking about being happy?
"Daisy, I have brought you some oranges."
"Thank you, papa!--May I have one now?"
Silently and almost sternly Mr. Randolph stood and pared the orange with
a fruit knife--he had thought to bring that too--and fed Daisy with it,
bit by bit. It was pleasant and novel to Daisy to have her father serve
her so; generally others had done it when there had been occasion. Mr.
Randolph did it nicely, while his thoughts worked.
"What are you going to do to-night, papa?" she said when the orange was
finished and he stood looking at her.
"Stay here with you."
"But papa, how can you sleep?"
"I can do without sleeping, if it is necessary. I will take a chair here
in the doorway, and be near if you want anything."
"O shall not want anything, papa, except what Juanita can give me."
He stood still watching her. Daisy looked up at him with a loving face;
a wise little face it always was; it was gravely considerate now.
"Papa, I am afraid you will be uncomfortable."
"Can nobody bear that but you?" said Mr. Randolph, stooping down to kiss
her.
"I am very happy, papa," said the child placidly; while a slight tension
of her forehead witnessed to the shooting pains with which the whole
wounded limb seemed to be filled.
"If Mr. Randolph pleases--" said the voice of Juanita,--"the doctor
recommended quiet, sir."
Off went Mr. Randolph at that, as if he knew it very well and had
forgotten himself. He took a chair and set it in the open doorway, using
the door-post as a rest for his head; and then the cottage was silent.
The wind breathed more gently; the stars shone out; the air was soft
after the storm; the moonlight made a bright flicker of light and shade
over all the outer world. Now and then a grasshopper chirruped, or a
little bird murmured a few twittering notes at being disturbed in its
sleep; and then came a soft sigh from Daisy.
On noiseless foot the black woman stole to the couch. Daisy was weeping;
her tears were pouring out and making a great wet spot on her pillow.
"Is my love in pain?" whispered the black woman.
"It's nothing--I can't help it," said Daisy.
"Where is it--in the foot?"
"It's all over, I think; in my head and everywhere. Hush, Juanita; never
mind."
Mrs. Benoit, however, tried the soothing effect of a long gentle
brushing of Daisy's head. This lasted till Daisy said she could bear it
no longer. She was restless.
"Will my love hear a hymn?"
"It will wake papa."
Mrs. Benoit cared nothing for that. Her care was her poor little charge.
She began immediately one of the hymns that were always ready on her
tongue, and which were wonderfully soothing to Daisy. Juanita was old,
but her voice was sweet yet and clear; and she sang with a deal of quiet
spirit.
"'A few more days or years at most,
My troubles will be o'er;
I hope to join the heavenly host
On Canaan's happy shore.
My raptured soul shall drink and feast
In love's unbounded sea;
The glorious hope of endless rest
Is ravishing to me.'"
Mr. Randolph raised his head from leaning against the door-post, and
turned it to listen; with a look of lowering impatience. The screen of
the hanging curtain was between him and the couch, and the look did
nobody any harm.
"'O come, my Saviour, come away,
And bear me to the sky!
Nor let thy chariot wheels delay--
Make haste and bring it nigh:
I long to see thy glorious face,
And in thy image shine;
To triumph in victorious grace,
And be forever thine.'"
Mr. Randolph's chair here grated inharmoniously on the floor, as if he
were moving; but Juanita went on without heeding it.
"'Then will I tune my harp of gold
To my eternal King.
Through ages that can ne'er be told
I'll make thy praises ring.
All hail, eternal Son of God,
Who died on Calvary!
Who bought me with his precious blood,
From endless misery.'"
Mr. Randolph stood by Mrs. Benoit's chair.
"My good woman," he said in suppressed tones, "this is a strange way to
put a patient to sleep."
