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Melbourne House, Volume 2

by Susan Warner · English · Gutenberg #12964 · 508,402 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Melbourne House, Volume 2

Author: Susan Warner


        
Release date: July 20, 2004 [eBook #12964]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12964

Credits: Produced by Karen Lofstrom and PG Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELBOURNE HOUSE, VOLUME 2 ***

[Transcriber's note: The source text contained no Chapter VIII or
Chapter XVIII.]


[Illustration: SILVER LAKE]


MELBOURNE HOUSE.


BY THE
AUTHOR OF THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD.

    "Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and
    whether it be right."--PROV. xx. II.


VOL. II.


       *       *       *       *       *


NEW YORK:
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
530 BROADWAY.
1865.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.

Stereotyped by SMITH & MCDOUGAL, 82 & 81 Beekman St.
Printer: by E.O. JENKINS, 20 North William St.

       *       *       *       *       *




MELBOURNE HOUSE.

CHAPTER I.


The next day turned out so warm, that the carriage was not brought for
Daisy till late in the afternoon. Then it came, with her father and Dr.
Sandford; and Daisy was lifted in Mr. Randolph's arms and carefully
placed on the front seat of the carriage, which she had all to herself.
Her father and the doctor got in and sat opposite to her; and the
carriage drove away.

The parting with Juanita had been very tenderly affectionate and had
gone very near to Daisy's heart. Not choosing to shew this more than she
could help, as usual, Daisy at first lay still on the cushions with an
exceedingly old-fashioned face; it was as demure and sedate as if the
gravity of forty years had been over it. But presently the carriage
turned the corner into the road to Melbourne; Daisy caught sight for a
second of the houses and church, spires of Crum Elbow, that she had not
seen for so long. A pink flush rose over her face.

"What is it, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, who had been watching her.

"Papa--it's so nice to see things again!"

"You had a pretty dull time of it at Mrs. Benoit's?" remarked the
doctor.

"No--O no, I didn't. I did not have it dull at all."

"How did you escape that, Daisy?"

"I do not know, Dr. Sandford. There was no room for dulness."

The gentlemen smiled, but Daisy's father with a not altogether satisfied
expression. He grew satisfied, as he marked the changes in Daisy's face.
The ride was delightful to her. The carriage was easy; she was nicely
placed; and through the open glass before her she could look out quite
uninterruptedly. It was so pleasant, she thought, even to see the road
and the fences again. That little bit of view before Mrs. Benoit's
window she had studied over and over till she knew it by heart. Now
every step brought something new; and the roll of the carriage wheels
was itself enlivening. There was a reaped grain field; there a meadow
with cattle pasturing. Now they passed a farm wagon going home, laden
with sheaves; next came a cottage, well known but not seen for a long
time, with its wonted half door open and the cottager's children playing
about. Then came patches of woodland, with the sun shining through; and
a field of flourishing Indian corn with the sunlight all over it; then
more meadows with cattle.

"Do you ride comfortably, Daisy?" her father asked, bending over to her.

"Yes, papa. It is so nice!"

Mr. Randolph gave up care about Daisy, and the two gentlemen fell into a
conversation which did not regard her, and lasted till the carriage
stopped at the door of Melbourne House. And there was her mother, and
there were Preston and his mother and sister, and Gary McFarlane, who
had been away and come back again, all waiting to welcome her; besides
some other guests who were now at Melbourne.

Mr. Randolph, got out of the carriage first. Dr. Sandford followed him;
but then without giving place to anybody else, he himself took Daisy
carefully off the seat where she lay, lifted her out in his arms, and
carried her into the house. All the others trooped around and after
him, through the hall and into the drawing room, where the doctor laid
his little charge on the sofa and put the pillows behind her so that she
could sit up comfortably. Then he stood back and let the others come to
her. Mrs. Randolph gave her some very contented kisses; so did Mr.
Randolph. Very glad and tender his were, at having his little daughter
back there again.

"We are very much pleased to see you here, Daisy," her aunt said.

"Poor Daisy," said Eloïse.

"Glad to come back to life and the world again, Daisy?" said Preston,
standing at the back of her sofa and drumming on it.

"I understand, Daisy," said McFarlane, "that you have been an enchanted
beauty, or a sleeping princess, during these weeks of my absence--under
the guardianship of an old black witch, who drew incantations and water
together from her well every morning."

"I can answer for the incantations," said Preston. "I have heard 'em."

Daisy's face flushed all over. "Preston, you do very wrong," she said,
turning her head round to him. But Preston only burst into a fit of
laughter, which he turned away to hide. Others of the company now came
up to take Daisy's hand and kiss her and say how glad they were to see
her; these people were very much strangers to Daisy and their greeting
was no particular pleasure; but it had to be attended to. Then tea came
in, and Daisy was well petted. It was very pleasant to have it so; after
the silence and quiet of Juanita's little cottage, the lights and
dresses and people and silver urn and tea service and flowers made quite
a picture. Flowers had been in the cottage too, but not such wealth of
them. Just opposite to Daisy in the middle of the floor stood a great
stone basket, or wide vase, on a pedestal; and this vase was a mass of
beautiful flowers. Trailing wreaths of roses and fuchsias and geraniums
even floated down from the edges of the vase and sought the floor; the
pedestal was half draped with them. It was a very lovely sight to
Daisy's eyes. And then her mother ordered a little stand brought to the
sofa's side; and her father placed it; and Gary brought her cup of tea,
and Dr. Sandford spread her slice of toast. Daisy felt as if she loved
everybody, and was very happy. The summer air floated in at the long
windows, just as it used to do. It was _home_. Daisy began to realize
the fact.

Meanwhile attention ceased to be filled with her particular affairs, and
conversation flowed off as usual, away from her. Preston still held his
station at the back of the sofa, where he dipped sponge cake in tea with
a wonderful persistency; in fact the question seemed to be whether he or
the cake basket would give out first; but for a while Daisy eat her
toast in happy quiet; watching everybody and enjoying everything. Till
Gary McFarlane drew near, and took a seat, as if for a regular siege.

"So what about those incantations, Daisy?" he said.

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"No? don't you? That's odd. You have been so long in the witch's
precincts. You have heard them, of course?"

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"Why you must have been bewitched. I wonder, now, if the witch's house
did not seem to you a palace?"

"It seemed a very nice place."

"And the witch herself a sable princess?"

"I think she is a great deal better than a princess."

"Exactly so," said Gary with a perfectly sober face. "The witch drew
water, didn't she?"

"I don't know what you mean. Mrs. Benoit used to bring pails of water
from her well."

"Very good. And you never heard her incantations, muttering in the
morning before the dew was off the grass, or at night just as the first
beams of the moon, lighted on the topmost boughs of the trees?"

Daisy was confounded. "Mr. McFarlane," she said after a moment's looking
at him--"I hope I do not know what you mean."

At that, Gary McFarlane went off into an ecstacy of laughter, delighted
and amused beyond count. Preston interrupted the sponge cake exercise,
and Daisy felt her sofa shaking with his burden of amusement. What had
she done? Glancing her eye towards Dr. Sandford, who sat near, she saw
that a very decided smile was curling the corners of _his_ mouth. A
flush came up all over Daisy's face; she took some tea, but it did not
taste good any longer.

"What did you think I meant?--come Daisy, tell me," said Gary, returning
to Daisy as soon as he could get over his paroxysm of laughter. "What
did you think I meant? I shouldn't wonder if you had some private
witchcraft of your own. Come! what did you _think_ I meant?"

While he had been laughing, Daisy had been trying to get command of
herself and to get her throat clear for talking; there had been a very
uncomfortable thick feeling in it at first. Now she answered with simple
dignity and soberness,

"I did not know, Mr. McFarlane, but you meant Juanita's prayers."

"Does she pray?" said Gary innocently.

"Yes."

"Long prayers, Daisy?"

"Yes," (unwillingly now.)

"Then that must have been what you heard!" Gary said looking up to
Preston. No answer came from him. Gary was as sober now as seven judges.

"Did she speak her prayers where you could hear her, Daisy?"

"I used to hear her--"

"Mornings and evenings?"

"Yes."

"But you heard her in broad day, Preston?"

"Yes; one afternoon it was. I heard her as soon as I got near the house.
Daisy was asleep, and I went away as wise as I came."

"This grows interesting," said Gary returning to Daisy. "Could you hear
the words that were said?"

"No."

"Only a muttering?"

Daisy was silent. The tears came into her eyes.

"Depend upon it, Daisy, it was incantations you heard. Description
agrees exactly. Confess now, didn't a sort of feeling grow over
you--creep over you--whenever you heard that muttering sound, as if you
would do anything that black woman told you?"

Daisy was silent.

"Don't you know it is not proper to pray so that people can hear you?
'tisn't the way to do. Witches pray that way--not good Christian people.
I regard it as a very fortunate thing, Daisy, that we have got you safe
out of her hands. Don't you think that prayer ought to be private?"

"Yes," said Daisy. She was overwhelmed with the rapidity and liveliness
of Gary's utterances, which he rattled forth as lightly as if they had
been the multiplication table.

"Yes, just so. It is not even a matter to be talked about--too
sacred--so I am offending even against my own laws; but I wanted to know
how far the old witch had got hold of you. Didn't you feel when you
heard her mutterings, as if some sort of a spell was creeping over you?"

Daisy wished some sort of a spell could come over _him_; but she did not
know what to say.

"Didn't you gradually grow into the belief that she was a sort of saint,
Daisy?"

"What is a saint, Mr. McFarlane?"

Gary at that wheeled partly round, and stroked his chin and moustache
with the most comical expression of doubt and confusion.

"I declare I don't know, Daisy! I think it means a person who is too
good for this world, and therefore isn't allowed to live here. They all
go off in flames of some sort--may look like glory, but is very
uncomfortable--and there is a peculiar odour about them. Doctor, what is
that odour called?"

Gary spoke with absurd soberness, but the doctor gave him no attention.

"The odour of sanctity!--that is it!" said Gary. "I had forgot. I don't
know what it is like, myself; but it must be very disagreeable to have
such a peculiarity attached to one."

"How can anybody be too good for this world?" Daisy ventured.

"Too good to live in it! You can't live among people unless you live
like them--so the saints all leave the rest of the world in some way or
other; the children die, and the grown ones go missionaries or become
nuns--they are a sort of human meteor--shine and disappear, but don't
really accomplish much, because no one wants to be meteors. So your old
woman can't be a saint, Daisy, or she would have quitted the world long
ago."

Something called off Gary. Daisy was left feeling very thoroughly
disturbed. That people could talk so--and think so--about what was so
precious to her; talk about being saints, as if it were an undesirable
thing; and as if such were unlovely. Her thought went back to Juanita,
who seemed now half a world's distance away instead of a few miles; her
love and gentleness and truth and wisdom, her prayers and way of living,
did seem to Daisy somewhat unearthly in their beauty, compared with that
which surrounded her now; but so unearthly, that it could not be
understood and must not be talked about. Juanita could not be understood
here; could Daisy? She felt hurt and troubled and sorry; she did not
like to hear such talk, but Gary was about as easy to stop as a
cataract.

Dr. Sandford, lifting his eyes from what had occupied them, though his
ears had not been stopped, saw that the face of his little charge was
flushed with pain and her eyes glistening. He came and took Gary's
place, and silently felt of her hand and looked at her; but he did not
ask Daisy what was the matter, because he pretty well knew. His own
face, as usual, shewed nothing; however, Daisy's came back to its
accustomed expression.

"Dr. Sandford," said she softly, "what is a meteor?"

"Meteors are fiery stones which fall on the earth occasionally."

"Where do they come from?"

"Doctors are divided."

"But where do _you_ think they come from?"

If Dr. Sandford's vanity could be touched by a child, it received a
touch then. It was so plain, that what satisfied him would satisfy her.
He would not give the skeptical answer which rose to his lips. Looking
at the pure, wise little face which watched his, he made answer simply,
not without a smile:

"I am inclined to think they are wandering bodies, that we fall in with
now and then, in our journey round the sun."

"Dr. Sandford, what do they look like?"

"You have seen shooting-stars?"

"Yes--are those meteors?"

"Those are meteors that do not come to the earth. Sometimes they are
nearer, and look like great fire-balls."

"Have you seen them?"

"Yes, a great many."

"And have you seen them after they fell on the ground?"

"Yes."

"What are they like then?"

"A very black stone, on the outside, and made up of various metals and
earths within."

"But then, what makes them look like fire-balls, before they fall?"

"Can't tell, Daisy. As I said, the doctors are divided; and I really
have no opinion that you would understand if I gave it."

Daisy would have liked to hear all the opinions, but she did not ask for
them. Preston was still standing at the back of the sofa, and started a
new subject.

"Dr. Sandford, how soon will Daisy's foot let her go to Silver Lake?"

"In what way do you propose to get there?"

"By boat, sir, across the river; and the rest of the way is walking."

"On plain ground?"

"Not exactly!" said Preston.

"How far do you call it?"

"Three miles."

"Of walking! I think Daisy may walk across this floor by next week; and
in a little while after she may go up and down stairs."

"O doctor!" exclaimed Preston. "Why, at that rate, she cannot go to
Silver Lake at all!"

"Does she want to go very much?" said the doctor. The question was
really put at Daisy's face, and answered by a little flush that was not
a flush of pain this time. He saw what a depth of meaning there was in
it; what a charm, the sound of Silver Lake had for Daisy. No wonder, to
a little girl who had lain for so many weeks looking out of one window,
where there was not much to be seen, either.

"Who is going, Daisy?" said the doctor.

"Mamma means to make up a large party--I do not know exactly who."

"Then I think I can promise that you shall go too. You may count upon me
for that."

Daisy's eyes shone and sparkled, but she said not a word. Preston was
less sagacious.

"Will you do something to make her foot strong, sir?" he asked.

"When you have studied in my profession, you will know more about a
physician's powers,"--was all the answer he got. The doctor turned off
to conversation with other people, and Daisy was left to herself again.
She was very happy; it was very pleasant to lie there comfortably on the
sofa, and feel that her long imprisonment was over; it was amusing to
look at so many people together, after having for days and days looked
at only one; and the old wonted scene, the place and the lights, and the
flowers and the dresses, yes, and the voices, gave her the new sense of
being at home. Nevertheless, Daisy mused a little over some things that
were not altogether pleasant. The faces that she scanned had none of
them the placid nobleness of the face of her black nurse; no voice
within her hearing had such sweet modulation; and Daisy felt a
consciousness that Juanita's little cottage lay within the bounds of a
kingdom which Mrs. Randolph's drawing-room had no knowledge of.
Gradually Daisy's head became full of that thought; along with the
accompanying consciousness, that a subject of that kingdom would be
alone here and find nobody to help her.

"Daisy, what's the matter?" whispered Preston. "You are as sober as a
judge."

"Am I?" said Daisy.

"What's to pay?"

"Nothing. I feel very nicely."

"Why don't you look like other people, then?"

"I suppose," said Daisy slowly, "I do not feel like other people."

"I wish you'd make haste about it, then," said Preston.

"Do be my own dear little old Daisy! Don't be grave and wise."

"Are you going to spend the night here, Daisy?" said Dr. Sandford,
coming up to the sofa.

"No, sir," said Daisy, smiling.

"Where then?"

"I suppose, in my room, sir--up-stairs."

"I must see you there before I go; and it is time now. Shall I carry you
up?"

"If you please, sir."

"Pray do not, Dr. Sandford!" said Mrs. Randolph. "Mr. Randolph will do
it, or one of the servants. There is no occasion for you to trouble
yourself."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I like to see after my patients myself. Unless
Daisy prefers other hands."

Mrs. Randolph protested. The doctor stood quiet and looked at Daisy,
waiting for her to say what she would like. Now Daisy knew, that of all
hands which had touched her, the doctor's and Juanita's were far the
best; and of those two, the doctor's; perhaps because he was the
strongest. Her father was very kind and tender, but he did not
understand the business.

"I should like Dr. Sandford to take me," she said, when she found she
must speak.

"Then I will trouble you, Mrs. Randolph, for somebody to shew me the
way." And the doctor stooped and put his strong arms under Daisy, and
lifted her up.

"Quite a conquest, I declare, you have made, Dr. Sandford!" said Mrs.
Randolph, laughing. "Preston, shew the way, and I'll send June."

So the doctor marched off with Daisy, Preston going before to shew the
way. He carried her without the least jar or awkwardness, through the
company, out into the hall, and up the stairs. There June met him, and
took Preston's office from him. Into Daisy's own room at last they
came, and Dr. Sandford laid his little charge at once on her bed.

"You must not try to move, Daisy, until I see you again. Stay here till
then."

"Yes, sir."

"Good-night."

"Good-night. Thank you, sir, for bringing me up."

Dr. Sandford smiled. "Thank you," said he, and with a wave of his hand,
away he went.

"O June!" said Daisy, "how glad I am to see you."

June had seen Daisy only once during her abode at Mrs. Benoit's cottage;
and now Daisy squeezed her hands and welcomed the sight of her with
great affection; and June on her part, though not given to
demonstrations, smiled till her wrinkles took all sorts of queer shapes,
and even shewed her deep black eyes twinkling with something like
moisture. They certainly were; and putting the smiles and the tears
together, Daisy felt sure that June was as glad to see her as she was to
see June. In truth, Daisy was a sort of household deity to June, and she
welcomed her back accordingly, in her secret heart; but her words on
that subject, as on all others, were few. The business of undressing,
however, went on with great tenderness. When it was finished, Daisy
missed Juanita. For then Juanita had been accustomed to bring her Bible,
and read and pray; and that had been a time Daisy always enjoyed
wonderfully. Now, in bed, at night, she could not see to read for
herself. She dismissed June, and was left alone in her old room, with,
as she justly thought, a great deal to pray for. And praying, little
Daisy went to sleep.




CHAPTER II.


The next day Daisy felt very much at home. Her orders were not to stir
till the doctor came. So after breakfast and after receiving visits from
everybody in the house, she was left to her own devices, for it happened
that everybody had something on hand that morning and nobody staid with
her.

Left with June, Daisy lay for awhile feasting her eyes on all the
pleasant wonted objects around her. She was a particular little body,
and very fond of her room and its furniture and arrangements. Then came
a hankering for the sight of some of her concealed treasures from which
she had been separated so long.

"June, I wish you would open the drawer of my bureau, the second drawer
from the top, and put your hand back at the left side and give me a book
that lies there."

June got the key and rummaged. "Don't feel nothing, Miss Daisy."

"Quite back, June, under everything--"

"Why, Miss Daisy, it's tucked away as though you didn't mean nobody
should never find it!"

Precisely what Daisy did mean. But there it was, safe enough--Mr.
Dinwiddie's Bible. Daisy's hands and eyes welcomed it. She asked for
nothing more in a good while after that; and June curiously watched her,
with immense reverence. The thin pale little face, a little turned from
the light, so that she could see better; the intent eyes; the wise
little mouth, where childish innocence and oldish prudence made a queer
meeting; the slim little fingers that held the book; above all, the
sweet calm of the face. June would not gaze, but she looked and looked,
as she could, by glances; and nearly worshipped her little mistress in
her heart. She thought it almost ominous and awful to see a child read
the Bible so. For Daisy looked at it with loving eyes, as at words that
were a pleasure to her. It was no duty-work, that reading. At last Daisy
shut the book, to June's relief.

"June, I want to see my old things. I would like to have them here on
the bed."

"What things, Miss Daisy?"

"I would like my bird of paradise first. You can put a big book here for
it to stand on, where it will be steady."

The bird of paradise June brought, and placed as ordered. It was a bird
of spun glass only, but a great beauty in Daisy's eyes. Its tail was of
such fine threads of glass that it waved with the least breath.

"How pretty it is! You may take it away, June, for I am afraid it will
get broken; and now bring me my Chinese puzzle, and set my cathedral
here. You can bring it here without hurting it, can't you?"

"Where is your puzzle, Miss Daisy?"

"It is in the upper drawer of my cabinet," (so Daisy called a small
chest of drawers which held her varieties) "and the cathedral stands on
the top, under the glass shade. Be very careful, June."

June accomplished both parts of her business. The "cathedral" was a
beautiful model of a famous one, made in ivory. It was rather more than
a foot long, and high, of course, in proportion. Every window and
doorway and pillar and arcade was there, in its exact place and size,
according to the scale of the model; and a beautiful thing it was to
look upon for any eyes that loved beauty. Daisy's eyes loved it well,
and now for a long time she lay back on her pillow watching and studying
the lights among those arcades, which the rich colour of the ivory,
grown yellow with time, made so very pleasant to see. Daisy studied and
thought. The Chinese puzzle got no attention. At last she cried, "June,
I should like to have my Egyptian spoon."

[Illustration]

"What is that, Miss Daisy?"

"My Egyptian spoon--it is a long, carved, wooden thing, with something
like a spoon at one end; it is quite brown. Look for it in the next
drawer, June, you will find it there. It don't look like a spoon."

"There is nothing like it in this drawer, Miss Daisy."

"Yes, it is. It is wrapped up in paper."

"Nothing here wrapped in paper," said June, rummaging.

"Aren't my chessmen there? and my Indian canoe? and my moccasins?--"

"Yes, Miss Daisy, all them's here."

"Well, the spoon is there too, then; it was with the canoe and the
moccasins."

"It ain't here, Miss Daisy."

"Then look in all the other drawers, June."

June did so; no spoon. Daisy half raised herself up for a frightened
look towards her "cabinet."

"Has anybody done anything to my drawers while I have been away?"