"As your honour sees!" replied the black woman placidly. Mr. Randolph
looked. Daisy's eyes were closed; the knitted brow had smoothed itself
out in slumber; the deep breath told how profound was the need that
weakness and weariness had made. He stood still. The black woman's hand
softly drew the curtain between Daisy's face and the moonlight, and then
she noiselessly withdrew herself almost out of sight, to a low seat in a
corner. So Mr. Randolph betook himself to his station in the doorway;
and whether he slept or no, the hours of the night stole on quietly. The
breeze died down; the moon and the stars shone steadily over the lower
world; and Daisy slept, and her two watchers were still. By and by,
another light began to break in the eastern horizon, and the stars grew
pale. The morning had come.
The birds were twittering in the branches before Daisy awoke. At the
first stir she made, her father and Mrs. Benoit were instantly at her
side. Mr. Randolph bent over her and asked tenderly how she felt.
"I feel hot, papa."
"Everybody must do that," said Mr. Randolph. "The breeze has died away
and the morning is very close."
"Papa, have you been awake all night?"
He stooped down, and kissed her.
"You must go home and get some breakfast and go to sleep," Daisy said,
looking at him lovingly with her languid eyes.
"Shall I bring you anything from home, Daisy?" he said, kissing her
again.
The child looked a little wistfully, but presently said no; and Mr.
Randolph left her to do as she had said. Mrs. Benoit was privately glad
to have him out of the way. She brought water and bathed Daisy's face
and hands, and gave her a delicate breakfast of orange; and contrived to
be a long while about it all, so as to rest and refresh her as much as
possible. But when it was all done, Daisy was very hot and weary and in
much pain. And the sun was only in the tops of the trees yet. The black
woman, stood considering her.
"It will be a hot day, Miss Daisy--and my little lady is suffering
already, when the dew is not dried off the grass. Can she say, 'Thank
the Lord?'"
Daisy first smiled at her; then the little pale face grew grave, the
eyelids fell, and the black woman saw tears gathering beneath them. She
stood looking somewhat anxiously down at the child; till after a few
minutes the eyelids were raised again and the eyes gave her a most meek
and loving response, while Daisy said faintly, "Yes, Juanita."
"Bless the Lord!" said Juanita with all her heart. "Then my love can
bear it, the hot day and the pain and all. When his little child trust
him, Jesus not stay far off. And when he giveth quietness, then who can
make trouble?"
"But I have a particular reason, Juanita. I am very glad of my hurt
foot; though it does ache."
"The aching will not be so bad by and by," said the woman, her kindly
face all working with emotion.
She stood there by Daisy's couch and prayed. No bathing nor breakfast
could so soothe and refresh Daisy as that prayer. While she listened and
joined in it, the feeling of yesterday came all back again; that
wonderful feeling that the Lord Jesus loves even the little ones that
love him; that he will not let a hair of their heads be hurt; that he is
near, and keeps them, and is bringing them to himself by everything that
he lets happen to them. Greatly refreshed and comforted, Daisy lay quiet
looking out of the open window, while Juanita was busy about, making a
fire and filling her kettle for breakfast. She had promised Daisy a cup
of tea and a piece of toast; and Daisy was very fond of a cup of tea and
did not ordinarily get it; but Mrs. Benoit said it would be good for her
now. The fire was made in a little out-shed, back of the cottage where
it would do nobody any harm, even in hot weather. Daisy was so quieted
and comforted, though her leg was still aching, that she was able to
look out and take some pleasure in the sparkling morning light which
glittered on the leaves of the trees and on the blades of grass; and to
hearken to the birds which were singing in high feather all around the
cottage. The robins especially were very busy whistling about in and
under the trees; and a kildeer quite near from time to time sung its
soft sweet song; so soft and tender, it seemed every time to say in
Daisy's ears--"What if I am sick and in pain and weary? Jesus sends
it--and he knows--and he is my dear Saviour." It brought the tears into
Daisy's eyes at length; the song of the kildeer came so close home into
her heart.