"No, Miss Daisy, not as I know of."

"June, please look in them all--every one."

"'Taint here, Miss Daisy."

Daisy lay down again and lay thinking.

"June, is mamma in her room?"

"Yes, Miss Daisy."

"Ask her--tell her I want to speak to her very much."

Mrs. Randolph came.

"Mamma," said Daisy, "do you know anything about my Egyptian spoon?"

"Do you want it, Daisy?"

"O yes, mamma! I do. June cannot find it. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes--it is not a thing for a child like you, Daisy, and I let your aunt
Gary have it. She wanted it for her collection. I will get you anything
else you like in place of it."

"But mamma, I told aunt Gary she could not have it. She asked me, and I
told her she could not have it."

"I have told her she might, Daisy. Something else will give you more
pleasure. You are not an ungenerous child."

"But, mamma! it was _mine_. It belonged to me."

"Hush, Daisy; that is not a proper way to speak to me. I allow you to do
what you like with your things in general; this was much fitter for your
aunt Gary than for you. It was something beyond your appreciation. Do
not oblige me to remind you that your things are mine."

Mrs. Randolph spoke as if half displeased already, and left the room.
Daisy lay with a great flush upon her face, and in a state of
perturbation.

Her spoon was gone; that was beyond question, and Daisy's little spirit
was in tumultuous disturbance--very uncommon indeed with her. Grief, and
the sense of wrong, and the feeling of anger strove together. Did she
not appreciate her old spoon? when every leaf of the lotus carving and
every marking of the duck's bill had been noted and studied over and
over, with a wondering regard to the dark hands that so many, many years
and ages ago had fashioned it. Would Mrs. Gary love it as well? Daisy
did not believe any such thing. And then it was the gift of Nora and Mr.
Dinwiddie, and precious by association; and it was _gone_. Daisy lay
still on her pillow, with a slow tear now and then gathering in her
eyes, but also with an ominous line on her brow. There was a great sense
of injustice at work--the feeling that she had been robbed; and that she
was powerless to right herself. Her mother had done it; in her secret
thought Daisy knew that, and that she would not have done it to Ransom.
Yet in the deep fixed habit of obedience and awe of her mother, Daisy
sheered off from directly blaming her as much as possible, and let the
burden of her displeasure fall on Mrs. Gary. She was bitterly hurt at
her mother's action, however; doubly hurt, at the loss and at the manner
of it; and the slow tears kept coming and rolling down to wet her
pillow. For a while Daisy pondered the means of getting her treasure
back; by a word to her father, or a representation to Preston, or by
boldly demanding the spoon of Mrs. Gary herself. Daisy felt as if she
must have it back somehow. But any of these ways, even if successful,
would make trouble; a great deal of trouble; and it would be, Daisy had
an inward consciousness all the time, unworthy of a Christian child.
But she felt angry with Mrs. Gary, and as if she could never forgive
her. Daisy, though not passionate, was persistent in her character; her
gentleness covered a not exactly yielding disposition.

In the midst of all this, Dr. Sandford came in, fresh from his morning's
drive, and sat down by the bedside.

"Do you want to go down stairs, Daisy?"

"No, sir; I think not."

"Not? What's the matter? Are you of a misanthropical turn of mind?"

"I do not know. Dr. Sandford; I do not know what that is."

"Well, now you have got back to human society and fellowship, don't you
want to enjoy it?"

"I should not enjoy it to-day."

"If I do not see you down stairs, you will have to stay up till another
day."

"Yes, sir."

"What is the matter, Daisy?" And now the doctor bent over and looked
hard in her face. The wet spot in her pillow no doubt he had seen long
ago. Daisy's eyes drooped.

"Look up here, and give me an answer."

"I can't very well tell you, sir."

"Why do you not want to go down stairs?"

"Because, Dr. Sandford, I am not good."

"Not good!" said he. "I thought you always were good."

Daisy's eye reddened and her lip twitched. He saw that there was some
uncommon disturbance on hand; and there was the wet spot on the pillow.

"Something has troubled you," he said; and with that he laid his
hand--it was a fresh, cool hand, pleasant to feel--upon Daisy's
forehead, and kept it there; sometimes looking at her, and as often
looking somewhere else. It was very agreeable to Daisy; she did not stir
her head from under the hand; and gradually she quieted down, and her
nerves, which were all ruffled, like a bird's feathers, grew smooth.
There were no lines in her forehead when Dr. Sandford took away his hand
again.

"Now tell me," said he smiling, "what was the matter? Shall I take you
down to the library now?"

"O no, sir, if you please. Please do not, Dr. Sandford! I am not ready,
I am not fit."

"Not fit?" said the doctor, eyeing her, and very much at a loss what to
make of this. "Do you mean that you want to be more finely attired
before you make your appearance in company?"

"No, sir," said Daisy. It struck her with a great sorrow, his saying
this. She knew her outward attire was faultless; bright and nice as new
silver was every bit of Daisy's dress, from her smooth hair to her neat
little slippers; it was all white and clean. But the inward adorning
which God looked at--in what a state was that? Daisy felt a double pang;
that Dr. Sandford should so far mistake her as to think her full of
silly vanity, and on the other hand, that he should so much, too well
judge of her as to think her always good. The witnessing tinge came
about Daisy's eyelids again.

"Dr. Sandford, if people tell you their private affairs, of course it is
confidential?"

"Of course," said the doctor, without moving a muscle.

"Then I will tell you what I meant. I am not good. I am dressed well
enough; but I have anger in my heart."

Dr. Sandford did not say how much he was surprised; for Daisy looked as
meek as a lamb. But he was a philosopher, and interested.

"Then I am sure you have had reason, Daisy."

"I think I had," said Daisy, but without looking less sorrowful.

"Do you not consider that one has a right to be angry when one has a
reason?"

"But one shouldn't stay angry," said the child, folding her hands over
her heart.

"How are you going to help it, Daisy?"

"There is a way, Dr. Sandford."

"Is there? But you see I am in the dark now. I am as much abroad about
that, as you were about a journey of three hundred years to the sun.
When I am angry I never find that I can help it. I can maybe help using
my horsewhip; but I cannot manage the anger."

"No--" said Daisy, looking up at him, and thinking how terrible it must
be to have to encounter anger from his blue eye.

"What then, Daisy? how do you make out your position?"

Daisy did not very well like to say. She had a certain consciousness--or
fear--that it would not be understood, and she would be laughed at--not
openly, for Dr. Sandford was never impolite; but yet she shrunk from the
cold glance of unbelief, or of derision, however well and kindly masked.
She was silent.

"Haven't we got into a confidential position yet?" said the doctor.

"Yes, sir, but--"

"Speak on."

"Jesus will help us, Dr. Sandford, if we ask him." And tears, that were
tears of deep penitence now, rushed to Daisy's eyes.

"I do not believe, Daisy, to begin with, that you know what anger
means."

"I have been angry this morning," said Daisy sadly. "I am angry now, I
think."

"How do you feel when you are angry?"

"I feel wrong. I do not want to see the person--I feel she would be
disagreeable to me, and if I spoke to her I should want to say something
disagreeable."

"Very natural," said the doctor.

"But it is wrong."

"If you can help it, Daisy. I always feel disagreeable when I am angry.
I feel a little disagreeable now that you are angry."

Daisy could not help smiling at that.

"Now suppose we go down stairs."

"O no, sir. O no, Dr. Sandford, please! I am not ready--I would rather
not go down stairs to-day. Please don't take me!"

"To-morrow you must, Daisy. I shall not give you any longer than till
then."

Away went Dr. Sandford to the library; kept Daisy's counsel, and told
Mrs. Randolph she was to remain in her room to-day.

"She thinks too much," he said. "There is too much self-introversion."

"I know it! but what can we do?" said Mr. Randolph. "She has been kept
from books as much as possible."

"Amusement and the society of children."

"Ay, but she likes older society better."

"Good morning," said the doctor.

"Stay! Dr. Sandford, I have great confidence in you. I wish you would
take in hand not Daisy's foot merely but the general management of her,
and give us your advice. She has not gained, on the whole, this summer,
and is very delicate."

"Rather--" said the doctor. And away he went.




CHAPTER III.


Meanwhile Daisy turned away from her beautiful little ivory cathedral,
and opened Mr. Dinwiddie's Bible. Her heart was not at all comforted
yet; and indeed her talk with Dr. Sandford had rather roused her to
keener discomfort. She had confessed herself wrong, and had told him the
way to get right; yet she herself, in spite of knowing the way, was not
right, but very far from it. So she felt. Her heart was very sore for
the hurt she had suffered; it gave her a twinge every time she thought
of the lotus carving of her spoon handle, and those odd representations
of fish in the bowl of it. She lay over on her pillow, slowly turning
and turning the pages of her Bible, and tear after tear slowly gathering
one after another, and filling her eyes and rolling down to her pillow
to make another wet spot. There was no harm in that, if that had been
all. Daisy had reason. But what troubled her was, that she was so
strongly displeased with her aunt Gary. She did not want to see her or
hear her, and the thought of a kiss from her was unendurable. Nay, Daisy
felt as if she would like to punish her, if she could; or at least to
repossess herself of her stolen property by fair means or by foul. She
was almost inclined to think that she must have it at all events. And at
the same time, she had told Dr. Sandford that she was not right. So
Daisy lay slowly turning the pages of her Bible, looking for some word
that might catch her eye and be a help to her. There were a good many
marks in the Bible, scattered here and there, made by its former owner.
One of these stopped Daisy's search, and gave her something to think of.
It stood opposite these words:

"I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy
of the vocation wherewith ye are called."

Daisy considered that. What "vocation" meant, she did not know, nor who
was "the prisoner of the Lord," nor what that could mean; but yet she
caught at something of the sense. "Walk worthy," she understood that;
and guessed what "vocation" stood for. Ay! that was just it, and that
was just what Daisy was not doing. The next words, too, were plain
enough.

"With all lowliness and meekness, with long-suffering, forbearing one
another in love."

"Forbearing one another"--easy to read, how hard to do! Mrs. Gary's
image was very ugly yet to Daisy. Could she speak pleasantly to her
aunt? could she even look pleasantly at her? could she "forbear" all
unkindness, even in thought? Not yet! Daisy felt very miserable and very
much ashamed of herself, even while her anger was in abiding strength
and vigour.

She went on, reading through the whole chapter; not because she had not
enough already to think about, but because she did not feel that she
could obey it. Some of the chapter she did not quite understand; but she
went on reading, all the same, till she came to the last verse. That
went through and through Daisy's heart, and her eyes filled so full that
by the time she got to the end of it she could not see to read at all.
These were the words:

"And be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another,
even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you."

That quite broke Daisy's heart. She rolled herself over upon her open
Bible, so as to hide her face in her pillow, and there Daisy had a good
cry. _She_ standing out about a little thing, when Jesus was willing to
forgive such loads and loads of naughtiness in her! Daisy would have no
friendship with her resentment any more. She turned her back upon it,
and fled from it, and sought eagerly that help by which, as she had told
Dr. Sandford, it might be overcome. And she had said right. He who is
called Jesus because be saves his people from their sins, will not leave
anybody under their power who heartily trusts in him for deliverance
from them.

Daisy received several visits that day, but they were all flying visits;
everybody was busy. However they put to the proof the state of her
feeling towards several persons. The next day the first person she saw
was the doctor.

"How do you do, Daisy? Ready to go down stairs to-day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you got the better of your anger?"

"Yes, sir."

"Pray, at what hour did your indignation take flight?" said the doctor,
looking at the gentle little face before him.

"I think--about three hours after you were here yesterday," said Daisy
soberly. The doctor looked at her, and his gravity gave way, so far at
least as to let the corners of his lips curl away from some very white
teeth. Dr. Sandford rarely laughed. And there was nothing mocking about
his smile now, though I have used the word "curl;" it was merely what
Daisy considered a very intelligent and very benign curve of the mouth.
Indeed she liked it very much.

"Have you seen the offending party since that time, Daisy?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you feel no return of displeasure?"

"No, sir."

There was something so exceedingly sweet in Daisy's expression of face,
so unruffled in its loving calm and assurance, that Dr Sandford
received quite a new impression in his views of human character.

"I shall have an account to settle with that young Preston one of these
days," he remarked as he took Daisy's little form in his arms.

"O he did nothing!" said Daisy. "It wasn't Preston at all. He had
nothing to do with it!"

"He had not?" said the doctor.

"Not at all; nor any other boy."

"Beyond my management, then!" said the doctor; and he moved off. He had
stood still to say that word or two; Daisy's arm was round his neck to
help support herself; the two looked into each other's faces. Certainly
that had come to pass which at one time she had thought unlikely; Daisy
was very fond of the doctor.

He carried her now down to the library, and laid her on a sofa. Nobody
at all was there. The long windows were standing open; the morning sweet
air blew gently in; the books, and chairs, and tables which made the
room pretty to Daisy's eyes, looked very pleasant after the long weeks
in which she had not seen them. But along with her joy at seeing them
again was mixed a vivid recollection of the terrible scene she had gone
through there, a few days before her accident. However, nothing could
make Daisy anything but happy just now.

"You must remain here until I come again," said the doctor; "and now I
will send some of the rest of the family to you."

The first one that came was her father. He sat down by the sofa, and was
so tenderly glad to have her there again, that Daisy's little heart
leaped for joy. She put her hand in his, and lay looking into his face.

"Papa, it is nice," she said.

"What?"

"O to be here, and with you again."

Mr. Randolph put his lips down to Daisy's, and kissed them a good many
times.

"Do you know we are going to Silver Lake with you as soon as you are
strong enough?"

"O yes, papa! Dr. Sandford says he can manage it. But I don't know
when."

"In a week or two more."

"Papa, who is going?"

"Everybody, I suppose."

"But I mean, is anybody to be invited?"

"I think we must ask Dr. Sandford."

"O yes, papa! I wish he would go. But is anybody else to be asked?"

"I do not know, Daisy. Whom would you like to have invited?"

"Papa, I would like _very_ much to have Nora Dinwiddie. She has come
back."

"Well, tell your mother so."

Daisy was silent a little; then she began on a new theme.

"Papa, what is a 'vocation'?"

"What is _what_, Daisy?"

"Vocation, papa."

"Where did you get that word?"

"I found it in a book."

"It means commonly a person's business or employment."

"Only that, papa?"

"There is another sense in which it is used, but you would hardly
understand it."

"Please tell me, papa."

"Why?"

"Papa, I like to know the meanings of things. Please tell me."

"Daisy, it means a 'calling'--in the idea that some persons are
particularly appointed to a certain place or work in the world."

Daisy looked a little hard at him, and then said, "Thank you, papa."

"Daisy, I hope you do not think _you_ have a 'vocation,'" said Mr.
Randolph, half smiling.

"Papa," said the child, "I cannot help it."

"No, perhaps not," said Mr. Randolph, stooping again to Daisy's lips.
"When you are older and wiser you will know better. At present your
vocation is to be a good little daughter. Now what are you going to do
to-day? Here is Preston--if you want him; or I will do for you what you
please."

"Yes, Daisy, what shall we do?" said Preston.

"O, are you at leisure?"

"All your own, Daisy, for this morning at any rate. What shall we do?"

"O Preston, would you mind getting my tray for me; and let us go on with
the battle of Hastings?"

"With what?" said Mr. Randolph, laughing.

"The battle of Hastings, papa--English history, you know. Captain
Drummond and I got just there and then we stopped. But Harold was
killed--wasn't he, papa?"

"I believe he was, Daisy."

"Good for him, too," said Preston. "He was nothing but a usurper.
William the Conqueror was a great deal more of a man."

"But he was just as much of a usurper, wasn't he?" said Daisy.

"You must mind your ethics, Preston," Mr. Randolph said, laughing.
"Daisy is on the Saxon side."

"Preston, will you get the tray, please? June will give it to you."

Preston did not quite understand the philosophy of the tray; however,
Daisy must be humoured. It was brought. By Daisy's order it had been
carefully protected from dust and danger; and the lineaments of England,
as traced by the captain some time ago, were fresh and in good order.
Daisy hung over the map with great interest, renewing her acquaintance
with various localities, and gradually getting Preston warmed up to the
play. It was quite exciting; for with every movement of William's
victorious footsteps, the course of his progress had to be carefully
studied out on a printed map, and then the towns and villages which
marked his way noted on the clay map, and their places betokened by
wooden pins. Daisy suggested that these pins should have sealing-wax
heads of different colours to distinguish the cities, the villages, and
the forts from each other. Making these, interrupted doubtless the march
of the Conqueror and of history, but in the end much increased Daisy's
satisfaction, and if the truth be told, Preston's too.

"There,--now you can see at a glance where the castles are; don't their
red heads look pretty! And, O Preston! we ought to have some way of
marking the battle-fields; don't you think so?"

"The map of England will be nothing but marks then, by and by," said
Preston.

"Will it? But it would be very curious. Preston, just give me a little
piece of that pink blotting paper from the library table; it is in the
portfolio there. Now I can put a little square bit of this on every
battle-field, and pressing it a little, it will stick, I think.
There!--there is Hastings. Do you see, Preston? That will do nicely."

"England will be all pink blotting paper by and by," said Preston.

"Then it will be very curious," said Daisy. "Were new kings _always_
coming to push out the old ones?"

"Not like William the Conqueror. But yet it was something very like
that, Daisy. When a king died, two of his children would both want the
place; so they would fight."

"But two men fighting would not make a battle-field."

"O Daisy, Daisy!" cried Preston; "do you know no better than that?"

"Well, but who else would fight with them?"

"Why, all the kingdom! Part would fight for the right, you know, as the
Saxons did with Harold; and part would fight to be the best fellows and
to get the fat places."

"Fat places?" said Daisy. At which Preston went off into one of his
laughs. Daisy looked on. How could she be expected to understand him?

"What is the matter, my dear? What are you doing?" Daisy started.

"We are studying English, history, aunt Gary."

"_History_, my dear? And what is all this muss, and these red and black
spots? does your mamma allow this in the library?"

"Just the place to study history, I am sure, mamma," said Preston; "and
you cannot have less muss than this where people are fighting. But I
really don't know what you mean, ma'am; there cannot be a cleaner map,
except for the blood shed on it."

"Blood?" said Mrs. Gary. "My dear"--as Preston burst into another
laugh--"you must not let him tease you."

Daisy's look was so very unruffled and gentle that perhaps it put Mrs.
Gary in mind of another subject.

"Did you know, Daisy, that I had robbed you of your old-fashioned
spoon?"

"I found it was not among my things," said Daisy.

"My dear, your mother thought you would not value it; and it was very
desirable to my collection. I took it with her consent."

"I am willing you should have it, aunt Gary."

"Were you very angry, my dear, when you found where it had gone?"

"I am not angry now, aunt Gary."

Certainly Daisy was not; yet something in the child's look or manner
made the lady willing to drop the subject. Its very calm gentleness did
not testify to anything like unconcern about the matter; and if there
had been concern, Mrs. Gary was not desirous to awaken it again. She
kissed Daisy, said she was a good girl, and walked off. Daisy wondered
if her aunt had a fancy for trilobites.

"What was all that about, Daisy?" Preston asked.

"O never mind--let us go on with William the Conqueror."

"What spoon of yours has she got?"

"My Egyptian spoon."

"That old carved thing with the duck's bill?"

"Yes. Now, Preston, what comes next?"

"Didn't you say she could not have it?"

"No matter what I said, if I say that she can have it now."

"Did you give it to her?"

"Preston, that has nothing to do with William the Conqueror. Please let
us go on."

"Daisy, I want to know. Did you give it to her?"

"I am willing she should have it. Now, Preston, go on?"

"But I say, did you give my mother that spoon?"

"Preston," said Daisy, "do you think it is quite proper to question me
in that manner about what you see I do not wish to have you know?"

Preston laughed, though he looked vexed, and kissed her, nobody being in
the library; he was too big a boy to have done it if anybody had been
looking on. And after that he played the historico-geographical play
with her for a very long time; finding it, with Daisy's eagerness and
freshness, a very good play indeed. Only he would persist in calling
every cause of war, every disputed succession, every rivalry of
candidates, an _Egyptian spoon_. Daisy could not prevent him. She had a
very happy morning; and Dr. Sandford was well satisfied with her bright
face when he came, towards night, and carried, her up stairs again.

But Daisy was getting well now. It was only a few days more, and Dr.
Sandford permitted her to walk a little way herself on her own feet. A
little way at first, across the floor and back; no more that day; but
from that time Daisy felt whole again. Soon she could walk to please
herself, up and down stairs and everywhere; though she was not allowed
to go far enough to tire her foot while it was yet unused to exercise.

Now all her home ways fell again into their accustomed order. Daisy
could get up and be dressed; nobody knows what a luxury that is unless
he has been hindered of it for a good while. She could stand at her
window and look out; and go down on her own feet to join the family at
breakfast. Her father procured her a seat next himself now, which Daisy
did not use to have; and she enjoyed it. She knew he enjoyed it too; and
it made breakfast a very happy time to Daisy. After breakfast she was at
her own disposal, as of old. Nobody wished her to do anything but please
herself.

At this moment nothing pleased Daisy better than to go on with English
history. With Preston, if she could get him; if not, alone, with her
book and her tray map. Poring over it, Daisy would lie on the sofa, or
sit on a little bench with the tray on the floor; planting her towns and
castles, or going hack to those already planted with a fresh interest
from new associations. Certain red-headed and certain black-headed and
certain green-headed pins came to be very well known and familiar in the
course of time. And in course of time, too, the soil of England came to
be very much overspread with little squares of pink blotting-paper. To
Daisy it grew to be a commentary on the wickedness of mankind. Preston
remarked on the multitude there was of Egyptian spoons.

"What do you mean by that, Preston?" said his aunt.

"Causes of quarrel, ma'am."

"Why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"

"Causes of trouble, I should say, ma'am."

"And again I say, why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"

"I beg your pardon, aunt Felicia. Egypt was always a cause of trouble to
the faithful; and I was afraid little Daisy has had just a spoonful of
it lately."

"Daisy, what have you been saying to your cousin?"

"Nothing, mamma, about that; only what Preston asked me."

"I am sure you did not say what I asked of you, Daisy. She told me
nothing at all, aunt Felicia, except by what she did not tell me."

"She behaved very sweetly about it, indeed," said Mrs. Gary. "She made
me feel quite easy about keeping it. I shall have to find out what I can
send, to Daisy that she will like."

"What are you and Preston doing there?" Mrs. Randolph asked with a
cloudy face.

"Studying, mamma; I am. English history."

"That is no way of studying; and that tray--what have you got in it?"

"England, mamma."

Preston laughed. Mrs. Randolph did not join him.

"What have you got in that thing, Daisy? sand?"

"O no, mamma--it's something--it's prepared clay, I believe."

"Prepared!" said Mrs. Randolph. "Prepared for something besides my
library. You are hanging over it all day, Daisy--I do not believe it is
good for you."

"O mamma, it is!"

"I think I shall try whether it is not good for you to be without it."

"O no, mamma." Daisy looked in dismay. "Do ask Dr. Sandford if he thinks
it is not good for me."

"There he is, then," said Mrs. Randolph, "Doctor, I wish you would see
whether Daisy is occupying herself, in your judgment, well, when she is
hanging over that thing half the day."

Dr. Sandford came up. Daisy was not afraid of his decision, for she knew
he was on her side. Mrs. Randolph on the other hand did not wish, to
dispute it, for she was, like most other people, on the doctor's side.
He came up and looked at the tray.

"What is this?"

"The map of England, sir."

"Pray what are you doing with it?"

"Making it, sir, and studying English history."

"What are these pins? armies? or warriors? they are in confusion
enough."

"O there is no confusion," said Daisy. "They are castles and towns."

"For instance?--"

"This is Dover Castle," said Daisy, touching a red-headed pin; "and this
is Caernarvon, and Conway; and these black ones are towns. There is
London--and Liverpool--and York--and Oxford--don't you see?"

"I see, but it would take a witch to remember. What are you doing?"

"Studying English history, sir; and as fast as we come to a great town
or castle we mark it. These bits of paper shew where the great
battle-fields are."

"Original!" said the doctor.

"No sir, it is not," said Daisy. "Captain Drummond taught it to me."

"What, the history?"

"No; but this way of playing."

Preston was laughing and trying to keep quiet. Nothing could be graver
than the doctor.

"Is it interesting, this way of playing?"

"Very!" said Daisy, with a good deal of eagerness, more than she wished
to shew.

"I wish you would forbid it, Dr. Sandford," said Daisy's mother. "I do
not believe in such a method of study, nor wish Daisy to be engrossed
with any study at all. She is not fit for it."

"Whereabouts are you?" said the doctor to Daisy.

"We are just getting through the wars of the Roses."

"Ah! I never can remember how those wars began--can you?"

"They began when the Duke of York tried to get the crown of Henry the
Sixth. But I think he was wrong--don't you?"

"Somebody is always wrong in those affairs," said the doctor. "You are
getting through the wars of the Roses. What do you find was the end of
them?"

"When the Earl of Richmond came. We have just finished the battle of
Bosworth Field. Then he married Elizabeth of York, and so they wore the
two roses together."

"Harmoniously?" said the doctor.

"I don't know, sir. I do not know anything about Henry the Seventh yet."

"What was going on in the rest of the world while the Roses were at war
in England?"

"O I don't know, sir!" said Daisy, looking up with a sudden expression
of humbleness. "I do not know anything about anywhere else."

"You do not know where the Hudson River was then."

"I suppose it was where it is now?"

"Geographically, Daisy; but not politically, socially, or commercially.
Melbourne House was not thinking of building; and the Indians ferried
their canoes over to Silver Lake, where a civilized party are going in a
few days to eat chicken salad under very different auspices."

"Were there no white people here?"

"Columbus had not discovered America, even. He did that just about seven
years after Henry the Seventh was crowned on Bosworth Field."

"I don't know who Columbus was," Daisy said, with a glance so wistful
and profound in its sense of ignorance, that Dr. Sandford smiled.

"You will hear about him soon," he said, turning away to Mrs. Randolph.
That lady did not look by any means well pleased. The doctor stood
before her looking down, with the sort of frank, calm bearing that
characterized him.

"Are you not, in part at least, a Southerner?" was the lady's first
question.

"I am sorry I must lose so much of your good opinion as to confess
myself a Yankee," said the doctor steadily.

"Are you going to give your sanction to Daisy's plunging herself into
study, and books, and all that sort of thing, Dr. Sandford?"

"Not beyond _my_ depth to reach her."

"I do not think it is good for her. She is very fond of it, and she does
a great deal too much of it when she begins; and she wants strengthening
first, in my opinion. You have said enough now to make her crazy after
the history of the whole world."

"Mrs. Randolph, I must remind you that though, you can hinder a tree
from growing, in a particular place, you cannot a fungus; if the
conditions be favourable."

"What do you mean?"

"I think this may be a good alterative."

The lady looked a little hard at the doctor.

"There is one book I wish you could hinder her from reading," she said,
lowering her tone.

"What is that, madam?"

"She is just the child not to bear it; and she is injured by poring over
the Bible."

"Put the Bibles out of her way," suggested the doctor.

"I have, as much as I can; but it is not possible to do it perfectly."

"Then I counsel you to allow her the use of this medicine," said Dr.
Sandford, glancing towards the tray, which no longer held Daisy's
attention. For together with her mother's lowering of voice, the one
word "Bible" had come to her consciousness. Daisy was at no loss to
guess what it meant. The low tones of the speakers gave her sufficient
information.

Thus far; that her Bible was reckoned an undesirable treasure for her by
her mother. Was her own dear little particular Bible in danger? the one
that Mr. Dinwiddie had given her? Daisy was alarmed. She did not enjoy
any more battle-fields, nor enter with good heart into her history work
from that time, until she could get up stairs again and see that it was
safe, and contrive some way or place to keep it safe in time to come.
Where could such a place be? It was a puzzle, because all Daisy's things
were, of course, open to her mother. Perhaps Daisy's fears were
needless; but after the affair of her Egyptian spoon she looked with
jealous eves not only on her Bible, but on her trilobite. She sat down
with a dismayed little face, to think where she could find a
hiding-place. She thought of putting the Bible under her bed or pillow;
but the bed was turned over every morning, and the servants would find
it. None of her bureau drawers or cabinet drawers were secure. Daisy
pondered all manner of impossible places. At last fixed upon a spot of
the floor covered by an ottoman. The ottoman was hollow and not very
heavy, and never moved after the room was put in order every day. Till
the room was put in order Daisy hid her Bible in a drawer; then took it
out and consigned it to the obscurity of the ottoman.

She was greatly afraid, then, of being found reading it. She had not
heard the words which passed between the doctor and her mother; only the
word "Bible;" but the low tones made her well enough aware that the
matter of their talk was somehow adverse; it boded nothing kindly to her
and the Bible. So Daisy was in another perplexity; and resolved that to
be as safe as she could, she would read with locked doors for the
future. And as doors must not be locked at times when her mother might
be coming and going, Daisy chose early morning and late evening for her
Bible-reading. She used to let June undress her, and finish all her
duties of dressing-maid; then she sent her away and locked her doors,
and read in comfort. This lasted a little while; then one unlucky night
Daisy forgot to unlock her doors. The morning came, and June with it;
but June could neither get in nor dare knock loud enough to make Daisy
hear; she was obliged to come round through her mistress's
dressing-room. But Daisy's door on that side was locked too! June was
going softly away.

"What do you want?" said her mistress.

"If you please, ma'am," said June, stopping very unwillingly--"I thought
it was time to wake Miss Daisy."

"Why do you not go in, then?"

"Ma'am--the door is locked," said June, in a scarce audible undertone.

"Locked?--knock."

June went back and knocked.

"Louder," said Mrs. Randolph, who was under her maid's hands; "you would
not waken a cat at that rate. Make yourself heard."

June's taps, however, continued so fearfully gentle, that Mrs. Randolph,
arose and came to the door herself. One or two of the touches of her
imperative fingers brought a little figure in white night-dress and
just-awakened face, to open the door.

"Daisy," said her mother, "what is your door fast for?"

"Mamma--I wanted it fast for a few minutes."

"Did you lock it last night or this morning?"

"Last night--I thought--I meant to have opened it."

"Both your doors?"

"Yes, mamma."

"All night locked! Now, Daisy, I forbid you ever to turn the key in your
door again, night or day."

"O mamma!--I want it shut sometimes."

"Hush. Go and let June dress you."

June was vexed enough with herself to have inflicted some punishment on
her awkward tongue and head, when she saw that Daisy was for some reason
or other deeply grieved. The tears gathered and fell, quietly, all
through the process of dressing; and a sort of sob heaved from the
child's breast now and then, without words and most involuntary.
Juanita's cottage was a palace to Melbourne House, if peace made the
furniture. But June did not know what to say; so she was silent too.

When June was gone Daisy went to her beloved window, and stood there.
She did not like to kneel, because her mother might come in, or even
June, while she was doing so. She stood at the sweet open window, and
prayed that the Lord would take care of her, and help her to pray
however she could. And then the thought of those words came to
Daisy:--"Thou, therefore, endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus
Christ." She remembered very well how Captain Drummond had described the
way a good soldier takes things--hard and disagreeable things as well as
others. It is part of his business to endure them; he expects them, and
minds them not at all in comparison with the service in which he is
engaged. And a soldier of Jesus Christ has only to obey him, and take
willingly whatever comes in the line of his service. What matter? The
only thing was to obey orders, and do the work she was set upon.
Hardships did not seem much like hardships when she thought of them in
this way. And then it occurred to Daisy, that if she _could_ not fasten
her doors, she had better just kneel down as usual with them open. She
could not do without praying; and if she must be in traded upon, why it
was a little hardship that she had better not mind. And when she had
thought that, Daisy kneeled down; and she never had any more trouble
about it. She did fancy, even that first morning, that she heard the
lock of her door turn; but she did not move to see, and hearing nothing
more she soon forgot it. Nobody wore such a bright and fresh face at the
breakfast-table as Daisy; such a glad and uncareful face; and Mrs.
Randolph seeing it, was reassured; though she had just seen her little
daughter at her prayers, on her knees, by the window. She looked so
happy now, that the lady was inclined to hope her religion was a
childish folly, which would pass away and be forgotten in time.

But for the present Daisy was a soldier; and meditating much on a
service which she had to perform. That very day, if you had been
there, and worn an invisible cap, you might have gone into her room
and seen what she was about. On the ottoman aforesaid Daisy's
writing-desk was placed; and before it on a cricket sat Daisy, with
a face, O how grave and busy! A very weight of care of some sort
seemed to lie under her childish little brow. She was opening her
desk and looking out paper; some she felt and rejected--it was too
thin or too blue, or something; she tried her pen on another kind;
it did not go well. At last a thick little sheet of note paper was
chosen; and Daisy began to write. Or rather, sat over the paper with
her pen in her fingers, thinking how to write. She looked very
anxious; then took bits of paper and a pencil and tried different
forms of a sentence. At last, with slow care, and fingers that
trembled, a line or two was inscribed on the beautiful thick little
sheet of English note paper.

    "Dear papa, won't you think about being a Christian? Do not be
    displeased with

    "DAISY."

It was written all out, as fair as she could; and then you might have
seen Daisy's little round head go down on her hands on the desk. It did
not move for a good while. When it was lifted up, she sought out an
envelope rather hurriedly, directed it, folded and put in her note, and
sealed it.

Daisy shut her desk then, and with a manner not quite as calm and
careless as usual, went to her father's dressing table and stood
considering where she should put the note. Under the cushion, it might
be seen first by a servant, and then delivered to Mr. Randolph in the
midst of company. Under his dressing-box, the same fate threatened it.
Daisy peered about, and thought, and trembled for several minutes. She
had a fancy that she did not want him to get it before the next morning,
when he would be quietly dressing here alone. He would certainly be
opening his dressing-box before that. The only place Daisy could be sure
would not be invaded before that, was the place she chose; she took off
the cover of his box of shaving soap and with some trouble squeezed the
note in so that it would lie safely hid; then put on the cover and put
the box in its place, and went away with light hands and a heavy heart.
Heavy, that is, with a burden of doubt mingled with fear. Would Mr.
Randolph be angry? Daisy could not feel sure that that would not be the
consequence of her proceeding. Perhaps he would be very much displeased,
and think it very disrespectful and improper that his little daughter
should take so much upon herself. Daisy knew quite well all that. But
who else in the world would take the responsibility if she did not? No
one; and Daisy with all her fear did not once think of going to get her
note away again before it should be read. Her heart yearned towards her
father. He was so very gentle and tender in his manner with her, more
than ever, Daisy thought; she felt that the love between them was
growing strong and deep even beyond what it used to be. And while he
knew nothing of the joy that filled her own heart, and while he refused
obedience to the laws that she knew were binding on him as well as on
her, he must be also, she knew, without the favour and blessing of God.
He had no part in it; nothing to do with it; and Daisy's heart swelled
with childish sorrow and longing. She had thought a great deal about it,
and concluded that she must bear "the message," even plainly in words,
to her father, before she could feel satisfied. Little hands might take
the message, Juanita had said; so humbly Daisy's took it; and then she
prayed that it might not be for nothing. She knew all her hands could do
was not much.

All the remainder of that day, Daisy never forgot her note in the box of
shaving soap. She knew it was extremely unlikely that the box would be
opened sooner than the next morning; nevertheless, whenever Mr. Randolph
came near where she was, Daisy looked up with something like a start.
There was nothing in his face to alarm her; and so night came, and Daisy
kissed him twice for good night, wondering to herself whether he would
feel like kissing her when they met again. Never mind, the message must
be delivered, cost what it might. Yes, this was soldier's service. Daisy
was going into the enemy's country.

Mr. Randolph had felt the lingering touch of Daisy's lips, and the
thought of it came to him more than once in the course of the
evening--"like the wind that breathes upon a bank of violets"--with a
breath of sweetness in the remembrance. Nevertheless he had pretty well
forgotten it, when he pulled off the cover of his box of shaving soap
the next morning. He was belated and in something of a hurry. If ever a
man suddenly forgot his hurry, Mr. Randolph did, that morning. He knew
the unformed, rather irregular and stiff handwriting in a moment; and
concluded that Daisy had some request to make on her own account which
she was too timid to speak out in words. That was what he expected when
he opened the paper; but Eve could not have been much more surprised
when the serpent spoke to her in the garden of Eden, than was Mr.
Randolph at finding that his little lamb of a child had dared to open
her mouth to him in this fashion.

"Mr. Randolph, you will be late," said the lady who owned that name,
coming to his door. And seeing her husband standing still with his elbow
leaning on his dressing-table, she walked in.

"You will assuredly be late! what have you got there?"

The little sheet of English note-paper lay spread out on the
dressing-table. Mr. Randolph was looking at it. He did not answer, and
the lady bent nearer for a moment and then stood upright.

"Daisy!" exclaimed Mrs. Randolph.

Her husband made an inarticulate sort of a noise, as he turned away and
took up his neglected shaving soap.

"What is this?" said the lady in astonishment.

"What you see--" said Mr. Randolph.

"Where did it come from?"

"The signature tells you."

"But where did you get it?"

"Here--this moment."

"The impertinent little minx!"

"Hush. She does not mean to be impertinent, Felicia."

"Do you like misbehaviour that is not meant, Mr. Randolph?"

"Better than that which _is_ meant."

"I told you the child would get ruined in that place," said Mrs.
Randolph, after musing a few minutes over the little sheet of
note-paper.

Mr. Randolph made a lather and applied it. That might be the reason why
he made no answer.

"I call it impertinence," the lady went on, "and very well grown
impertinence too--from a child like that! It is the trick of all
religious people, to think themselves better and wiser than the rest of
the world; but I think Daisy has learnt the lesson early!"

Still silence on Mr. Randolph's part and steady attention to his toilet
duties.

"What notice do you mean to take of this?"

"I think, none at all."

"Mr. Randolph, Daisy is ruined!"

"I do not quite see it yet."

"I wish you would see it. She is full of stupid stiff ways, which will
be habits fixed as iron in a little time if we do not break them up. She
does not act like a child."

"She is very like a child to me," said Mr. Randolph.

"You do not see. Do you observe her way whenever she sits down to table?
She covers her face and remains in silent prayer, I suppose, a minute or
so."

A slight laugh came from Mrs. Randolph with the words. Mr. Randolph
could not well laugh, for he was shaving. He remarked that he had never
seen it.

"I wish you would remember and take notice. She does it regularly. And
she is not a docile child _any_ longer, I give you warning. You will
find it very difficult to do anything with her in the way of breaking up
this religious stiffness of hers."

Mr. Randolph was silent a while, and Mrs. Randolph looked vexed. At
length he remarked that indirect ways were the best.

"It will take both," said his wife; "direct and indirect." And after
that they went down to breakfast.

Mr. Randolph was the last, and he was not early; but this morning Daisy
was later still. Her father watched for her coming, and did not see it
after all; Daisy stole in so quietly, she was in her seat by his side
before he had noticed her. Then perceiving the gentle, sweet, quiet
little face beside him, and recognizing the timid feeling which made
Daisy afraid to meet his eye, he could not refrain; he bent down and
gave her a kiss. He was very much touched by the little fluttering start
and glance which Daisy returned to this salutation, and he saw that a
pink flush of pleasure came into her cheeks. Perhaps all this put the
subject of watching her out of Mr. Randolph's head; he certainly did not
see the minute, a few minutes later, when Daisy's hand stole to her brow
and her eyes were for a short space hidden and her hand moveless. Mrs.
Randolph saw it, and saw that he did not. Daisy had forgotten that
anybody could see her. The thanksgiving of her heart had more burden
to-day than the ordinary gifts of the morning which she was wont to
remember. Her father was not angry with her! It took a load off Daisy's
heart; and she looked so happy all breakfast time that Mr. Randolph was
very much inclined to slight his wife's fears.

Juanita's constant habit of thankfulness and of expressing her
thankfulness, during the weeks Daisy had spent with her had gone down
into the child's heart. With every meal, though taken by herself all
alone, Daisy had seen the old woman acknowledging gratefully from whose
hand she got it. And with other things beside meals; and it had seemed
sweet and pleasant to Daisy to do so. At home, when she was suddenly
transferred to her father's stately board, where every beauty and luxury
were gathered together and an array of friends to help each other enjoy
it; and no one remembered, no one acknowledged that any gratitude was
due to the hand that had supplied the board and given the friends,
Daisy's heart was pained by a great sense of want. Not thank God for all
these things? give no acknowledgement of praise to him? She could not
bear to have it so. She thought nobody would notice her, or know what
she was doing if they did notice her; and she used to put her hand over
her brow and comfort her own heart with giving the thanks she wanted to
express. She soon forgot to be afraid anybody would notice her. But Mrs.
Randolph marked it all, and now never missed the minute when Daisy's
face was shielded.




CHAPTER IV.


The thing on hand now was the expedition to Silver Lake. Daisy's foot
and ankle were getting sufficient strength to bear all the work that
need be asked of them; and it was best to go while the hot weather still
lingered. It was early in September, and the day was fixed. Quite a
party was going. There were no visitors at Melbourne House now except
Mrs. Gary and her children; but that brought the home party up to seven.
Dr. Sandford was going, of course. Then some other neighbours. Mrs.
Stanfield had promised to go, with her little daughter Ella and her
older daughter Theresa. Mrs. Fish was coming from another quarter of the
country, with her children, Alexander and Frederica. Mr. Fish and Mr.
Stanfield were to go too; and Mr. and Mrs. Sandford, the doctor's
brother and sister-in-law. However, though this was to be such a strong
muster, Daisy thought of only two or three of the number that concerned
her personally. Preston and Ransom, of course; Alexander Fish; though
the two latter she thought of as likely to make disturbance more than
anything else; and Daisy liked a most lady-like quietness and propriety
in everything in which she was engaged. But besides these there was only
Ella Stanfield whose age would bring her into contact with Daisy; and
Daisy, very much of late accustomed to being alone or with older people,
looked with some doubtfulness at the prospect of having a young
companion to entertain. With that exception, and it hardly made one,
nothing could look brighter in the distance than Silver Lake.

Several days passed between Daisy's giving the note to her father and
the one fixed on for the expedition. In all that time Daisy was left to
guess whether or not it had been seen and read by him. No sign or token
told her; there was none; and Daisy could only conclude that he _must_
have seen it, because he could not very well help doing so. But she was
not at all discouraged. Rather the contrary; seeing that certainly her
father was not displeased with her.

In all these days too, Mr. Randolph had ample time and chance to observe
Daisy's action which had so disturbed her mother at meal times. Yet
hitherto he had never spoken of it. In fact it was so quietly done that
often the moment escaped him; and at other times, Daisy's manner so
asked for a shield rather than a trumpet, and the little face that
looked up from being covered with her hand was so bright and sweet, that
perhaps his heart shrank from saying anything that would change the
expression. At any rate, Daisy had been safe thus far.