Juanita had gone to make the tea. While the kettle had been coming to a
boil, she had put her little cottage into the nicest of order; and even
filled a glass with some roses and set it on the little table. For, as
she said to Daisy, they would have company enough that day, and must be
in trim. She had gone now to make the tea, and Daisy lay contentedly
looking out of the window, when she heard the swift tread of horses'
feet again. Could her father be back from Melbourne already? Daisy could
not raise herself up to look. She heard the feet stop in the road before
the cottage; then listened for somebody's step coming up to it. She
heard the step, but it was none of Mr. Randolph's; it was brisk and firm
and measured. She guessed it was somebody's step whose feet had been
trained.
Juanita came to open the door at the knock, and Daisy heard her saying
something about the doctor's orders, and keeping quiet, and no
excitement. Daisy could not stand that.
"O Capt. Drummond--come in! come in!" she cried. And in came the
Captain. He looked wonderfully sober at his poor little playfellow. But
Daisy looked all smiles at him.
"Is your furlough over? Are you going, Capt. Drummond?"
"I am off, Daisy."
"I am so glad you came to see me!" she said, putting out her little hand
to him. The Captain took it and held it and seemed almost unable to
speak.
"Daisy, I would have run the risk of being cashiered, rather than not
have done it."
"What is that?"
"Cashiered? Having my epaulettes pulled off."
"Do you care a great deal for your epaulettes?" said Daisy.
The Captain laughed, with the water standing in his eyes. Yes,
absolutely, his bright sparkling eyes had drops in them.
"Daisy, I have brought you our land fish--that we had such trouble for."
"The trilobite! O did you?" exclaimed Daisy as he placed it before her.
"I wanted to see it again, but I was afraid you wouldn't have time
before you went." She looked at it eagerly.
"Keep it Daisy; and keep a little bit of friendship for me with it--will
you? in case we meet again some day."
"O Capt. Drummond--don't you want it?"
"No; but I want you to remember the conditions."
"When will you come to Melbourne again?"
"Can't say, Daisy; I am afraid, not till you will have got the kingdom
of England quite out of all its difficulties. We were just going into
the battle of Hastings, you know; don't you recollect?"
"How nice that was!" said Daisy regretfully. "I don't think I shall ever
forget about the Saxon Heptarchy, and Egbert, and Alfred."
"How about forgetting _me_?"
"You know I couldn't," said Daisy with a most genial smile. "O Capt.
Drummond!"--she added, as a flash of sudden thought crossed her face.
"What now, Daisy?"
The child looked at him with a most earnest, inquisitive wistful gaze.
The Captain had some difficulty to stand it.
"O Capt. Drummond," she repeated,--"are you going to be ashamed of
Christ?"
[Illustration]
The young soldier was strangely enough confused by this simple question.
His embarrassment was even evident. He hesitated for a reply, and it did
not readily dome. When it came, it was an evasion.
"That is right, Daisy," he said; "stand by your colours. He is a poor
soldier that carries them behind his back in the face of the enemy. But
whatever field you die in, I should like to be alongside of you."
He spoke gravely. And he asked no leave this time, but clasping Daisy's
hand he bent down and kissed her forehead twice and earnestly; then he
did not say another word, but strode away. A little flush rose on
Daisy's brow, for she was a very particular little lady as to who
touched her; however she listened attentively to the sound of the
retreating hoofs which carried the Captain off along the road; and when
Juanita at last came in with her little tray and a cup of tea, she found
Daisy's face set in a very thoughtful mood and her eyes full of tears.
The face did not even brighten at her approach.
"Miss Daisy," said the black woman, "I thought you wanted a cup of tea?"
"So I do, Juanita. I want it very much."
Mrs. Benoit made remarks to herself upon the wise little face that met
her with such a sober greeting. However she made none aloud; she
supported Daisy nicely with one arm and set the little tray before her.
The tea was excellent; the toast was in dainty, delicate, thin brown
strips. Daisy took it soberly.
"Does it seem good to my love?"
"O yes, Juanita!" said the child looking up gratefully; "it is _very_
good; and you make the prettiest toast I ever saw."