Great preparations were making for the Silver Lake day. Thursday it was
to be. Wednesday evening Dr. Sandford was at Melbourne. Daisy was
considering the arrangements of a little packed basket of her own.

"Are you expecting to have a good time to-morrow, Daisy?" he asked.
Daisy smiled as she said yes.

"But you will have to keep quiet. I shall not let you run about like the
rest."

"I can sit quiet and look at the lake," said Daisy; with so absolutely
contented a face that the doctor smiled.

"But in parties of pleasure, do you know, my friend, it generally
happens that people cannot do what they expected to do?"

"Then I can do something else," said Daisy, looking very fearless of
anything disagreeable.

"Will you let your old friend, Nora Dinwiddie, join the party?"

"Nora! O is Nora coming?" exclaimed Daisy.

"Mrs. Sandford commissioned me to make the enquiry, Mrs. Randolph,
whether one more would be too many? Her little relation, Daisy's friend
I believe, has returned to her for the rest of the season."

"Certainly!" Mrs. Randolph said,--"there was room for everybody." The
lady's manner told nothing; but nevertheless Daisy did not venture to
shew her joy. She did not say another word about Nora. The hour of
meeting was determined, and the doctor withdrew. Daisy looked over the
contents of her basket again with fresh satisfaction, made sure that all
was right and everything there; and went to bed happy.

Thursday morning broke fair as eye could see. The September sun rose in
a haze of warm rays; promising, as Mrs. Randolph said, that the heat
would be stifling by and by. Daisy did not care, for her part. They had
breakfast earlier than usual; for the plan was to get on the other side
of the river before the sun should be too oppressive. They had scarcely
risen from the table when the Sandford party drove up to the door. These
were to go in a boat with the party from Melbourne House. Mr. and Mrs.
Fish, from higher up the river, were to cross in their own boat and join
the rest at the spot appointed on the opposite shore. The Stanfields
were to do the same, starting from a different point; friends having
arrived that would swell their numbers beyond the original four. Of all
this, Daisy cared just for one thing; that Nora was come and was to go
in the boat with her, and no other. The meeting between the two
children, on the steps of Melbourne, was most joyous.

"O Nora! I'm so glad you have come!"--and, "O Daisy! I'm so glad to be
here!"--and a small host of small questions and answers, that indeed
meant a great deal, but would not read for much.

"O Nora, isn't it nice!" said Daisy, as they stood on the steps, while
the carriages waited, below before the door.

"It's grand," said Nora. "Why aunt Frances says we shall be gone all
day."

"To be sure we shall," said Daisy. "Papa is going to fish; and so is
Preston, and Dr. Sandford and other people, I suppose; and some of the
men take their tackle along too. There is nice fish in the Lake."

"What men do you mean?" said Nora.

"O, the men that manage the boat and carry the baskets; there are ever
so many baskets to go, you know; and the men must carry them; because
the path won't let a wagon go."

"Who is going to carry you?" said Dr. Sandford coming out behind them.

"Me?" said Daisy.

"Yes."

"Why I do not want anybody to carry me, Dr. Sandford."

"Don't you? I do. And I shall want two men to do it. Whom will you have?
I have arranged a mountain chair for you, Daisy."

"A chair!" said Daisy. How could that be? And then she saw in Dr.
Sandford's wagon, a chair to be sure; a common, light, cane-bottomed
arm-chair; with poles sticking out before and behind it very oddly. She
looked up at the doctor, and Nora demanded what that was?

"Something like the chairs they use in the mountains of Switzerland, to
carry ladies up and down."

"To carry me?" said Daisy.

"For that purpose. Now see whom you will have to do it."

Daisy and Nora ran away together to consult her father. The matter was
soon arranged. James the footman, and Michael the coachman, were to go
to carry baskets and help manage the boat; James being something of a
sailor. Now Logan and Sam were pressed into the service; the latter to
take James's business, as porter, and leave the latter free to be a
chair-bearer.

"I don't see how the boat is to carry all the people," Nora remarked.

"O yes," said Daisy, "it is a big boat; it will hold everybody, I guess;
and it goes with a sail, Nora. Won't that be nice? Papa knows how to
manage it."

"It will want a very large boat to take us all," Nora persisted. "I went
out with Marmaduke in a sail-boat once--_he_ knows how to manage a
sail-boat too;--and I am sure it wouldn't have held half as many people
as we have got here. No, nor a quarter as many."

"O yes, but our boat is bigger, I suppose," said Daisy. "Don't you like
to go in a boat, Nora?"

"I like it if it don't lean over too far," said Nora. "I thought it was
going to turn over once or twice, when I was out with Marmaduke that
time. I was afraid."

"I am not afraid with papa," said Daisy. "I know he can manage it."

"Why so can Marmaduke manage it," said Nora; "and he said I needn't be
afraid; but I was."

The carriages took the whole party down to the shore in a few minutes.
There lay the sail-boat all ready, her sails shaken out; and James and
Sam, on board already, received basket after basket from the hands of
Logan and the coachman and stowed them away in what seemed to be a place
of ample accommodations. Daisy and Nora, hand in hand, stood on the
shore looking at all that was done, and with eager eyes. The summer
breeze just played lightly and rippled the water, on which the morning
sun made a warm glow, early in the day as it was.

"What _could_ so many baskets be wanted for?" said Nora.

"Why, to carry all the things. You know there will be a great many
people to eat dinner at Silver Lake."

"Dinner?" said Nora; "do people eat dinner when they go to a pic-nic?"

"Why yes. What do you think they do?"

"I thought it was just a pic-nic."

[Illustration]

"What is that?" said Daisy curiously. But just then there was a stir;
the ladies and gentlemen were getting into the boat, and the children
had to be ready for their turn. It came; and Mr. Randolph handed one
after the other safe over the gunwale of the big sail-boat and placed
them happily beside each other in the middle space, where they could
have an excellent time for talking. But they wanted no talking at first.
When all were aboard and ready, the boat was cast loose from the shore
and her sail trimmed to catch the soft northerly air that came blowing
down the river. Slowly the sail caught the breeze--would it be strong
enough to take her? the children thought--slowly, very slowly, the boat
edged its way out from the shore--then the breeze filled the sail full,
took good hold, and began to push the little vessel with a sensible
motion out towards the river channel. Steady and sweet the motion was,
gathering speed. The water presently rippled under the boat's prow, and
she yielded gently a little to the pressure on the sail, tipped herself
gracefully a little over, and began to cleave her way through the
rippling water in good earnest. Then how the waves sparkled! how cheery
the movement was! how delicious the summer air over the water! although,
the sun was throwing down his beams with great power already and the,
day promised to be sultrily hot.

"It is going to be intense," said Mrs. Randolph.

"Melting!"--said Mrs. Gary.

"You will have enough of it before the end of the day--" remarked Mr.
Sandford. Mr. Sandford was a good-humoured looking gentleman, with a
sensible face and black whiskers; but he was a gentleman, and Daisy
approved of him. He was very unlike his brother. His wife was a very
plain person, in feature, and not very talkative; letting her husband do
that for her; but kindly and pleasant nevertheless; and Daisy approved
of her too.

"At what hour do you expect the day _will_ end, practically?" inquired
Mrs. Randolph of her husband. He smiled.

"I should say--judging from present tokens--not till the sun gets well
down on his western way."

"First-rate!" said Preston aside. "We'll have a good time for fishing."

"But that will make it very late crossing the river, Mr. Randolph? will
it not?"

"It may."

"There is a moon," said Mrs. Sandford.

"Moon! I hope we are not to be beholden to the moon's good offices!"
exclaimed the other lady. "It is only ten o'clock now--not that. We
shall be tired to death of the woods before we have done with them."

"You must try fishing, aunt Felicia," said Preston.

"Yes--a good idea," remarked Mr. Sandford. "I do not know how the ladies
can get along without some sport--ha, ha! There is a boat on the
lake--isn't there?"

"They say so," Mr. Randolph returned. "I have not been there for a long
time."

"Then I shall take the charge of your entertainment, Mrs. Randolph," Mr.
Sandford went on. "I shall persuade you to put yourself under my
guidance, and let me initiate you into the mysteries of pickerel
catching."

"I do not think you can persuade me out of the shade--if once I get in
it again--" said the lady.

"Why mamma," said Ransom, "pickerel fishing is splendid!"

Mr. Randolph looked at Daisy. No heat nor shadow too much for her! With
one hand clasped in Nora's, her little face was a pattern of perfect
content; nay, it was full of delighted joy. Mr. Randolph thought he
could endure his portion of the heat.

"Nora," said Daisy, "isn't it nice?"

"It goes nicely now," said Nora.

"But isn't it pleasant?"

"Yes. It is a great deal pleasanter than in a little boat. This one is
good and large."

"Isn't the water pretty?"

"I like the green grass better," said Nora.

"O yes! but then I like this too. I like it very much. Nora, what did
you mean by a pic-nic?"

"A pic-nic?" said Nora.

"Yes; you said you thought people did not eat dinner, but it was a
_pic-nic_."

"Well, I thought they didn't."

"What did you mean by a _pic-nic_?"

"Why I meant just that. You know what a pic-nic is."

"We always have dinner when we go on a pic-nic," said Daisy.

"Then I don't think it is a pic-nic."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Daisy, are you going to ride in that queer chair?"

"I suppose so. My ankle isn't quite strong yet, you know. Wasn't it nice
of Dr. Sandford to prepare it for me?"

"I don't know, _I_ don't think he is nice," said Nora.

Which expression of opinion was so very startling to Daisy that it took
her some time to recover from it. She sought out the doctor with her eye
where he was sitting forward of the mast, somewhat hid from her by a
piece of the sail; she scanned his countenance, with its calm nobleness
of feature, and steadfast, reserved, beautiful blue eye. Doubtless, he
was not everything Daisy wished him; nevertheless to her he was very
"nice" indeed. Her eye came back satisfied.

At the other end of the boat the party were talkative and gay. Mr.
Randolph held the main sheet in his own hand; Mr. Sandford had the
rudder; neither of them had much to do; for the wind was gentle and
fair, and the boat kept her straight course for the opposite shore. The
river was wide however at this place; the other shore was an object in
view for a good while before they reached it. Slowly and steadily the
little skiff skimmed over; they got to the middle of the river; then the
trees before them on the other side, with the cleared fields in one or
two spots, began to shew in more distinct forms and colours. The sun was
very hot! So hot, that it seemed to kill the breeze. As they drew near
their place of disembarkation, the motion of the vessel grew slack; the
sail fluttered now and then; the propelling force just lasted till they
got to shore, and then nobody said anything more of any air felt to be
stirring.

"I think we had better stay on the water," said Mrs. Gary. "It is
positively stifling here."

"It will be better when we get in the woods," suggested Mr. Sandford.

"No,--begging your pardon," Mr. Randolph answered.

"No?--will it be worse, Mr. Randolph?" said his wife.

"I hope not--for I think you could broil a beefsteak here in another
hour; when the sun gets on the meridian."

"Then do let us move away from here at once! it is oppressive. I do not
know how we are going to walk, but I suppose we shall find out. We may
hope there will be a little freshness by the lake."

Mr. Stanfield's boat however had to be waited for a few minutes. It got
to shore just as Mr. Fish's skiff appeared in sight coasting down on the
same side, from behind a point. The whole party were soon together,
exchanging shakes of the hand and puffs of condolence on the state of
the atmosphere. There was presently a division of forces. All the boys,
Preston, Ransom, and Alexander Fish, compared notes and fishing tackle.
The ladies and gentlemen, with one or two elder girls, Frederica Fish
and Theresa Stanfield and Eloïse Gary, congregated into a moving mass of
muslins and parasols. While Daisy and Nora were joined by Ella
Stanfield; and a great constraint fell upon all three. Ella was a
comparative stranger; a nice looking child, thoughtful and old beyond
her years. She looked like gravity; Nora liked gayety; while Daisy was
most like the thing that bears her name. They stood like little pinks of
propriety, without saying anything to each other. This constraint was
soon broken up by the preparations for the march. On enquiry it was
found that there were two or three ways to the lake. One was short and
easy (in comparison) but very narrow; a mere footpath through the woods.
Another had a wider track; but it had also a rough footing of rocks and
stones, and was much longer; taking a circuit to reach the place.
Another still was only used by eager lovers of the picturesque, though
it was said to reward them.

As soon as all this was explained to the understanding of the company,
the larger division set off immediately for the easiest and quickest
road to the lake; no other recommendation was worth a moment's
considering. With quick disappearance one after another muslin dress and
gay parasol was lost within the edge of the woods which their chosen
path immediately entered. They vanished from the shore. Every one of
them was presently out of sight. Mr. Randolph had seen that Dr. Sandford
was putting Daisy into her travelling conveyance; and thinking no
attention of his own could be needful he had gone on in advance of the
party with Mrs. Stanfield. The very last of them, muslins and parasols
and all, was swallowed up in the enclosing woods, almost before Daisy
was established in her chair. Her bearers lifted it then to receive
instructions from Dr. Sandford as to their method of playing their part.
They were Logan and Sam; James was devoted to his own particular charge.

"Why where are Nora and Ella?" Daisy suddenly exclaimed.

"Everybody seems to have gone on," answered the doctor. "Except the
boys. Now Daisy, are you comfortable? is it all right?"

"It is nice, Dr. Sandford!"--But at the same time Daisy wondered much
and grieved not a little that her companions should have left her to go
alone. Was that kindness? or good manners?

"Did they know which way I was going?" she said.

"I fancy so," said the doctor; "they have done as everybody else
does--gone with the crowd. Now, you fellows, you know the way."

"Yes, sir."

"When you come to a house, remember, you must turn sharp to the right.
Boys, you must go with the chair as a body-guard."

"Why must we?" said Ransom.

"You would not have your sister go alone?"

"You are going that way."

"You are mistaken. I am not."

"She has got Logan and Sam to take care of her. Girls always have to be
taken care of!" exclaimed Ransom in disgust.

"I am astonished at your want of gallantry. Preston, I shall depend on
you to see that the chair is properly attended."

"Which way are you going, sir?"

"By myself--to see if I can get a shot at something."

Preston did not look delighted, Daisy saw, though he accepted the charge
the doctor gave him. The doctor himself strode off with his gun,
disappearing in the woods at the nearest point. Daisy was left with her
two bearers and her three attendants.

"Well boys, we may as well get along," said Ransom discontentedly.
"There is no occasion that we should keep poking on behind this
concern."

They passed it and took the lead. Preston as he passed asked Daisy how
it went, and if she were comfortable. It went very nicely, and she was
very comfortable; and receiving this assurance Preston sprang forward to
regain Alexander Fish's company, with whom he was holding an animated
discourse on the making and using of artificial flies. The three boys
trudged along in advance; the motions of their busy heads, and of their
active feet, telling that there was no lack of interest or excitement
_there_. The chair followed steadily with its little burden. It went
nicely; she was very comfortable; it was a new and most pleasant mode of
getting over the ground; and yet--there was something at work in Daisy's
heart that was not pleasure. She was sadly disappointed. She was left
alone. It had tried her a good deal that Nora and Ella should have ran
after the larger party with so cavalier an abandonment of her, when they
knew her chair must go another road. Then she was very sorry that the
doctor had seen good to forsake her; and felt that from the
thoughtfulness or unselfishness of boys she had little to hope for. Look
at them! there they went before her, putting more and more distance
between them and the chair every minute. Perhaps they would entirely
forget their little convoy and be out of sight in a trifle more time.
And in all that big party of pleasure, everybody engaged with somebody
else, she was left with no one to speak to her, and no company at all
but that of Logan and Sam. Daisy two or three times put up her hand
stealthily to her face to get rid of a tear that had found its way
there. Daisy thought at first that she would not have done so to her
friends as they had done to her; but then presently she reflected what
reason she had to know better and to do better, that they had not; and
instead of anything like resentment, a very gentle and tender feeling of
pity and kindness arose in Daisy's mind toward them. Her hurt sense of
unfriendliness quite soothed itself away; and now Daisy began to enjoy
herself and the day and the party of pleasure. Her share of it, at
least. Her chair was under shadow of the tall woods now. It is true, it
was very hot there. No air seemed moving. The chair-bearers often raised
an arm to their brows to wipe away the heated moisture that stood there
and ran down their faces. But Daisy had no exertion to make; and instead
of that, her own motion seemed to give a little life to the lifeless
air. Then she was at leisure to look and enjoy; not having even to take
care of her own footing. The depth of green leafage over her head when
she looked up; the depth of green shade on either hand of her, pierced
by the endless colonnade of the boles of trees; how wildly beautiful it
was! Daisy thought of a good many things she would like to ask Dr.
Sandford--if she had the liberty; but he did not talk about wonderful
things to her now that she was well and had her own means of amusement.
Now and then Daisy had the sight of a red squirrel, running along a
tree bough or scampering over the ground from one rock to another. What
jumps he would make to get out of her way! And birds were singing too,
sometimes; and mosses were spread out in luxuriant patches of wood
carpeting in many places; and rocks were brown and grey, and grown with
other mosses and ferns; and through all this fairy work of beauty
Daisy's chair went at an easy, quiet pace, with a motion that she
thought it very pleasant to feel.

It was a wild old wood, which nobody had ever meddled with. Things were
just as nature's work had made them. The path the little party were
travelling was a wood road merely, where country wagons had made a
track; or more properly, where the country people had made a track for
their wagons. It was but a rough way; stumps of trees that had been cut
down stood right in the middle of it; and rocks and stones were in some
places very thickly strewn over it. After some time of wandering over
level ground, the path took a turn and began to get among the hills. It
wound up and down and was bordered now by steep hillsides and
sharp-rising rocks. It was all the wilder and prettier. The house Dr.
Sandford spoke of had been passed; the turn had been taken; there was
nothing to do now but follow on till they found the lake; but there were
no signs of it yet, nor any sound of voices to be heard in the distance.
Even the boys were gone on out of sight; the stillness of summer noon
was all through the deep woods, for it is a time of day when the birds
do not feel like ringing much. Daisy enjoyed it. She thought no one of
all their company was having a better time probably than she.

Suddenly Sam, who was foremost of the bearers, gave a great shout; and
at the same instant dropped his end of Daisy's chair and sprang to one
side. Then stood still.

"What for air ye playing capers like that?" inquired Logan, with an air
of great disgust and a strong Scotch accent. Sam stood still, drawing
his countenance into all manner of grimaces.

"Speak then, can't ye! What ails ye? Don't stand there like a Merry
Andrew, boy!"

"I've hurted myself!" Sam groaned.

"And how did ye hurt yourself? When ye were walking along, couldn't ye
go for'rard quietly? Where's the hurt?"

"My foot!" said Sam bending down to it. "I can't stir it. Oh!"

"Did ye hurt yourself before or after ye gave such a loup?" Logan
grunted, going over however now to bring his own wisdom to bear on Sam's
causes of trouble. "Whatever possessed ye boy, with the end of the chair
in your hand?"

"I see a sarpent--" said Sam submissively.

"A sarpent!" echoed Logan--"it's not your pairt to be frighted if you
see a sarpent. What hurt would the sight of the brute do ye? There's no
harm come to ye, boy, but the start."

"I can't move it--" repeated Sam under his breath.

"Logan, perhaps he has sprained his ankle," said Daisy from her chair;
where at first she had been pretty well frightened.

"Weel--I don't see it," replied Logan slowly and unbelievingly.

"How does it feel, Sam?" Daisy asked.

"It don't feel without I stir it, Miss Daisy--and then, it's like a
knife."

"He has sprained it, I am afraid, Logan," said Daisy getting out of her
chair and coming to the consultation. "I think it is swelling now."

Sam had bared his unfortunate ankle, Logan looked up from it to the
little speaker whose words were so quietly wise, with unspoken
admiration.

"Can't ye walk then, Sam?" he urged. "Here is Miss Daisy in the middle
of the road and wanting to be at the Lake--and how much farther it may
be to the Lake is a subject unknown to me. Can't ye bear your foot
surely?"

Sam's reply was sorrowful but decided; he could not bear it at all, with
any weight upon it.

"Never mind, Logan," said Daisy; "I can wait. You had better go forward
and see if you can find the boys. They can take care of me."

Logan felt the justness of this proposition, and at once put his long
legs in swift motion to overtake the advance party; exercising a good
strong voice too presently in hallooing to them. Daisy was left with
Sam. The thought crossed her mind that this was getting to be an odd
party of pleasure; but her real concern was for the sprained ankle.
That, she was very sorry for. Her own delay and disappointment she took
patiently.

Logan's halloos brought the boys to a stand. They waited till he came up
to them, not deeming it necessary on their part to go back to see what
was the matter. When they heard his news there was a disagreeable pause.
What was to be done?

"Daisy can walk the rest of the way," was the decision of her brother.

"How far is it?" said Preston.

"I don't know!--it's no great things of a walk anyhow. Girls are always
getting into trouble!"

"But what has got to be done with Sam?" said Preston.

"He can take care of himself," said Sam's young master.

"He can't move, sir, on his own feet," said Logan.

"You'll have to carry him, then. I suppose we cannot leave him in the
woods, for humanity."

"There's Miss Daisy, sir."

"What a plague!" exclaimed Ransom. "Daisy can walk. She must at any
rate; and you can bring her chair along to make firewood. Boys we ought
to be there this minute--at the Lake. We shall be cheated out of all
our fishing before dinner. That's along of mounting guard on a girl!
And after dinner there won't be two inches of time."