The black woman smiled, and bade her eat it and not look at it.
"But I think it tastes better for looking pretty, Juanita."
"The Lord knows," said the woman; "and he made the trees in the garden
of Eden to be pleasant to the eyes, as well as good for food."
"I am glad he did," said Daisy. "How pleasant the trees have been to my
eyes this morning. Then I was sick and could not do anything but look at
them; but they are pleasant to my eyes too when I am well. It is very
painful to have one's friends go away, Juanita."
"Has my love lost friends?" said Mrs. Benoit, wondering at this speech.
"Yes," said Daisy. "Mr. Dinwiddie is gone; and now Capt. Drummond. I
have got hardly anybody left."
"Was Mr. Dinwiddie Miss Daisy's friend?"
Such a bright, warm, glad flash of a smile as Juanita got in answer! It
spoke for the friendship on one side.
"But he is gone," said Daisy. "I wish I could see him again. He is gone,
and I never shall!"
"Now Miss Daisy, you will lie still and be quiet, my love, until
somebody else comes. The doctor says that's the way. Mr. Dinwiddie is
about his Master's work, wherever he is; and you want to do the same?"
"How can I, Juanita, lying here? I cannot do anything."
"Does my love think the good Lord ever give his servants no work to do
for him?"
"Why _here_, Juanita--I can only lie here and be still. What can I do?"
"My love pray the dear Master to shew her; and now not talk just now."
Daisy lay still. The next comer was the doctor. He came while the
morning was still early; made his examinations; and Daisy made hers. He
was a very fine-looking man. Thick locks of auburn hair, thrown back
from his face; a noble and grave countenance; blue eye keen and steady;
and a free and noble carriage; there was enough about Dr. Sandford to
engage all Daisy's attention and interest. She gave him both, in her
quiet way; while he looked not so much at her as at her condition and
requirements.
"It is going to be a hot day," he remarked to Juanita who attended upon
him. "Keep her quiet. Do not let more than one other person be here at
once. Say I order it."
"Will his honour say it to Miss Daisy's father and mother?"
"I shall not see them this morning. You are armed with my authority,
Juanita. Nobody is to be here to talk and excite her; and only one at a
time beside you. Have you got fruit for her? Let her live on that as
much as she likes; and keep the house empty."
"I will tell papa--" said Daisy.
"How do you do?" said the doctor. It was the first question he had
addressed to her; and the first attention he had given her otherwise
than as a patient. Now the two looked at each other.
"I am better, a little, thank you," said the child. "May I ask
something?"
"Ask it."
"Shall I be a long while here?"
"You will be a week or two--till your foot gets strong again."
"Will a week or two make it strong?"
The two pairs of eyes looked into each other. The thoughtful grey eyes
of the child, and the impenetrable blue orbs of the man. There was
mutual study; some mutual recognition.
"You must be a good child and try to bear it."
"Will you come and see me again?" said Daisy.
"Do you desire it?"
"You would not come unless it was necessary," said Daisy; "and if it is
necessary, I should like to have you."
The lips of the young man curled into a smile that was very pleasant,
albeit a little mocking in its character.
"I think it will be necessary, little one; but if I come to see you, you
must be under my orders."
"Well, I am," said Daisy.
"Keep still, then; do not talk to anybody any more than is needful to
relieve your impatience."
The doctor went away, and Daisy lay still musing. The morning had gone
on a little further, when carriage wheels stopped at the gate.
"There's mamma--" said Daisy.
It was very unconsciously on her part that the tone of these two words
conveyed a whole volume of information to Juanita's keen wits. It was no
accent of joy, like that which had announced her father last night;
neither was it fear or dread; yet the indefinable expression of the two
words said that "mamma" had been a trouble in Daisy's life, and might be
again. Juanita went to have the door open; and the lady swept in. Mr.