"Hush, Ransom!" said Preston.

At this point the consultation was enlarged, and its character somewhat
modified by the coming of Dr. Sandford upon the scene. From a height not
far off, where he was roaming with his gun, he had perceived the group
discerned that something was wrong, and come down with a quick step to
reach them. His eye rather than his voice asked what was the matter. He
was answered in various styles by the different members of the group.

"Here is a muss!" said Ransom.

"Miss Daisy, sir, she is left standing in the middle o' the
forest!"--said Logan.

"Sam has very stupidly sprained his ankle," said Preston, "and cannot
move."

The doctor without a word turned in the direction from which Logan had
come. "Follow me, young gentlemen," said he, looking over his
shoulder,---"I shall need your help." So unwillingly enough, the boys,
fishing tackle and all, turned back upon their steps, and followed. They
soon came to Daisy's emptied chair, where she stood mounting guard over
Sam.

The ankle was badly sprained; there was no doubt of that. Sam not only
could carry nobody; he must himself be carried. The doctor ordered that
Logan should take him on his back and convey him as far as the poor
little house they had passed on the way. A good lift it was, for Sam was
a well grown, stout fellow; but Logan was a long-limbed, sinewy, brawny
Scotchman, and he made no difficulty of the job. The doctor in the first
place deposited his gun against a tree, and did what was needful for the
hurt ankle.

"Now," said he to Daisy, "how are you going to get forward?"

"I can walk the rest of the way," said Daisy.

"Pardon me. Not with my leave. Boys, which, of you will take the honour
of being chair-bearers? I have my gun to care for."

"I will be one," said Preston.

"And Ransom will be the other. Come, sir!"

"Honour!"--said Ransom as he moved sullenly forward. "I think girls
ought to stay at home when there is anything going on. They are plaguily
in one's way!"

"That is a very womanish speech," said the doctor; "in so far as that it
is very unmanly."

Ransom's temper nowise improved by this reply, he took up sulkily his
ends of the chair poles; and once more the party set forward. It was not
quite so pleasant now for Daisy; her chair was no longer carried
smoothly. Preston, who was in advance, did his part perfectly well; but
Ransom, behind her, let the chair go up and go down and sway about very
unsteadily, besides that every step was with a jolting motion. It kept
Daisy in constant uneasiness. Dr. Sandford walked on just before with
his gun; Alexander Fish came after, laughing and jesting with the other
boys.

"How does it go, Daisy?" said the doctor, stopping after a while to
inquire.

"Mayn't I get out and walk, Dr. Sandford?"

"What for?"

"I should like it very much!"

"Do you not ride easily?"

"Not quite," said Daisy. "It throws me about a good deal."

"Ah! Did it do so when Logan and Sam carried you?"

"I did not feel it then," said Daisy unwillingly.

"Your porters are unskilled."

The doctor took his station by Ransom's hand, remarking that he would
see that he did his work well. And he was as good as his word. He kept a
constant eye on the management of the chair: and when Ransom neglected
his duty, gave him a word of admonition or advice, so keen and
contemptuous in its rebuke, though slight and dry, that even Ransom's
thickness of apprehension felt it, and sheered off from meeting it. The
last part of the distance Daisy was thoroughly well cared for, and in
silence; for the doctor's presence had put a stop to all bantering
between the boys. In furious silence on Ransom's part this last portion
of the way was accomplished.

At the lake at last! And in Daisy's breast at least, everything but
pleasure was now forgotten. A very beautiful sheet of water, not very
small either, with broken shores, lay girdled, round with the unbroken
forest. Close to the edge of the lake the great trees rose up and flung
their arms over; the stems and trunks and branches were given back again
in the smooth mirror below. Where the path came out upon the lake, a
spread of greensward extended under the trees for a considerable space;
and this was spotted and variegated now with the scattered members of
the pleasure party. Blue and pink and white and green, the various light
muslins contrasted with the grey or the white dresses of the gentlemen;
while parasols were thrown about, and here and there a red shawl lay
upon the ground, for somebody's reclining carpet. To add to all this,
which made already a very pretty picture under the canopy of the great
trees, a boat lay moored at a little point further on; baskets and
hampers congregated with great promise in another quarter under guard of
James and one or two of his helpers; and upon it all the sunlight just
peeped through the trees, making sunny flecks upon the ground. Nobody
wanted more of it, to tell the truth; everybody's immediate business
upon reaching the place had been to throw himself down and get cool.
Daisy and Dr. Sandford were the two signal exceptions.

Nora and Ella came running up, and there was a storm of questions. "O
Daisy, isn't it beautiful!" "How came you to be so long getting here?"
"Did you have a nice ride?" "O Daisy, what are we going to do, you and
Ella, and I? Everybody else is going to do something."

"What are they going to do?" said Daisy.

"O I don't know! everything. Mr. Randolph is going out in the boat to
fish, and all the ladies are going with him--Mrs. Sandford and Mrs.
Stanfield and your mother; only Mrs. Fish isn't going; but Mr. Sandford
is. And Eloïse, your cousin, is going to see about having the dinner
ready; and Theresa Stanfield is in that too; I think they have got the
most fun; but nobody is doing anything yet. It's too hot. Are you hot,
Daisy?"

"Not very."

"O Daisy," said Ella Stanfield, "couldn't _we_ fish?"

"There are so many boys--" said Daisy; "I do not believe there will be
any fishing tackle for us."

"Can you fish, Daisy?" asked the doctor, who stood near, looking after
his gun.

"No, sir. I did catch a fish once--but it was only my line caught it."

"Not your hand at the end of the line?"

"My hand was not there. The line was lying on the bank and my hook in
the water."

"Oh! that was it!"

Away went the doctor with his gun, and the boys sped off with their
fishing rods. The heat was too great for anybody else to move.
Nevertheless, what are parties of pleasure for _but_ pleasure? they must
not let the whole day slip away with nothing done but lying in the shade
of the trees. There was a little island in the lake, well wooded like
its shores. It was proposed that the ladies' fishing party should row
over to the island, and there, under another shady grove, carry on their
designs against the pickerel. Daisy's wish was to go with that party in
the boat and watch their sport; especially as Mr. Randolph was the
leader and manager of it. She was not asked to go; there was no room
for the little people; so they stood on the shore and saw the
setting-off, and watched the bright dimples every stroke of the oars
made in the surface of the lake.

The people were pretty well scattered now. Nobody was left on the ground
but Mrs. Gary and Mrs. Fish, sitting under a tree at some distance,
talking; and Eloïse and Theresa, who were charged to superintend the
laying of the cloth. Having nothing particular to do, the three children
became hangers-on, to watch how this business would be conducted; ready
to help if they got a chance.

It was found a difficult business to arrange places for so many people
on the grass; and the girls finally and wisely gave it up. They
determined to set out the eatables only, on a tablecloth spread to
receive them; but to let everybody eat where he felt disposed, or where
he could find the best bit of shade. Shade was the best thing that day,
Theresa Stanfield declared. But the first thing of all was to light a
fire; for coffee must be boiled, and tea made. The fire was not a
troublesome thing to have, for dead wood was in plenty for the
gathering. James and Logan, who had come to the scene of action, soon
had that going; and the children forgot that it was hot, in the beauty
and the novelty of the thing, and laughed at Theresa's red cheeks as she
stooped over the coals with her coffee-pot. About coffee Daisy was
ignorant. But tea had been made in her behalf by Juanita too many times
for her not to have the whole proceeding fixed in her memory.

"O Eloïse, you must not make that _tea_ now!" she exclaimed.

"Mustn't I!"

"No. It will be spoiled."

"Some other things have had the same fate," said Eloïse.

"It will not be good for anything, Eloïse," Daisy persisted gently. "It
should not be made but just before you want it--just a few minutes."

"You are wise, Daisy," returned her cousin. "I do not know so much as
you do, you see."

Daisy fell back a little. Eloïse and Theresa went to unpacking the
hampers; and James, acting under their direction, carried and placed the
various articles they took out, placed and replaced; for as new and
unlooked-for additions were made to the stock of viands, the arrangement
of those already on the tablecloth had to be varied. There was a
wonderful supply; for a hamper had come from every house that had sent
members to the party.

"What shall we do with it all?" said Eloïse.

"Find out what people like--or are expected to like. Just look at the
cold chickens! and the ham! I am so thankful for that red lobster, to
make a variety. There are three boxes of sardines--and what is that?"

"Anchovy paste."

"Well!--and look at the other things! We want an army to eat them. There
is a dog, to begin with."

Theresa said it with comical coolness; but Eloïse screamed, as a little
spaniel was perceived to be snuffing round the tablecloth.

"It's Ransom's dog! Run, Daisy, run, and keep him off. Just stay there
and keep watch of him, or he'll be all over everything. Daisy, run!"

Daisy left the hampers, and walked, or indeed obeyed orders and ran, to
where the little spaniel was threatening a rout among the whole army of
cold chickens. Daisy called him off, and then stood by to take care of
him. It was very amusing to see Eloïse and Theresa unpack the hampers;
and Ella and Nora, finding it so, made no move to join Daisy in her
distant watch. The men were busy running to and fro with the unpacked
eatables, and keeping up the fire, and setting piles of plates
everywhere, and laying glasses all round the tablecloth--for they would
not stand up--and putting wine in coolers, that is to say, in pails of
ice water. Daisy felt alone again, left out of the play. She looked at
Nora and Ella in the distance--that is, just far enough away to be out
of her society, eagerly standing over the hampers; and for a moment felt
not very well pleased, either with them or her cousin Eloïse. But then
she remembered that she was tired, and sat down with her back against a
tree; resolved to take all things patiently, if she could; and she very
soon found enough to do, and amusing enough, in ordering the arrangement
of the dishes on the tablecloth. Logan was sure to set a thing down in
the wrong place, if he set it anywhere; and even James was confused in
such a very novel state of his department. Daisy found exercise for all
her wisdom, and full content came with full employment, naturally.

You can make pleasure out of almost anything, if you set about it. In
the intervals she rested, and watched the distant figures of the fishing
party on the island; and gladdened herself with the beauty and the sweet
air of the wood, and the flecks of sunshine and moving shadow on the
ground beneath the trees. I am afraid nobody else found the air sweet,
unless it were the doctor. He was hardy, and besides had a philosophical
way of looking at things. Daisy watched for his coming, afraid that he
might wander off beyond luncheon time; but he did not come. The three
boys, however, a less welcome sight, had recollected that there was
something forward besides fishing; and came strolling along through the
trees towards the tablecloth. Preston was stopped to speak to his
mother; the other two approached Daisy.

"Hello!" said Ransom, "here we are! now where's everybody else? I'm
furious as a lion."

"A hungry lion," said Alexander Fish. "I wish we had got some fish for
the people to cook. That's fun. I tell you, Ransom, it's fun to see the
work they make with it."

"Fish is no count, _I_ think," said Ransom. "It's only good to catch. I
can stand a lobster salad, though. But I can't stand long without
something. What's the use of waiting? They aren't coming back yonder
till night. They haven't stirred yet."

Ransom's eyes indicated the party on the island. And acting upon his
announced opinion, Ransom, paid his respects in a practical form, not to
cold chicken and bread, but to a dish of cream cakes which stood
conveniently near. And having eaten one, in three mouthfuls, he
stretched out his hand and took another. Happily then some meringues
attracted his attention; and he stood with a cream cake in one hand and
a meringue in the other, taking them alternately or both together. The
meringues began to disappear fast. Daisy warned him that the only dish
of those delicacies in all the entertainment was the one into which he
was making such inroads. Ransom paid her no heed and helped himself to
another.

"Ransom, that is not fair," said his sister. "There are no more but
those, and you will have them all gone. Just look, now, how the dish
looks!"

"How the dish looks!" said Ransom mockingly. "None of your business."

"It is not right. Don't Ransom!" Daisy said, as his hand was extended
for a fourth meringue.

"Want 'em for yourself?" said Ransom sneeringly. "I say,
Alexander--here's a game! Here's something just fit for a man's luncheon
in a summer day--something nice and light and nourishing. Here's a lark
pie--I know what it is, for I saw Joanna making it. Now we'll have this
and be off."

"You must not, Ransom," Daisy urged anxiously. But Ransom seized the pie
from its place and proceeded to cut into it, seeing that nobody was near
to hinder him.

"Ransom, you ought not to do it," pleaded Daisy. "You ought to wait your
turn. You are worse than Fido."

"Am I?" said Ransom fiercely. "Take that! Mind your own affairs, and
let mine alone. You are not queen here yet, if you think you are."

A tolerably smart box on the ear was the accompaniment to this speech.
Nobody was near. Alexander, after joining his friend in a meringue or
two with a cream cake, not feeling quite comfortable in the connection,
had moved off. So did Ransom now, but he carried his pie with him and
called the other two boys to bear him company in making lunch of it.
Preston was much too gentlemanly a fellow to take part even of a lark
pie in such circumstances; he walked off in disdain, leaving Ransom and
Alexander to do what they liked. And they liked the pie so well that I
am bound to say nothing of it remained very soon excepting the dish.
Even the bones were swallowed by Fido.

Daisy was left alone under the tree with her occupation gone; for Fido
was after the lark bones. Her ear rang a few minutes from the
application of Ransom's hand; but that effect had passed off long before
Daisy's mind was quieted. For gentle as she was, Daisy was a little lady
who had a very deep and particular sense of personal dignity; she felt
wronged as well as hurt. Her father and mother never indulged in that
method of punishment; and if they had, Ransom's hand was certainly not
another one to inflict it.

Daisy was quite as much stung by the insult as by the unkindness; but
she felt both. She felt both so much that she was greatly discomposed.
Her watch over the feast was entirely forgotten; luckily Fido had gone
off with his master, and chickens were no longer in immediate danger.
Daisy rubbed away first one tear and then another, feeling a sort of
bitter fire hot at her heart; and then she began to be dissatisfied at
finding herself so angry. This would not do; anger was something she had
no business with; how could she carry her Lord's message, or do anything
to serve him, in such a temper? It would not do; but there it was,
offended dignity and pride, hot at her heart. Nobody would have thought
perhaps that Daisy was proud; but you never can tell what is in a
person's heart till it is tried; and then the kinds of pride are
various. It does not follow because you have none of one sort that you
have not plenty of another sort. However, finding this fire at her heart
quite too much for her to manage, Daisy went away from her
watching-place; crept away among the trees without any one's observing
her; till she had put some distance between her and the party, and found
a further shelter from them in a big moss-grown rock and large tree.
There was a bed of moss, soft and brown, on the other side of the rock;
and there Daisy fell down on her knees and began to remember--"Thou
therefore endure hardship, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ."




CHAPTER V.


Certainly the sun was very hot that day. The fishers on the island found
it so, notwithstanding that they had sought out every one for himself
the shadiest, freshest nook that could be found. Nothing was fresh; and
if the trees did hinder the sunshine from falling on some parts of the
ground, they kept off none of it from the water; and the glare from that
was said to be unendurable. Even where there was not much glare strictly
speaking; people were not particular in their speech that day. At last
they voted that holding lines in the water was of no use; fish could not
be expected to leave their cool depths below to seek the sunny regions
near the surface of the water; "they would be fools if they did," one of
the ladies remarked. Fish never were supposed to be very wise creatures,
Mr. Sandford informed her; but nevertheless, it was resolved not to
reckon upon their want of wisdom at this time, but to put up and go back
to shore, and try what cold chicken would do. So just about the hour
when the sun's work for the day verges towards the hottest, the little
boat was seen again stealing over the sunny surface of the lake, back to
where the tablecloth lay spread for the tired people.

A little while before it reached that place, Dr. Sandford arrived upon
the scene. He locked a little warm in the face; but his white shooting
coat did not seem less affected by the state of the weather than the
doctor's temper. Mrs. Gary and Mrs. Fish he found sunk in somnolency at
the foot of the tree where they had been talking. The young ladies were
sitting by the emptied hampers, deep in confab. The boys and Fido, over
against the outspread feast, were arranging fishing tackle, and watching
the return of the boat; with eyes of anticipation. To them came the
doctor.

"Where is your sister, Ransom?"

"I don't know." The tone meant, I don't care.

"I do not see her anywhere."

"No more do I," said Ransom, without raising his eyes from his fishing
line.

"Where is she?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Did she go with the fishing party?"

"No sir; she was here when we came," Alexander Fish spoke up.

"Yes, I remember she was here," said Preston. "I remember seeing her.
She cannot be far off. It's hot enough to keep people from straying
far."

The doctor, being not absolutely satisfied with this reasoning, and
having nothing better to do, occupied himself with a search after the
missing Daisy. It lasted some time, and he was beginning to be not quite
easy in his mind; when, being a sportsman, his eye detected something at
a distance which was not moss nor stone. In two minutes the doctor came
up with it. It was Daisy, fast asleep on her moss bed behind the rock.
Her head lay on her arm which was curled up under it; and profound
slumber had left the little pale face as serene as usual. The doctor was
warm by this time. He sat down on the moss beside her; and putting his
arm under Daisy's shoulders lifted her up, by way of waking her,
speaking to her at the same moment. But to his amusement, Daisy no
sooner got her eyes well open than she shook herself free of him, and
sat as demure as possible opposite to him on the moss.

"Dr. Sandford!--I believe--I got asleep," she said in a bewildered kind
of way.

"How did you get _here_, Daisy?"

"I came here, sir."

"What for did you come here?"

Daisy looked troubled; glanced at the doctors face, and then rested her
head on her hand.

"Who has been vexing you now?" said he at haphazard.

"I am not vexed," said Daisy in the gentlest of all possible tones.

"Tired?"

"I think I am tired."

"Honour bright, Daisy!--has not some one been vexing you?"

"I ought not to have been vexed," said Daisy slowly.

"I will wager that you are wrong there, and that you ought to have been
vexed. Who was it, Daisy?"

"Never mind, please, Dr. Sandford! It is no matter at all now."

She put her little hand confidingly in the doctor's as she spoke and
looked very earnest. He could not resist her.

"I wish I had come sooner," he said. "I shall be suspicious of
everybody, Daisy. Come--you and I must go to dinner, or there will be a
hue and cry after us."

Indeed by this time the whole party were gathered, and in impatient
expectation that the dinner would make up to them in some degree for the
various disappointments of the morning. All were gathered and had
arranged themselves conveniently upon the grass, around the feast which
was spread out upon the tablecloth, before anybody knew that two of
their number were wanting. The cry was just raised, "Where is the
doctor?"--when the doctor hove in sight with Daisy by his side.
Everybody was placed already; and it was very natural that the doctor
keeping hold of Daisy's hand, led her with him to the spot that seemed
to be left for his occupancy, and seated her there beside him. On the
other side of Daisy was Mrs. Stanfield. She was very well satisfied with
this arrangement, seeing that her father was surrounded by people and
busy besides; and that Nora and Ella were with Alexander and Ransom.

What a gay tableful they were! all talking and laughing, though
everybody declared himself exceeded by the heat and bored by the
fishing, and generally tired of everything but eating and drinking. But
iced champagne was now at the parched lips, and boned turkey and jellied
ham were waiting attention, and a good time had come. It was some while,
of course, before Daisy could be served. She waited, feeling very happy
and amused; for a party of people taking a cold dinner out of doors do
not look nor act exactly like the same people taking a hot dinner in the
house. Daisy never dreamed that anybody was noticing _her_. She had a
disagreeable surprise.

"Daisy," said Mrs. Randolph from a little distance, and across several
people,--"Daisy, what did you do that for?"

"Mamma!"--said Daisy. "What, mamma?"

"Have you a headache?"

"O no, mamma."

"What did you put up your hand to your brow for?"

"Mamma?"--said Daisy, very much bewildered. For she knew nothing was the
matter, and she could not guess what her mother was thinking of.
Moreover, somehow, Mrs. Randolph's words or manner had acted to stop the
voices of all the company in her neighbourhood; and everybody was
waiting and looking to see what the subject of interest might be. Mrs.
Randolph's words could come now with their usual calm distinctness; and
Daisy's answers, no matter how softly spoken, could be well heard. In a
good deal of wonder Daisy repeated, "Mamma?"

"You put up your hand and sat with your eyes covered--did you not,
just now?"

"Yes, mamma."--No need to bid anybody look and listen now; the rosy
flush that had spread itself all over Daisy's pale cheeks sufficiently
aroused curiosity.

"I notice that you do so before every meal--is it not the case?"

"Yes, mamma."

Dr. Sandford could hear the caught breath. He did not look, except by a
glance, but he listened.

"What does that mean, Daisy?"

"Mamma?"--said the child in distress.

"I ask you, what that means? what is it for?"

"Mamma--may I come round there and speak to you?"

"Certainly not. Sit still in your place and answer."

But Daisy was silent, very flushed.

"Do you hear, Daisy? what does that action mean? I wish to know."

"Mamma, may I speak to you in private and tell you?"

"Are you ashamed of it? are you ashamed to tell me?"

"No, mamma."

"Then do it at once."

But everybody waited in vain to hear the answer. It did not come.

"I shall not ask you again, Daisy."

"Mamma," said the child low and modestly, but with steadiness,--"I was
praying."

"Praying! were you! Why do you choose that particular time for your
private devotions?"

It was almost too much. The tears started in Daisy's eyes; but presently
she answered,--"Because God is good to us, mamma."

"He is always good," said Mrs. Randolph. "That is a very silly practice
of yours, Daisy, and very unbecoming. There is a proper way of doing
everything."

The lady's manner said that the subject was dismissed, and her guests
returned to their ordinary conversation. Except the doctor and Daisy.
She was overwhelmed, and he was gravely unsocial.

Was it silly?--that bound her heart had made up to the feet of her King?
That joyful thanksgiving, and expression of love, and pledge of
obedience, and prayer for help? It was something better than the meal
often to Daisy; something sweeter and happier. Was it silly? and must
she do so no more except when she was alone?

Daisy had quite forgotten that eating and drinking was part of the
present matter in hand, when Dr. Sandford softly asked her what she
would like to have. Daisy said anything he pleased; not caring herself,
and indeed in too much confusion of mind yet to know or think about the
business. And her appetite was gone. Dr. Sandford provided for her with
kind care, what she liked too; but nothing was good to Daisy. She broke
bread and swallowed milk mechanically; the more substantial food she
refused utterly. Bread and milk and grapes were Daisy's dinner.

"It's good to be somebody's favourite," Ransom said to her after the
meal was over. "Nobody got any grapes but you."

"Nobody? Why Ransom, I thought everybody had them."

"_I_ didn't,--nor Preston, nor Alexander--not a berry; and Nora and Ella
Stanfield didn't. You are the favourite."

"O Nora," said Daisy, "didn't you have any grapes? I'm sorry!"

"I had peaches," said Nora. "I like peaches a great deal the best.
Daisy, what shall we do now?"

"Suppose we sit down and have a talk."

"A talk?" said Nora. "Suppose we have a game of hide and seek? It's such
a good place."

"Or forfeits?" said Ella. "It is too hot to play hide and seek."

"I don't think it is hot," said Nora. "The sun don't shine now."

"Daisy, don't you want to go out with me in the boat?" said Preston
coming up. "We'll get in the shade, and see if you can catch a pickerel
as well as you did a trout."

"O I should like that!" said Daisy eagerly. She saw the kindness of
Preston's meaning. He wanted to make her forget her vexations.

"And may we go too?" Nora asked.

"Certainly; but Daisy and I are going to do the fishing. You must be
content to look on. We will go round to the other side of the island,
Daisy; it is pretty there, I know. And we shall have a better chance for
the pickerel, for the sun is gone under a cloud."

So the sun had; but at that very moment the cloud passed off and the
brilliant hot beams fell with what seemed renewed brilliancy on the
lake, and on all the ground which they could touch.

"It will go under again," said Preston. "We do not mind trifles. Come,
Daisy."

"Daisy, you must not go," said Dr. Sandford looking round. He was just
moving away to see some one else, and was gone in a minute.

"The doctor is all very well when one is sick," said Preston; "but I
never heard he had a right to command people when they are well. Daisy,
we will not mind him."

"I must," said Daisy, meekly. "But you can go without me, if you want
to."

"Nonsense, dear little Daisy! you are not obliged to do what _everybody_
says," her cousin urged. "Dr. Sandford has no more business to say what
you shall do than what I shall do. I will not let him rule you so. Come!
we will go try for the pickerel. Go, Nora and Ella, run away with the
baskets to the boat. Come, Daisy, come!"

"No, Preston, I cannot."

"Because of what that stupid man says? or don't you want to go!"

"I would like to go very much, thank you, Preston."

"Then you shall!"

"No. I cannot."

"Daisy, you might as well obey me as Dr. Sandford."

"I do not think so."

"Nora and Ella are going. You will be left alone."

"I hope you will catch some pickerel," said Daisy steadily.

But Preston was vexed. He did not like it that his word should not have
as much weight with his little cousin as any other person's, after her
father and mother. Like other boys, and men, for the most part, he was
fond of having his own way even in little things; though he sought it in
a polite fashion. And Daisy was very fond of him, and always followed
his lead; but now he could not move her. He went off at a bound, and
soon was out upon the water, with the girls and Alexander and Ransom
also who had joined him.

Daisy would have liked the shelter of her mossy hiding-place again. She
stood in the shade of a tree looking after the boat; feeling very much
left alone and greatly disposed to have a good crying time; but that was
not her way of meeting trouble. What a strange day of pleasure this
Silver Lake business had turned out! Yet Daisy had enjoyed many things
in it; but her mother's attack upon her at luncheon had sobered her
completely. It was such a sign of what she might expect. Daisy presently
fell to considering what she should do; and then remembered her old
refuge, prayer; and then concluded that she was a very happy little girl
after all. And instead of being hurt that Nora had been with her so
little that day, it was very natural, Daisy said to herself. Of course,
Nora wanted to go in the boat with Preston after fish; it was too good
an opportunity to be lost; and of course she had liked to walk in the
morning with the larger and gayer party. It was all right, Daisy
decided, although not what she herself would have done in the
circumstances. Would her note to her father have been reckoned "silly"
too? Very likely. Daisy turned her wistful eyes to where he was; sitting
in a group of ladies and gentlemen, talking. Daisy could not go to him.
Further along, Mrs. Gary was fighting the heat under a tree by herself.
No attraction there. Still further--the doctor was standing talking to
the two young ladies. As Daisy looked, he quitted them and came towards
her.

"Have I spoiled all your pleasure, Daisy?"

"No, sir."

"Are you angry with me?"

The answer this time was given with such an affectionate bright smile
that the doctor must have been hard not to feel it.

"You do not seem to have much pleasure on hand just now," said he;
"would you like to take a little walk with me, and see if we can find
any wonderful things?"

Daisy's face was quite answer enough, it was so full of content. The
doctor had no intention to tire her; be strolled along the borders of
the lake, which was wild and lovely all the more as they got further
away from the pic-nic ground. Firs and oaks stood thick all along, with
many other trees also; the ground was carpeted with layers of moss;
great rocks rose up by the water's edge, grey and brown with lichens. It
was not so hot now. The sun's glare was shielded off. On a mossy carpet
beside the water's edge the doctor and Daisy sat down. Undoubtedly the
doctor had never taken so much trouble with a child before; but Daisy
was a study to him.

"We do not find the wonderful things, Daisy," he remarked, throwing
himself back upon the moss with his hands under his head. His cap fell
off; his blue eyes looked at her with a sort of contented laziness;
never sleepily. Daisy smiled at him.

"I do," she said.

"You do! What have you found!"

"I think everything is wonderful."

"A profound truth," said the doctor; "but you are very young to find it
out. Instance, Daisy."

"But you want to go to sleep, sir."

"How dare you say so? No, I don't. I want to have a talk with you about
something wonderful."

Daisy thought he looked a little sleepy, for his eyelids drooped well
over his eyes; nevertheless the eyes saw keenly enough the start of
pleasure into hers. And they had seen the pale, subdued look of the face
that it had worn before. Nevertheless, in spite of that start, Daisy
remained as quiet as a mouse, looking at him.

"Don't you think I can talk while I am enjoying myself in this fashion?"
said the doctor.

"I think you can talk any way," said Daisy; "but you _look_ a great deal
more like sleeping, sir."

"None of that. Go on, Daisy. Only do not say anything about the sun, now
that it has gone under a cloud. Let us forget it for a little while."

"What shall I take, then?"

"I don't care. Something green and refreshing."

Daisy looked around her. On every side she saw things that she had no
doubt would be very interesting to talk about; she did not know which to
choose. There were the trees; the firs and hemlocks, and the oaks and
maples, growing thick on every hand. No doubt those beautiful structures
had uses and characters of wonder; she had a great mind to ask the
doctor to tell her about them. But the great boulder beside which they
were hid from view, divided her attention; it was very large, and
rounded off on all sides, lying quietly on the ground; and Daisy was
curious to know how it came to be so grown over with green things;
mosses and ferns draped it all over; how could they grow on the bare
rock?

"Well, Daisy?" said her friend, watching how Daisy's countenance woke up
from its subdued expression.

"Dr. Sandford, how could these things grow on the rock? these green
things?"

"What green things?"

"Why, ever so many sorts. Here is moss, a great deal of it, of different
kinds; and there is beautiful brake at the top, like plumes of feathers.
How can they grow there?"

"Why not?"

"I thought everything wanted some earth to grow in."

"Have they none?"

"I don't know. I thought not. They must have very little indeed, Dr.
Sandford."

"Very little will do, I suppose."

"But I do not see how _any_ earth got there," said Daisy. "It was only a
bare rock at first, of course."

"At first," repeated the doctor. "Well, Daisy, I suppose it was no more.
But there is something else growing there, which you have not spoken
of."

"Is there?" said Daisy. "I do not see anything else."

"Pardon me--you do see it."

"Then I do not know what it is," said Daisy laughing. Absolutely, the
sober, sober little face had forgotten its care, and the eyes were
alight with intelligence and curiosity, and the lips were unbent in good
honest laughter. The doctor raised himself up to a sitting posture.

"What do you call those grey and brown patches of colour that hide your
rock all over?"

"Grey and brown?" said Daisy wistfully--"those are just the colours of
the rock, aren't they?"

"No. Look close."

"Why, Dr. Sandford, what is it? It is not the rock--some of it is
not--but here is a spot of yellow that is nothing else, I think."

"You must learn not to trust your eyes, Daisy. That is something that
grows; it is not rock; it is a vegetable. If I had my pocket lens here
I would shew you; but I am afraid--yes, I have left it at home."

"Why it is!" cried Daisy. "I can see now--it is _not_ rock. What is it,
Dr. Sandford?"

"Lichen."

"What is that, sir?"

"It is one of the lowest forms of vegetable life. It is the first dress
the rocks wear, Daisy."

"But what does it live on?"

"Air and water, I suppose."

"I never knew that was a vegetable," said Daisy musingly. "I thought it
was the colour of the rock."

"That goes to prepare soil for the mosses, Daisy."

"O how, Dr. Sandford?"

"In time the surface of the rock is crumbled a little by its action;
then its own decay furnishes a very little addition to that. In
favourable situations a stray oak leaf or two falls and lies there, and
also decays, and by and by there is a little coating of soil or a little
lodgment of it in a crevice or cavity, enough for the flying spores of
some moss to take root and find home."

"And then the moss decays and makes soil for the ferns?"

"I suppose so."

Daisy stood looking with a countenance of delighted intelligence at the
great boulder, which was now to her a representative and witness of
natural processes she had had no knowledge of before. The mosses, the
brakes, the lichen, had all gained new beauty and interest in her eyes.
The doctor watched her and then scrambled up to his feet and came to her
side.

"Look here, Daisy," said he, stooping down at the foot of the rock and
shewing her where tufts of a delicate little green plant clustered,
bearing little umbrella-like heads on tiny shafts of handles.

"What is that Dr. Sandford?"

"Something wonderful."

"Is it? It is pretty. What is it, sir?"

[Illustration]

"It is a plant somewhere between the mosses and the lichens in its
character--it is one of the liverworts, and they are some of the first
plants to go in advance of superior vegetation. This is called
_Marchantia_."

"And is it wonderful, Dr. Sandford?"

"If I could shew it to you, you would think so. Look here, Daisy--on the
surface of this leaf do you see little raised spots here and there?"

"Yes, I see them."

"Those are, when they are finished, little baskets."

"Baskets?" exclaimed Daisy delightedly. "I can't see anything like a
basket now."

"No, it is too small for you to see; you must take it on my word, who
have seen it. They are baskets, and such baskets as you never dreamed
of. The shape is elegant, and round the edge, Daisy, they are cut into a
fringe of teeth, and each tooth is cut again into teeth, making a fringe
around _its_ tiny edge."

"I wish I could see it," said Daisy.

"Now if you were my little sister, and lived with me, I could shew you
these things in the evenings."

Daisy responded to this with a very grateful and somewhat wistful smile,
but immediately went on with the business in hand.

"Do these little baskets hold anything, Dr. Sandford"

"Yes. Baskets are always made to hold something."

"What do they hold?"

"They hold what are called _spores_; that is, little bits of things
which, whenever they get a chance, begin to grow and make new plants."

"Seeds?" said Daisy.

"They answer the purpose of seeds."

"How do they get out of the basket? do the winds blow them out?"

"Or the rain washes them out. If they lie long enough in the basket,
they will take root there, and then there is a new plant seen growing
out of the old one."

"How wonderful it is!" said Daisy.

"There is another wonder about it. It does not matter which way these
little spores lie on the ground or in the basket; but the side that
happens to be exposed to the light, after a time, prepares itself to
expand into the surface of a frond, while the dark side sends down a
tiny root."

"And it does not matter which side lies uppermost?"

"No, not in the beginning."

"What is a _frond_, Dr. Sandford?"

"This sort of seed-bearing leaf is called so."

"How pretty it is!" said Daisy. "What are these little things like
umbrellas?"

"These carry the real seed vessels of the plant."

"Other seeds. Dr. Sandford, is _everything_ wonderful?"

"What do you think about it?"

"I do not know but a very little," said Daisy; "but I never should have
thought this little green moss--or what did you say it was?"

"Liverwort. Its name is Marchantia."

"This liverwort; I never should have supposed it was anything but
pretty, and of course good for something; but now I never heard anything
so wonderful."

"More than the sun?" said Dr. Sandford smiling.

"It is more surprising, I think," said Daisy.

"Pray, what makes you conclude so securely that this little Marchantia
is _good for something_?"

Daisy gave him a quick look of wisdom and suspicion mingled. The doctor
was getting a very good amusement himself, and quite entered into the
matter. He waited for Daisy's answer. It came diplomatically.

"_Isn't_ everything good for something, sir?"

"'Pon my word, I don't know," said the doctor. "My enquiry was for the
grounds of your opinion, Daisy."

"It was not an opinion. I do not think I am old enough to have an
opinion."

"What was it, Daisy?"

The doctor was still crouching down by the side of the rock examining
carelessly whatever he found there. Daisy looked at him and waited, and
felt at last that good manners required her to speak.

"You said, sir, that baskets were made to hold something."

"So your remark was an inference from mine?"

"No, sir."

"Go on, Daisy."

"I only said it, sir, because I knew it was true."

There was an odd contrast between the extreme modesty of Daisy's manner
and the positiveness of her words.

"It is said to be a great philosophical truth, Daisy; but what I want to
know is how you, not being a philosopher, have got such firm hold of
it?"

He faced Daisy now, and she gave way as usual before the searching blue
eyes. One soft look, and her eyes fell away.

"I only thought it. Dr. Sandford, because in the beginning--when God had
made everything--the Bible says he saw that it was all good."

"Daisy, how came you to be such a lover of the Bible?"

Daisy did not speak at once, and when she did it was a departure from
the subject.

"Dr. Sandford, I felt a drop of rain on my face!"

"And here is another," said the doctor getting up. "This is what I have
expected all day. Come, Daisy--you must be off in your chaise-à-porteurs
without delay."

"But Nora, and Ella, and the boys!--they are away off on the lake."

"They will scuttle home now," said the doctor, "but I have nothing to do
with them. You are my business, Daisy."

Accordingly he carried her back to the lunching place, not indeed in his
arms, but with a strong hand that made her progress over the stones and
moss very rapid, and that gave her a great flying leap whenever occasion
was, over any obstacle that happened to be in the way. There was need
enough for haste. The light veil of haze that had seemed to curtain off
the sunlight so happily from the lake and the party, proved now to have
been only the advancing soft border of an immense thick cloud coming up
from the west. No light veil now; a deep, dark covering was over the
face of the sky, without break or fold; the drop or two of rain that had
been felt were merely the outriders of an approaching storm. Low
threatening, distant mutterings of thunder from behind the mountains,
told the party what they might expect before long.

There was sudden confusion. Nobody wanted to be out in the storm, and to
avoid it seemed a difficult problem. Hastily the ladies caught up their
scarfs and bags, and set off upon a scattering flight through the woods
to the shore, those who were nearest or first ready not stopping to wait
for the others. Quickly the luncheon ground was deserted; fast the blue
and white flutter of muslins disappeared in the enveloping woods;
hastily the remainder of the packing went on to get the hampers again in
readiness to move. In the midst of all this, who was to carry Daisy's
chair?

"You say there is a house somewhere on the way," said Mr. Randolph to
the doctor. "If you will go forward with Daisy at once, I will stay to
look after those children in the boat. They are coming now as fast as
they can."

"Can you carry my gun?"

"Certainly. Doctor, I will take that office, if you will stay behind
till the boat gets to land."

"Thank you--it is better arranged the other way. The storm will be upon
us before the ladies get to the shore, I fear."

"Then they had better take the other route."

Mr. Randolph in haste despatched one of the men to recall the fleeing
members of the party, and bring them, round by the other road to the
house. But before that, the doctor had put Daisy in her chair, and with
Logan at the other end of it had set off to reach shelter. It grew very
dark; and it was sultrily still in the woods. Not a leaf trembled on its
stem. The steps of the two chair-bearers sounded ominously in the entire
hush of everything. The gloom still deepened. The doctor and Logan with
swift, steady strides carried the chair along at a goodly rate; not as
it had come in the morning. In the midst of this, and after it had gone
on some time in silence, Daisy twisted herself round to look at the
doctor and give him a smile.

"You do not seem concerned, Daisy, in the view of getting wet?"

"Why no," said Daisy twisting round, again, "it is nice. I am only sorry
for the people who are so frightened."

"What is nice? getting wet?"

"O no," said Daisy. "Maybe I shall not get wet--you go so fast."

But at this moment there came a nearer growl of thunder, and the leaves
in the tops of the trees rustled as if a breath had passed over them.
Then were still.

"Can you mend your pace, Logan?" said the doctor.

"Ay, sir!"--came in the deep, cheery utterance of Logan's Scotch voice.

"Hold fast, Daisy"--said the doctor; and the two chair-bearers changed
their pace for a swinging trot. It was needful to hold on now indeed,
for this gait jolted the chair a good deal; but it got over the ground,
and Daisy found it excessively amusing. They passed the thick-standing
tree stems in quick succession now; the rocks uprising from the side of
the path were left behind one after another; they reached the sharp bend
in the road; and keeping up the swinging trot with a steadiness which
shewed good wind on the part of both the chair-bearers, at last the
little house where Sam had been left hove in view. Time it was; full
time. One and another sough of the wind had bowed the tree-tops with a
token of what was coming; one and another bright flash of lightning had
illumined the woody wilderness; and now just as the chair stopped, drops
began to fall which seemed as large as cherry-stones, mingled with hail
a good deal larger. Their patter sounded on the leaves a minute or two;
then ceased.

"That will do, Logan," said the doctor. "Bring the chair in under
shelter if you can; and come in yourself. This will be a shower." And
he led Daisy into the house.

If ever you saw a dark-looking place, that was the room into which the
house door admitted them. Two little windows seemed at this instant to
let in the darkness rather than the light; they were not very clean,
besides being small. A description which Daisy would have said applied
to the whole room. She stood still in the middle of the floor, not
seeing any place to sit down, that she could make up her mind to take.
The doctor went to the window. Logan took a chair. Sam was sitting
disconsolately in a corner. It was hard to say to what class of people
the house belonged; poor people they were of course; and things looked
as if they were simply living there because too poor to live anywhere
else. A slatternly woman stared at the intruders; a dirty child crawled
over the hearth. Daisy could not endure to touch anything, except with
the soles of her shoes. So she stood upright in the middle of the floor;
till the doctor turned round.

"Daisy!--are you going to stand there till the shower is over?"

"Yes, sir,"--Daisy answered patiently. A smile curled the doctor's lips.
He opened the door and lifted in the chair with its long poles, which
indeed half filled the little room; but Daisy sat down. The woman looked
on in astonishment.

"Be she weakly, like?" she asked at length of the doctor.

"Has been--" he answered.

"And what be that thing for?"

"It is for going up and down mountains."

"Have you come from the mountings!" she asked in great surprise. The
doctor was in for it. He was obliged to explain. Meanwhile the darkness
continued and the rain did not yet fall. A breath of wind now and then
brushed heavily past the house, and sunk into silence. The minutes
passed.

"It will be a happiness if they get here before it begins," said Dr.
Sandford; "it will come when it comes!"

"Be there _more_ comin'?" said the woman.

"A houseful. We are only the beginning."

She moved about now with somewhat of anxiety to get sundry things out of
the way, which yet there seemed no other place for; a frying pan was set
up in a corner; a broom took position by the fire place; a pail of water
was lifted on the table; and divers knives and forks and platters
hustled into a chimney cupboard. Little room enough when all was done.
At last the woman caught up the sprawling baby and sat down with it
opposite the broom, on the other side the fire, in one of the three
chairs the place contained. Sam had another. Logan was on a box. The
woman's eyes said, "Now I am ready to see all that comes."




CHAPTER VI.


It was some time first, and the rain still did not fall. It was very
black, and flashes from distant lightning with mutterings of the thunder
were frequent and threatening; still no rain unless a few ominous drops.
At last voices and fluttering muslins came down the road; the flutter
came near, and in poured a stream of gay people at the door of the poor
little room. Gay as to their dress and attire, that is; for gayety was
not to be found at present in their words and behaviour. The woman in
the chimney corner hugged up closer her dirty baby with the delight of
so unwonted a feast to her eyes.

"Is there nothing better than _this_ to be had?" said Mrs. Fish. And her
tone was indescribable.

"How long have we got to remain here, doctor?" said a more cheery voice.

"Mrs. Stanfield, until the rain has come, and gone."

"It would be better to be out in it," whispered Theresa to her mother.

"My love, there is no other shelter on this side the river."

"There will not be standing room for us all presently--" said Eloïse
Gary.

Pretty nearly so; for when the second detachment of the party arrived,
in a minute more, people looked at each other across a throng of heads.
They got in; that was all. To sit down or to move much was out of the
question.