Randolph was behind her. She came to Daisy's side and the mother and
child looked at each other; Daisy with the tender, wistful eyes of last
night, Mrs. Randolph with a vexed air of dissatisfaction. Yet after
looking at her a moment she stooped down and kissed Daisy. The child's
eye went to her father then. Mrs. Randolph stood in his way; he came
round to the head of the couch, behind Daisy, and bent over her.
"Papa, I can't see you there."
"You can feel, Daisy--" said Mr. Randolph, putting his lips to her face.
"How do you do?"
"This is a most maladroit arrangement of Capt. Drummond's!" said the
lady. "What can we do to rectify it? A most stupid place for the child
to be."
"She will have to bear the stupidity--and we too. Daisy, what would you
like to have to help it along?"
"Papa, I am not stupid."
"You will be, my little daughter, I am afraid, before the weeks are
over. Will you have June come to be with you?"
"Papa," said Daisy slowly,--"I think it would not be considerate."
"Are you comfortable?" said Mr. Randolph smiling, though his looks
expressed much concern.
"No, papa."
"What is the matter?"
"It is hot, papa; and my leg aches; not so much as it did last night
sometimes; but it aches."
"It is a cool, fresh morning," said Mrs. Randolph. "She is hot because
she is lying in this place."
"Not very cool, with the mercury at eighty-four before eight o'clock.
You are cool because you have been driving fast."
"Mr. Randolph, this is no proper place for the child to be. I am
convinced she might be moved with safety."
"I cannot risk the doctor's convictions against yours, Felicia. That
question must be given up."
"He says I am under his orders, papa."
"Undeniable, Daisy. That is true doctrine. What orders does he give
you?"
"To eat fruit, and keep quiet, papa. He says there must not be more than
one person here at a time, besides Juanita."
"I suppose he does not mean to forbid your mother," said Mrs. Randolph,
a good deal incensed. "I will see about that. Here, my good woman--where
are you?--Will you let your cottage to me for the time that this child
is confined here--and remove somewhere else yourself, that I may put the
people here I want about her?"
"Oh mamma!--" said Daisy. But she stopped short; and Mrs. Randolph did
not attend to her. Mr. Randolph looked round to see Juanita's answer.
"My lady shall put here who she will please," the woman said, standing
before her visiters with the most unruffled face and demeanour.
"And you will leave me the house at once?"
"No, my lady. My lady shall have the house. Juanita will not be in the
way."
"You do not seem to understand, my good woman, that I want to be here
myself and have my people here. I want the whole house."
"My lady shall have it--she is welcome--nobody shall find Juanita
trouble them," the black woman said with great sweetness.
"What will you do with yourself?"
"A little place be enough for me, my lady. My spirit lives in a large
home."
Mrs. Randolph turned impatiently away. The manner of the woman was so
inexpressibly calm and sweet, the dignity of her beautiful presence was
so immovable, that the lady felt it in vain to waste words upon her.
Juanita was a hopeless case.
"It is no use for me to be here then," she said. "Mr. Randolph, you may
make your own arrangements."
Which Mr. Randolph did. He held a consultation with Juanita, as to what
was wanting and what she would do; a consultation with which he was
satisfied. Juanita was left in full charge, with authority to do for
Daisy precisely according to Dr. Sandford's instructions, in all
matters. Mrs. Randolph meanwhile had a talk with her poor pale little
daughter, upon more or less the same subjects; and then the father and
mother prepared to go home to breakfast.
"Shall I send you June?" said Mrs. Randolph.
"No, mamma; I think not."
"Be patient a little while, Daisy," said her father kissing her; "and
you will be able to have books and company too. Now for a little while
you must keep quiet."
"Juanita will keep me quiet, papa."
"I will come and see you again by and by."
"Papa, I want to tell you one thing. I want to speak to you and mamma
before you go."
Mr. Randolph saw that the child's face flushed as if she were making
some effort. He bent down over her again.
"Is it something of interest, Daisy?"
"Yes, papa. To me."
"Don't talk of it now then. Lie still and do not talk at all. By and by
you will tell me what it is."