"Daisy, you can't have this big chair of yours in here," said Ransom in
an energetic whisper. "Don't you see there is no room for it?"

Daisy saw there was very little. She got up patiently and stood, though
feeling very tired; while her chair was got out of the door with a good
deal of difficulty.

"Are you tired, my darling?" said her father bending down to the pale
little face.

"A little, papa," said Daisy sighing.

No more words, but Mr. Randolph lifted Daisy in his arms and gave her a
resting place there. Daisy was afraid she was too heavy for him, but it
was very comfortable to sit there, with her arm on his shoulder. Her
face looked its content; the only face in which such an expression could
be seen at present; though the gentlemen took the thing coolly, and Mr.
Randolph and the two Sandfords looked as usual. But now the delayed
storm drew near. The thunder notified with every burst the fact that it
was coming speedily; the lightning became vivid and constant. A
premonitory sweep of the wind--and the clouds gave out their treasures
of rain and hail with tremendous fury. The lightning was terrible now,
and the darkness of the intervals between so great that the company
could scarcely see each other's faces. This was more than some of the
party had bargained for, and there was a degree of confusion. Screams
from a few of the ladies and exclamations of terror from others were
mixed now and then with words that sounded very like an oath to Daisy's
ear, though they were not spoken in levity. She bent her head round to
look in the face of the lady who had last used them, as if to assure
herself what was meant; and then her head went down on Mr. Randolph's
shoulder and her face was hidden.

"Daisy--" whispered her father.

"Yes, papa."

"Are you afraid?"

"No, papa--not for myself."

"What? Look up here, Daisy."

She lifted her face; it was wistful and troubled.

"Are you concerned about the storm, my darling?"

"No, papa; not myself."

"How then, Daisy?"

She shuddered. "Papa, I wish they would not scream so!"

"Why does that trouble _you_?" said Mr. Randolph smiling.

But Daisy's face was unutterably grave, as a new brilliant band of
forked lightning glittered outside the windows, and the burst of the
thunderbolt sounded as if at their very feet, making a renewal of the
same cries and exclamations.

"Why does it trouble you, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph soothingly, feeling
the quiver of the child's frame.

"Papa," said Daisy with intense expression,--"they do not love
Jesus!"--And her head went down again to be hid on her father's
shoulder.

Mr. Randolph did nothing to bring it up again; and Daisy lay quite
still, while the storm raged in full fury, and the screams and
ejaculations of the ladies were joined now and then by a word of
impatience from one of the gentlemen, or a "Hech, sirs!" in Logan's
smothered Scotch brogue. Once Mr. Randolph felt Daisy's lips pressed
against his face, and then her other arm came round his neck and
nestling there closely she was after that as still as a mouse. The storm
lasted a long time. The lightning and thunder at last removed their
violence some distance off; then the wind and the rain did their part,
which they had not fully done before. And all the while the poor party
of pleasure sat or stood as thick as bees in a hive, in the miserable
shelter of the cottage. Miserable yet welcome. Very tired and impatient
the people became as they grew less frightened. Daisy had long been fast
asleep. The day waned and drew near its ending. When sunset was, nobody
could tell by the light; but that night was at hand was at last evident
from the darkness.

"Your arms must be weary, Mr. Randolph," said Dr. Sandford. "Let me
relieve you of your burden."

"I cannot let you do that."

"I will," said the doctor. "Daisy being my charge as well as yours,
gives me a right." And the transfer was actually made before Daisy was
aware of it. She waked up however, with a feeling of some change and a
doubt upon her mind as to what custody she was in; but she was not sure,
till the woman of the house lit a miserable dip candle, which threw a
light that mocked the darkness over the weary company. Daisy did not
like the arrangement at all.

"Dr. Sandford!" she exclaimed. "I shall tire you. Please put me on the
floor and let me stand."

"No--you cannot," said the doctor decidedly. "Be a good child, Daisy.
Lay your head down and go to sleep again."

And greatly to Daisy's astonishment the doctor's moustache brushed her
lip. Now Daisy had always thought to herself that she would never allow
anybody that wore a moustache to kiss her; here it was done, without
leave asked; and if the doctor was so independent of rules as that, she
thought she had best not provoke him. Besides, she remembered that her
father must be tired with carrying her so long; and moreover, if Dr.
Sandford liked her well enough to kiss her, maybe he would not care for
the trouble of holding her for a while. At any rate Daisy submitted
peaceably to the necessity; put her arm over the doctor's shoulder to
support herself and laid her head down; though not to sleep. She watched
everything that was going on now. What a roomful of weary and impatient
people they were! packed like cattle in a pen, for closeness; and how
the rain poured and beat outside the house! The shelter was something to
be thankful for, and yet how unthankful everybody looked. Some of the
gentlemen shewed calm fortitude under their trials; but the poor ladies'
chagrined faces said that days of pleasure were misnamed. Alexander Fish
had gone to sleep; Ransom looked cross; Preston as usual gentlemanly,
though bored. From one to another Daisy's eye roved. Nora and Ella were
sitting on the table; in full confab. Other people were sitting there
too; the table was full.

"The storm is slackening--" Mr. Randolph remarked to the doctor.

"It will be over in a little while more."

"What do you think of it, Daisy?" said her father noticing her look.

"Of what, papa?"

"Parties of pleasure in general."

"Papa,--I have had a very nice time."

"You have had a nice sleep," said her father laughing; "and that colours
your views of things. The rest of us have not had that advantage."

"Daisy, I am surprised to hear you say what you do," the doctor remarked
as Mr. Randolph turned away. He spoke softly.

"Why, sir?"

"I thought your day had not been altogether agreeable?"

"Do you think anything is apt to be _altogether_ agreeable, Dr.
Sandford?" Daisy said, with a demure waiving of the subject which was
worthy of much older years. The quaintness of this remark was infinite.

"What has been the agreeableness to-day, for instance?"

"O, a great deal; my ride in the chair,--that was nice! and all _our_
walk, and what you were telling me; and coming over the river--" Daisy
paused.

"And what do you think of being carried in the arms of gentlemen," said
Mrs. Gary, who had overheard a few words,--"while other little girls
have to get along as they can? as tired as you are, I dare say."

"I cannot help it, aunt Gary," said Daisy. But the remark served to
justify her view of things; for what had in truth been altogether
agreeable up to that minute was so no longer. Daisy was uneasy.

"Dr. Sandford," she whispered after a few moments,--"I am rested--I can
stand now. I am tiring you. Please set me down."

"No. Be quiet, Daisy," said her friend peremptorily. And as the little
head went down again obediently on his shoulder, he gave again a gentle
kiss to her lips. Daisy did not mind Mrs. Gary after that.

The storm slackened off now rapidly. The patter of the rain lessened and
grew still; a sweet reviving air blew in at the windows. Of course the
road was drenched with wet and every tree dripping; nevertheless the
journey must be made to the boats, and the poor ladies were even glad to
set out to undertake it. But it would not be an easy journey either, on
the whole. Some time before this the doctor had despatched Logan on an
errand. He now declared he must wait for his return; and desired Mr.
Randolph to go forward and help take care of the rest of the party and
have no concern about Daisy; he would keep her in charge.

"Shall I do that, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, fearing it might trouble
her. But Daisy said, "Yes, papa"--with no hesitation; and the plan was
acted upon. Gathering up their floating muslin dresses, tying
handkerchiefs over their heads, with shrinking and yet eager steps, one
by one they filed out at the door of the little hut. Just as the last
one went, Logan came; he had been to the boats and brought thence the
doctor's cloak, which, with more providence than the rest of the party
who were less used to travelling, he had taken the precaution to bring.
Now this, by the doctor's order, was spread over Daisy's chair, which
having been pushed out of doors, had got wet; she was placed in it
then, and the folds of the cloak brought well round and over her, so
that nothing could be more secure than she was from the wet with which
every leaf and bough was dripping overhead, and every foot of soil
loaded underneath. Dr. Sandford took one end of the poles and Logan the
other, and the last of the party they set forth. Why Dr. Sandford had
made this arrangement, was best known to himself. Perhaps he preferred
it to having Mrs. Fish on his arm, who was a very fine lady; perhaps he
preferred it to the attentions he might have had to pay to the younger
damsels of the party, who would all three have been on his hands at
once, very likely. At all events he did prefer to be one of the
chair-bearers, and Daisy was very glad of it.

The rest of the party were well in advance, out of sight and hearing.
Tramp, tramp, the steady regular footfall of her bearers, and the light
plashing of rain drops as they fell, and the stir of the wind in the
leaves, were all the sounds that Daisy heard. No rain fell now; on the
contrary the heaven was clear as a bell, and light enough came through
the woods to shew the way with comfortable certainty. Overhead the stars
were shining down with wonderful brilliancy, through the air which the
storm had cleansed from all vapours; the moon was coming up somewhere,
too. The smell of the trees and other green things was exceedingly sweet
after the rain; and the delicious soft air was very delicious after the
sultry day. Never in her life after did Daisy forget that night's work.
This ride from the cottage to the shore was something she enjoyed with
all her might. It was so wild and strange as well as sweet. Rocks and
tree trunks, and the turnings of the road had all such a mysterious new
look, different from what daylight shewed them; it was an endless
pleasure. Till the walk ended. It came out at last upon the shore of the
river and into the moonlight. High in the eastern sky the moon hung,
shedding her broad light down all over the river which crisped and
sparkled under it; and there by the water's edge the members of the
party of pleasure were huddled together preparing to embark. Over their
heads the sails of Mr. Randolph's boat stood up in the moonlight. The
doctor and Logan set down their burden and waited. The Fish's were
getting on board their little vessel, which was moved by oars alone.

"Mrs. Stanfield, you had better come with us," Mr. Randolph said. "There
is plenty of room. Your boat is too small. You would find it
unpleasantly rough in mid-channel."

"O, is it rough?" exclaimed the lady.

"For your little row-boat--I am afraid you would find it so. The wind
has roughened the water considerably, and it has not had time to get
quiet. Come with us, and we will all take supper together at Melbourne."

It was arranged so. The party were stowed away in the large sail-boat,
which held them all well enough; the children being happy at finding
themselves seated together.

"What are we waiting for?" said Mrs. Gary when all had been in their
places some minutes, and conversation was the only thing moving. "What
are we staying here for?"

"Sam."

"Where's Sam?"

"He is yonder--in our late place of shelter. James and Michael have gone
to fetch him with Daisy's chair."

"Sam! Why, he might have stayed there till to-morrow and no hurt. Have
we got to wait till the men go there and bring him back? We shall be
late at supper!"

"The river will be all the quieter, Mrs. Gary," said Mr. Randolph
mischievously.

"The river? You don't mean to say it is not quiet?"

"It was not, quiet a while ago, I assure you."

"Well, I do think, if ever there was a misnamed thing, it is a party of
pleasure," said the lady disconsolately.

"They are very pleasant when they are over, sister Gary," said Mr.
Randolph.

"Daisy," Nora whispered, "are you afraid?"

"No."

"Your father says it is rough."

"He knows how to manage the boat," said Daisy.

"It isn't rough, I don't believe," said Ella Stanfield. "It isn't rough
now."

"I wish we were at the other side," said Nora.

"O Nora, I think it is nice," said Daisy. "How bright the moonlight is!
Look--all over the river there is a broad strip. I hope we shall sail
along just in that strip. Isn't it wonderful, Nora?"

"No. What?" said Nora.

"That there should be something like a looking-glass up in the sky to
catch the sunlight and reflect it down to us when we cannot see the sun
itself."

"What looking-glass?"

"Well, the moon catches the sunlight just so, as a looking glass would."

"How do you know, Daisy? _I_ think it shines."

"I know because I have been told. It does not shine, any more than a
looking-glass."

"Who told you?"

"Dr. Sandford," Daisy whispered.

"Did he! Then why don't we have the moon every night?"

"Because the looking-glass, if you can imagine that it is a
looking-glass, does not always hang where it can catch the sun."

"Don't it? I don't like to think it is a looking-glass," said Nora. "I
would a great deal rather think it is the moon."

"Well, so it is," said Daisy. "You can think so."

"Daisy, what should we do if it should be rough in the middle of the
river?"

"_I_ like it," said Ella Stanfield.

"Perhaps it will not be very rough," said Daisy.

"But suppose it should? And where the moon don't shine it is so dark!"

"Nora," said Daisy very low, "don't you love Jesus?"

Nora at that flounced round, and turning her face from Daisy and the
moonlight, began to talk to Ella Stanfield on the other side of her.
Daisy did not understand what it meant.

All this while, and a good while longer, the rest of the people were
waiting with various degrees of patience and impatience for the coming
of Sam and the men. It was pretty there by the shore, if they had not
been impatient. The evening breeze was exceedingly fragrant and fresh;
the light which streamed down from the moon was sparkling on all the
surface of the water, and laid a broad band of illumination like a
causeway across the river. In one or two places the light shewed the
sails of a sloop or schooner on her way up or down; and along the shore
it grew daintily hazy and soft. But impatience was nevertheless the
prominent feeling on board the sail-boat; and it had good time to
display itself before Michael and James could go all the distance back
to the house and bring Sam away from it.

"Here he is!" "There they are at last!"--were the words of hail with
which their appearance was greeted. "Now off"--and with all haste the
three were received on board and the vessel pushed out into the stream.
Immediately her sail caught the breeze which came fair down the river,
and careening a little as she took it, her head began to make good speed
across the causeway of moonlight. But then the ladies began to scream;
for in mid-channel the wind was fresh and the waters had not quite
forgotten yet the tumult of the late storm, which had tossed them well.
The sail-boat danced bravely, up and down, going across the waves. Among
the frightened people was Nora, who grasping Daisy's dress with one
hand and some part of the boat with the other, kept uttering little
cries of "Oh Daisy"--"Oh! Daisy"--with every fresh lurch of the vessel.
Ella Stanfield had thrown herself down in her mother's lap. Daisy was
very much tried.

"Nora," she said, "I wish you would not cry so!"

"But I am afraid!"

"I wish you would be comforted, and not cry out so," sighed Daisy. "Papa
says there is no danger--didn't you hear him?"

"But oh, I am afraid!" re-echoed Nora.

Daisy folded her hands and tried to bide patiently the time of smooth
water. It came, partially at least, as they neared the opposite bank.
The boat went steadily; spirits revived; and soon the passage was
brought to an end and the sail-boat laid alongside the little jetty, on
which the party, men, women and children, stepped out with as sincere a
feeling of pleasure as had moved them all day. Carriages were in
waiting; a few minutes brought the whole company to Melbourne House.

Here they were to stay supper; and the ladies and gentlemen dispersed to
various dressing rooms to prepare for it. Soonest of all ready and in
the drawing room were the three children.

"I am so hungry!" said Nora.

"So am I!" said Ella Stanfield.

"We shall have supper presently," said Daisy.

"O Daisy, weren't you afraid in the boat, when it went up and down so?"

"I do not think I was afraid," said Daisy, "if other people had not been
so disturbed."

"I don't see how they could help being disturbed," said Ella Stanfield.
"Why the boat didn't sail straight at all."

"But _that_ does not do any harm," said Daisy.

"How do you know?" said Nora. "_I_ think it does harm; I do not think it
is safe."

"But you know, Nora, when the disciples were in the boat, and thought it
was not safe--the wind blew so, you know--they ought to have trusted
Jesus and not been afraid."

Nora and Ella both looked at Daisy for a minute after this speech, and
then by some train of association Nora started another subject.

"Daisy, have you got my Egyptian spoon yet?"

Now was Daisy in a great difficulty. She flushed; the little face which
had been pale enough before, became of a delicate pink hue all over. Not
knowing what to say she said nothing.

"Have you got it yet?" repeated Nora curiously.

"No, Nora. I have not."

"You have _not_? What have you done with it?"

"Nothing."

"My Egyptian spoon! that Marmaduke gave me to give to you! You have not
kept it! What did you do with it, Daisy?"

"I did nothing with it."

"Did you break it?"

"No."

"Did you give it away?"

"O Nora, I loved it very much," said poor Daisy; "but I could not keep
it. I could not!"

"Why couldn't you? I would not have given it to you, Daisy, if I had
thought you would not have kept it."

"I wanted to keep it very much--but I could not," said Daisy with the
tears in her eyes.

"Why 'could not'? why couldn't you? did you give it away, Daisy? that
spoon I gave you?"

"Nora, I could not help it! Somebody else wanted it very much, and I was
obliged to let her have it. I could not help it."

"I shall tell Marmaduke that you did not care for it," said Nora in an
offended tone. "I wish I had kept it myself. It was a beautiful spoon."

Daisy looked very much troubled.

"Who has got it?" Nora went on.

"It is no matter who has got it," said Daisy. "I couldn't keep it."

"She is right, Nora," said Preston, who came up just then, at the same
time with the doctor. "She could not keep it, because it was taken away
from her without any leave asked. I mean she shall have it back, too,
one of these days. Don't you say another word to Daisy!--she has behaved
like a little angel about it."

Preston's manner made an impression, as well as his words. Nora was
checked.

"What is all that, Nora?" the doctor asked.

Now Nora had a great awe of him. She did not dare not answer.

"It is about a spoon I gave Daisy, that she gave away."

"She did not, I tell you!" said Preston.

"A spoon?" said the doctor. "Silver?"

"O no! A beautiful, old, very old, carved, queer old spoon, with a
duck's bill, that came out of an old Egyptian tomb, and was put there
ever so long ago."

"Did your brother give it to you?"

"Yes, to give to Daisy, and she gave it to somebody else."

"Nora, I did not give it as you think I did. I loved it very much. I
would not have let anybody have it if I could have helped it."

"Who has got it, Daisy?" asked the doctor.

Daisy looked at him, looked perplexed, flushed a little, finally said
with demure gentleness, "Dr. Sandford, I think I ought not to tell."

The doctor smiled, took Daisy's hand, and led her off to the supper
room, whither they were now invited. So it happened that her seat at the
table was again by his side. Daisy liked it. Just then she did not care
about being with Nora.

The people gathered, bright and fresh, around the supper table, all
seeming to have forgotten their fatigues and frights; and every face
looked smiling or gracious. The day was over, the river was crossed; the
people were hungry; and the most dainty and perfectly arranged supply of
refreshments stood on the board. Coffee and tea steamed out their
grateful announcements; ice cream stood in red and white pyramids of
firmness; oysters and cold meats and lobster salad offered all that
hungry people could desire; and everybody was in a peculiar state of
gratified content and expectation. Daisy was no exception. She had let
slip her momentary trouble about the Egyptian spoon; and in her quiet
corner, quite unnoticed as she thought, looked at the bright scene and
enjoyed it. She liked being under the doctor's care too, and his care of
her was very thoughtful and kind. He did not forget the little quiet
mouse at his elbow; but after he had properly attended to the other
people whose claims came first, he served her nicely with whatever was
good for her. Was Daisy going to omit her usual giving of thanks? She
thought of her mother's interference with a moment's flash of hesitancy;
but resolved to go on just as usual. She did not think she would be
noticed, everybody was so busy; and at any rate there was a burden of
gladness in her little heart that must speak. While the talking and
laughing and click of knives and forks was thick all around her, Daisy's
little head bent in a moment's oblivion of it all behind her hand.

She had raised her head and just taken her fork in her fingers when she
heard her own name. She looked up.

"Daisy--" said her mother quietly--"come here."

Daisy left her seat and went round to her mother's side.

"You may go up stairs," said Mrs. Randolph.

"Mamma?"--

"Go--and remain till I send for you."

Daisy slipped away quietly, before anybody could notice that she was
gone or going. Then slowly went up the stairs and along the passages to
her own room. It was empty and dark, except for the moonlight without;
June had not expected her to be there, and had not made preparation.
Daisy went and kneeled down in her old place by her window; her eyes
filled as full of tears as they could hold. She bent her little head to
brush them away, but they came again. Daisy was faint and tired; she
wanted her supper very much; and she had enjoyed the supper-table very
much; it was a great mortification to exchange it for the gloom and
silence of her moonlit room. She had not a bit of strength to keep her
spirits up. Daisy felt weak. And what was the matter? Only--that she
had, against her mother's pleasure, repeated her acknowledgment of the
hand that had given her all good things. How many good things that day!
And was she not to make such acknowledgment any more? Ought she to
please her mother in this? Had she really done wrong? Daisy could not
tell; she thought not; she could not wish she had not done what she did;
but at the same time it was very miserable to have Mrs. Randolph at odds
with her on such a point as this.

Daisy shed some tears about it; yet not a great many, and without the
least bitterness in them. But she felt faint and tired and disappointed.
Here, however, at her own room window, and alone, there was no bar to
thanksgivings; and Daisy had them in her heart, as well as prayers for
the people who had them not. She was too tired to pray at last; she only
knelt at the window with her arms on the sill, (Daisy was raised up on
an ottoman) and looked out at the moonlight, feeling as if she was going
into a dream.

"Miss Daisy!"--said the smothered voice of June behind her--"are you
there, Miss Daisy?"

June's accent was doubtful and startled. Daisy turned round.

"Miss Daisy!--I thought you was in the supper-room."

"No, June--I'm here."

"Will you go to bed, Miss Daisy?"

"I wish, June, you would get me something to eat, first," said Daisy
languidly.

"Didn't you get your supper, Miss Daisy?"

"No, and I'm hungry. I haven't had anything since the dinner at the
lake. I wish you'd make haste, June."

June knew from Daisy's way of speaking, as well as from the facts of the
case, that there was some trouble on foot. She went off to get supper,
and as she went along the passages the mulatto woman's hand was clenched
upon itself, though her face shewed only its usual wrinkles.

Small delay was there before she was back again, and with her June had
brought a supply of very nearly everything there had been on the
supper-table. She set down her tray, prepared a table for Daisy, and
placed a chair. The room was light now with two wax candles. Daisy sat
down and took a review.

"What will you have now, Miss Daisy? here's some hot oysters--nice and
hot. I'll get you some ice cream when you're ready to eat it--Hiram's
got it in the freezer for you. Make haste, Miss Daisy--these oysters is
good."

But Daisy did not make haste. She looked at the supper tray
thoughtfully.

"June," she said with a very gentle pure glance of her eyes up at the
mulatto woman's face--"I am very much obliged to you--but I don't think
mamma means me to eat these things to-night--Will you just get me some
milk and some bread? I'll take some bread and milk!"

"Miss Daisy, these oysters is good for you," said June.

"I'll take some bread and milk to-night--if you will please make haste.
Thank you, June."

"Miss Daisy--then maybe take a sandwich."

"No--I will have nothing but bread and milk. Only quick, June."

June went off for the bread and milk, and then very unwillingly carried
her supper-tray down stairs again. Going through one of the passages she
was met by her master.

"Where is that coming from, June?" he asked her in surprise.

"From Miss Daisy's room, sir."

"Has she been taking supper up there?"

"No, sir--Miss Daisy wouldn't touch nothing."

"Is she unwell?" Mr. Randolph asked in a startled tone.

"No, sir." June's tone was dry. Mr. Randolph marched at once to the room
in question, where Daisy was eating her bread and milk.

"What are you doing, Daisy?"

"Papa!"--said the child with a start; and then quietly--"I am taking my
supper."

"Were you not at the table down stairs?"

"Yes, papa."

"How came you not to have your supper there?"

"I had to come away, papa."

"Are you not well, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph tenderly, bending down over
her chair.

"Yes, papa--quite well."

"Then why did you come away?"

Daisy's spoon lay still in her fingers and her eyes reddened.

"Mamma sent me."

If the child was to have any supper at all, Mr. Randolph saw, he must
forbear his questioning. He rose up from leaning over her chair.

"Go on, Daisy--" he said; and he left her, but did not leave the room.
He walked up and down the floor at a little distance, while Daisy
finished her bread and milk She was too much in want of it not to do
that. When it was done she got out of her chair and stood on the floor
looking at her father, as gentle as a young sparrow. He came and wheeled
her chair round and sat down upon it.

"What is the matter, Daisy?"

"Mamma was displeased with me." The child dropped her eyes.

"What about?"

"Papa"--said Daisy slowly, trying for words and perhaps also for
self-command--"mamma was displeased with me because--I--"

"What?"

"Papa--because I did what she did not like at dinner."

"At dinner? what was that?"

The child lifted her eyes now to her father's face, a little wistfully.

"Papa--don't you know?--I was only praying a minute."

Mr. Randolph stretched out his arm, drew Daisy up to him, placed her on
his knee, and looked down into her face.

"Did you have no supper down stairs?"

"No, sir."

"Do you like bread and milk better than other things?"

"No, papa."

"I met June with a great tray of supper things, and she said you would
not eat them. Why was that?"

"Papa," said Daisy, "I thought mamma did not mean me to have those
things to-night."

"She did not forbid you?"

"No, papa."

Mr. Randolph's arm was round Daisy; now he wrapped both arms about her,
bringing her up close to his breast, and putting down his lips to her
face, he kissed her over and over, with a great tenderness.

"Have you had a pleasant day?"

"Papa, I have had a great many pleasant things," said Daisy eagerly. Her
voice had changed and a glad tone had come into it.

"Dr. Sandford took proper care of you?"

"Papa, he is _very_ good!" said Daisy strongly.

"I rather think he thinks you are."

"He is nice, papa."

"Nice--" said Mr. Randolph. "He is pretty well. But now, Daisy, what do
you think of going to bed and to sleep?"

"Yes, papa."

"And to-morrow, if you have got into any difficulty, you may come to me
and talk about it."

Daisy returned a very earnest caress to her father's good night kiss,
and afterwards had no difficulty in doing as he had said. And so ended
the day on Silver Lake.




CHAPTER VII.


Daisy reflected the next morning as to what was her right course with
respect to the action that had troubled her mother so much. Ought she to
do it? In the abstract it was right to do it; but ought _she_ in these
circumstances? And how much of a Christian's ordinary duty might she be
required to forego? and where must the stand be made? Daisy did not
know; she had rather the mind of a soldier, and was much inclined to
obey her orders, as such, come what might. That is, it seemed to her
that so she would be in the sure and safe way; but Daisy had no appetite
at all for the fighting that this course would ensure. One thing she
knew by experience; that if she drew upon herself a direct command to do
such a thing no more, the order would stand; there would be no dealing
with it afterwards except in the way of submission. That command she had
not in this case yet received, and she judged it prudent not to risk
receiving it. She went down to breakfast as usual, but she did not bow
her little head to give any thanks or make any prayers. She hoped the
breakfast would pass off quietly. So it did as to that matter. But
another subject came up.

"What became of you last night at supper, Daisy?" her aunt asked. "Dr.
Sandford was enquiring for you. I think you received quite your share of
attention, for so young a lady, for my part."

"Daisy had more than anybody else, yesterday," remarked Eloïse.

"A sprained or a broken ankle is a very good thing occasionally," said
Mr. Randolph.

"Yes," said Mrs. Gary--"I think Daisy had quite the best time of anybody
yesterday. A palanquin with gentlemen for her porters, and friendly arms
to go to sleep in--most devoted care!"

"Yes, I was one of her porters," said Ransom. "I think Dr. Sandford
takes rather too much on himself."

"Did he take _you_?" said Mr. Randolph.

"Yes, sir,--when there was no occasion."

"Why Ransom," said Daisy, "there was no one else to carry my chair but
Preston and you."

"Did Preston feel aggrieved?" asked his uncle.

"Certainly not, sir," replied the boy. "It was a pleasure."

"It was not Ransom's business," said Mrs. Randolph.

"I suppose it was not the doctor's business either," said Mr.
Randolph--"though he made it so afterwards."

"O, I dare say it was a pleasure to him, too," said Mrs. Gary. "Really,
the doctor did not take care of anybody yesterday, that I saw, except
Daisy. I thought he admired Frederica Fish--I had heard so--but there
was nothing of it. Daisy was quite queen of the day."

Mr. Randolph smiled. Ransom seemed to consider himself insulted. "I
suppose that was the reason," he said, "that she called me worse than a
dog, because I took a meringue from the dinner-spread."

"Did you do that, Daisy?" asked her mother.

"No, mamma," said Daisy low. Her nice had flushed with astonishment and
sorrow.

"You did," said Ransom. "You said just that."

"O no, Ransom you forget."

"What _did_ you say, Daisy?" asked her mother.

"Mamma, I did not say _that_. I said something--I did not mean it for
anything like that."

"Tell me exactly what you did say--and no more delay."

"Wait till after breakfast," said Mr. Randolph. "I wish to be present at
the investigation of this subject, Felicia--but I would rather take it
by itself than with my coffee."

So there was a lull in the storm which seemed to be gathering. It gave
Daisy time to think. She was in a great puzzle. How she could get
through the matter without exposing all Ransom's behaviour, all at least
which went before the blow given to herself, Daisy did not see; she was
afraid that truth would force her to bring it all out. And she was very
unwilling to do that, because in the first place she had established a
full amnesty in her own heart for all that Ransom had done, and wished
rather for an opportunity to please than to criminate him; and in the
second place, in her inward consciousness she knew that Mrs. Randolph
was likely to be displeased with her, in any event. She would certainly,
if Daisy were an occasion of bringing Ransom into disgrace; though the
child doubted privately whether her word would have weight enough with
her mother for that. Ransom also had time to think, and his brow grew
gloomy. An investigation is never what a guilty party desires; and
judging her by himself, Ransom had reason to dread the chance of
retaliation which such a proceeding would give his little sister. So
Daisy and Ransom wore thoughtful faces during the rest of
breakfast-time; and the result of Ransom's reflections was that the
investigation would go on most pleasantly without him. He made up his
mind to slip away, if he had a chance, and be missing. He had the
chance; for Mr. and Mrs. Randolph were engaged with a call of some
neighbours immediately after breakfast; all thought of the children's
affairs seemed to be departed. Ransom waited a safe time, and then
departed too, with Preston, on an expedition which would last all the
morning. Daisy alone bided the hour, a good deal disturbed in the view
of what it might bring.

She was summoned at last to the library. Her father and mother were
there alone; but just after Daisy came in she was followed by Dr.
Sandford. The doctor came with a message. Mrs. Sandford, his sister, he
said, sent by him to beg that Daisy might come to spend the day with
Nora Dinwiddie, who much desired her presence. In the event of a
favourable answer, the doctor said he would himself drive Daisy over,
and would call for that purpose in another hour or two. He delivered his
message, and Mrs. Randolph replied at once that Daisy could not go; she
could not permit it.

Mr. Randolph saw the flush of hope and disappointment on Daisy's face
and the witness of another kind in her eyes; though with her
characteristic steady self-control she neither moved nor spoke, and
suffered the tears to come no farther. Dr. Sandford saw it too, but he
said nothing. Mr. Randolph spoke.

"Is that decision on account of Daisy's supposed delinquency in that
matter?"

"Of course--" Mrs. Randolph answered drily.

"Can you explain it, Daisy?" her father asked, gravely and kindly
drawing her up to his side. Daisy struggled with some thought.

"Papa," she said softly, "will mamma be satisfied to punish me and let
it go so?"

"Let it go how?"

"Would she be satisfied with this punishment, I mean, and not make me
say anything more about it?"

"I should not. I intend to know the whole. Can you explain it?"

"I think I can, papa," Daisy said, but with a troubled unwillingness,
her father saw. He saw too that it was not the unwillingness of a
troubled conscience.

"Dr. Sandford, if you are willing to take the trouble of stopping
without the certainty of taking Daisy back with you, I have some hopes
that the result may be satisfactory to all parties."

"_Au revoir_, then," said the doctor, and he strode off.

"Now, Daisy," said her father, still having his arms about her--"what is
it?" Mrs. Randolph stood by the table and looked coldly down at the
group. Daisy was under great difficulty; that was plain.

"Papa--I wish Ransom could tell you!"

"Where is the boy?"

Mrs. Randolph rang the bell.

"It is no use, mamma; he has gone off with Preston somewhere."

"That is a mere subterfuge, Daisy, to gain time."

Daisy certainly looked troubled enough, and timid also; though her meek
look at her mother did not plead guilty to this accusation.

"Speak, Daisy; the telling whatever there is to tell must come upon
you," her father said. "Your business is to explain the charge Ransom
has brought against you."

All Daisy's meditations had not brought her to the point of knowing what
to say in this conjuncture. She hesitated.

"Speak, Daisy!" her father said peremptorily.

"Papa, they had put me--Eloïse and Theresa Stanfield--they had put me to
watch the things."

"What things?"

"The dinner--the things that had been taken out of the hampers and were
spread on the tablecloth, where we dined."

"Watch for fear the fishes would carry them off?"

"No, sir, but Fido; Ransom's dog; he was running about."

"Oh! Well?--"

"I kept Fido off, but I could not keep Ransom--" Daisy said low. "He was
taking things."

"And why should he not?" said Mrs. Randolph coldly. "Why should not
Ransom take a sandwich, or a peach, if he wanted one? or anything else,
if he was hungry. There was enough provision for everybody."

Daisy looked up at her mother, with a quick refutation of this statement
of the case in her mind, but something stayed her lips. Mr. Randolph saw
and read the look. He put his arm round Daisy and drew her up to him,
speaking with grave decision.

"Daisy, say all you have to say at once--do you hear me? and spare
neither for Ransom nor yourself. Tell all there is to be told, without
any shuffling."

"Papa, I should not have objected to his having a sandwich--or as many
as he liked. I should have thought it was proper. But he took the
meringues--and so many that the dish was left very small; and then he
carried off Joanna's lark pie, the whole of it; and he did not mind what
I said; and then, I believe--I suppose that is what Ransom meant--I
believe I told him he was worse than Fido."

"Was Ransom offended at that?"

"Yes, papa. He did not like my speaking to him at all."

"Of course not," said Mrs. Randolph. "Boys never like to be tutored by
girls; and Daisy must expect her brother will not like it if she meddles
with him; and especially if she addresses such language to him."

"I said only exactly that, mamma."

"Ransom put it differently."

A flush came up all over Daisy's face; she looked at her mother
appealingly, but said nothing and the next moment her eyes fell.

"Did Ransom answer you at the time, Daisy?"

"Yes, sir," Daisy said in a low voice.

"How?"

"Papa!--" said Daisy confounded.

"What did he say to you?"

"He did not say much--" said Daisy.

"Tell me what his answer was?"

"Papa, he struck my ears," said Daisy. A great crimson glow came all
over her face, and she hid it in her father's breast; like an injured
thing running to shelter. Mr. Randolph was lying on a sofa; he folded
his arm round Daisy, but spoke never a word. Mrs. Randolph moved
impatiently.

"Boys will do such things," she said. "It is very absurd in Daisy to
mind it. Boys will do such things--she must learn that it is not her
place or business to find fault with her brother. I think she deserved
what she got. It will teach her a lesson."

"Boys shall not do such things in my house," said Mr. Randolph in his
usual quiet manner.

"As you please!" said the lady in a very dissatisfied way; "but I think
it is only what all boys do."

"Felicia, I wish to reverse your decision about this day's pleasure.
Seeing Daisy has had her lesson, do you not think she might be indulged
with the play after it?"

"As you please!" returned the lady very drily.

"Do you want to go, Daisy?"

"If you please, papa." Daisy spoke without shewing her face.

"Is Mr. Dinwiddie at Mrs. Sandford's?" inquired Mrs. Randolph.

"O no, mamma!" Daisy looked up. "He is not coming. He is gone a great
way off. I do not suppose he is ever coming here again; and Nora is
going away soon."

Mrs. Randolph moved off.

"Felicia--" said her husband. The lady paused. "I intend that Ransom
shall have a lesson, too. I shall take away the remaining week of his
vacation. To-morrow he goes back to school. I tell you, that you may
give the necessary orders."

"For this boy's freak, Mr. Randolph?"

"For what you please. He must learn that such behaviour is not permitted
here."

Mrs. Randolph did not share the folly with which she charged Daisy, for
she made no answer at all, and only with a slight toss of her haughty
head resumed her walk out of the room. Daisy would fain have spoken, but
she did not dare; and for some minutes after they were left alone her
father and she were profoundly silent. Mr. Randolph revolving the
behaviour of Daisy as he now understood it; her willing silence and
enforced speech, and the gentleness manifested towards her brother, with
the meek obedience rendered to her mother and himself. Perhaps his
thoughts went deeper still. While Daisy reflected with sorrow on the
state of mind sure to be produced now both in Ransom and Mrs. Randolph
towards her. A matter which she could do nothing to help. She did not
dare say one word to change her father's purpose about Ransom; she knew
quite well it would be no use. She stood silent by his sofa, one little
hand resting fondly on his shoulder, but profoundly quiet. Then she
remembered that she had something else to talk about.

"Papa--" she said wheeling round a little to face him.

"Well, Daisy?"

"Do you feel like talking?"

"Hardly--it is so hot," said Mr. Randolph. "Set open that sash door a
little more, Daisy. Now come here. What is it?"

"Shall I wait till another time, papa?"

"No."

He had passed an arm round her, and she stood as before with one hand
resting on his shoulder.

"Papa--it was about--what last night you said I might talk to you
about."

"I remember. Go on, Daisy."

"Papa," said the child, a little in doubt how to go on--"I want to do
what is right."

"There is generally little difficulty in doing that, Daisy."

Daisy thought otherwise!

"Papa, I think mamma does not like me to do what I think is right," she
said very low and humbly.

"Your mother is the best judge, Daisy. What are you talking about?"

"_That_, papa--that you said I might talk to you about."

"What is it? Let us understand one another clearly."

"About--It was only that I liked to pray and give thanks a minute at
meal times." Daisy spoke very softly and as if she would fain not have
spoken.

"That is a mere indifferent ceremony, Daisy, which some people perform.
It is not binding on you, certainly, if your mother has any objection to
your doing it."

"But, papa,"--Daisy began eagerly and then checked herself, and went on
slowly--"you would not like it if you were to give me anything, and I
should not thank you?"

"Cases are not parallel, Daisy."

She wondered in her simplicity why they were not; but her questions had
already ventured pretty far; she did not dare count too much upon her
father's gentleness. She stood looking at him with unsatisfied eyes.

"In one sense we receive everything we have from the bounty of Heaven."

"Yes, papa."

"If your wish were carried out, we should be covering our faces all the
time--if that formality is needed in giving thanks."

Daisy had thoughts, but she was afraid to utter them. She looked at Mr.
Randolph with the same unsatisfied eyes.

"Do you see, Daisy?"

"No, papa."

"Don't you!" said Mr. Randolph smiling. "Difficulties still unsolved?
Can you state them, Daisy?"

"Papa, you said I might shew you in the Bible things--do you remember?"

"Things? What things?"

"Papa, if I wanted to do things that I thought were right--you promised
that if _you_ thought they were in the Bible, I might do as it said."

"Humph!"--said Mr. Randolph, with a very doubtful sort of a grunt,
between displeasure at his own word, and annoyance at the trouble it
might bring upon him. Nevertheless, he remembered the promise. Daisy
went on timidly.

"When you get up--by and by, papa,--may I shew you what is in the
Bible?"

"You need not wait till I get up--shew it to me now."

"I cannot lift that big Bible, papa."

Mr. Randolph rose up from the sofa, went to the shelves where it lay,
and brought the great Bible to the library table. Then stood and watched
Daisy, who kneeled in a chair by the table and busily turned over the
large leaves, her little face very wise and intent, her little hands
small to manage the big book before her. Had such a child and such a
book anything to do with each other, Mr. Randolph thought? But Daisy
presently found her place, and looking up at him drew a little back that
her father might see it. He stooped over Daisy and read,

"_In everything give thanks_."

"Do you see it, papa?"

"Yes."

"Then here is another place--I know where to find it--"

She turned over more leaves, stopped again, and Mr. Randolph stooped and
read,--

"Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name
of our Lord Jesus Christ."

Mr. Randolph read, and went and threw himself on his sofa again. Daisy
came beside him. A wistful earnestness in the one face; a careless sort
of embarrassment on the other.

"You are led astray, little Daisy, by a common mistake of ignorant
readers. You fancy that these words are to be taken literally--whereas
they mean simply that we should cultivate a thankful spirit. That, of
course, I agree to."

"But, papa," said Daisy, "is a thankful spirit the same thing quite as
giving thanks?"

"It is a much better thing, Daisy, in my opinion."

"But, papa, would not a thankful spirit like to _give_ thanks?"

"I have no objection, Daisy."

The tears came into Daisy's eyes. Her mother _had_.

"Papa--"

"Well? Let us get to the end of this difficulty if we can."

"I am afraid we cannot, papa. Because if you had told me to do a thing
so, you would mean it just so, and I should do it."

Mr. Randolph wrapped his arms round Daisy and brought her close to his
breast. "Look here, Daisy," said he--"tell me. Do you really try to give
thanks everywhere, and for all things, as the word says?"

"I do not _try_, papa--I like to do it."

"Do you give thanks for _everything_?"

"I think I do, papa; for everything that gives me pleasure."

"For Mrs. Sandford's invitation to-day, for instance?"

"O yes, papa," said Daisy smiling.

He brought the little head down within reach of his lips and kissed it a
good many times.

"I wish my little Daisy would not think so much."

"I think only to know what is right to do, papa."

"It is right to mind mamma and me, and let us think for you."

"And the Bible, papa?"

"You are quite growing an old woman a good while before the time."

Daisy kissed him with good child-like kisses, laying her little head in
his neck and clasping her arms around him; for all that, her heart was
busy yet.

"Papa," she said, "what do you think is right for me to do?"

"Thinking exhausts me, Daisy. It is too hot to-day for such an
exercise."

Daisy drew back and looked at him, with one hand resting on his
shoulder. She did not dare urge any more in words; her look spoke her
anxious, disappointed questioning of her father's meaning. Perhaps he
did not care to meet such a gaze of inquiry, for he pulled her down
again in his arms.

"I do not want you to be an old woman."

"But, papa--that is not the thing."

"I will not have it, Daisy."

"Papa," she said with a small laugh, "what shall I do to help it? I do
not know how I came to be an old woman."

"Go off and play with Nora Dinwiddie. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, papa--except my hat and gloves."

"Do not think anymore to-day. I will think for you by and by. But Daisy,
why should you and I set ourselves up to be better than other people?"

"How, papa?"

"Do you know anybody else that lives up to your views on the subject of
thanksgiving?"

"O yes, papa."

"Who?"

Daisy softly said, "Juanita does, papa, I think."

"A poor ignorant woman, Daisy, and very likely full of superstitions.
Her race often are."

"What is a superstition, papa?"

"A religious notion which has no foundation in truth."

"Then papa, can it be superstition to do just what God tells us to do?"

"You are too deep for me, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph languidly. "Go and
get ready for Dr. Sandford. He will be here presently."

So Daisy went, feeling very uncertain of the result of her talk, but
doubtful and di

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