Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 A baby's grace
 Sunshine and shadow
 Almost lost
 Life's benediction
 Back Cover

Title: Daisy
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082646/00001
 Material Information
Title: Daisy
Physical Description: 57 p. : ill. ; 20 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Saunders, Marshall, 1861-1947
Banes, Charles H ( Publisher )
Publisher: Charles H. Banes
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Publication Date: [1894?]
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Accidents -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Friendship -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Clerks -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Sick -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Temperance -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Fever -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Love -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1894
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
Statement of Responsibility: by Marshall Saunders.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00082646
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002237103
notis - ALH7584
oclc - 181822547

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Half Title
        Half Title
        Page 1
    Title Page
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    A baby's grace
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
    Sunshine and shadow
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    Almost lost
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Life's benediction
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

0" : -




Page 20.





Author of "Beautiful Joe"

" A little child shall lead them''

1420 Chestnut Street


This little story, by JVliss marshall Saunders,
author of "Beautiful soe," appeared some years
ago in Englland, in the interests of a benevo-
lent institution. It has seemed worthy of a
wider publication, and hence it is brought out
in its present dress. The infantile grace and
quaint ways of the little child; her influence in
shaping a somewhat warped life, with all its
incidental lessons, and the final happy ending of
it all, will give the little story, We are sure, a
wide audience and a cordial reception.


Chapter I

,A Baby's Grace, 7

Chapter 11

Sunshine and ShadoW, 25

Chapter II

Almost host, 39

Chapter IV

Life's Benediction,




SN evening, Ars. Drummond,
the tired, careworn woman who
presided over our boarding house, i- J
glanced down the well-spread table, and in-
formed us that the next day we were to
have a new boarder-a JVIr. Robertson,
a young bank clerk who had lately come
from England to our prosperous ganadian
Sknew the lad by reputation, and the next
morning when he sauntered into the dining room,
I looked at him carefully. Poor boy, his eye
was heavy, and his step languid. In his foolish


endeavors to "see life," he was fast losing the
purity of heart and mind with which he had quitted
his far-away home, and it was making its mark
upon him in a Way not to be mistaken.
ie sat opposite me, and I could see that
he was making a mere pretence of taking his
Presently, there was a remark from JM rs.
IDrummond's end of the table. The child was
speaking-the child par excellence, for there was
not another one in the house. She was a curi-
ous little creature-willful, disdainful, neglected by
her mother, and suspicious of all other mortals.
Petting she despised, and invariably showed symp-
toms of displeasure if disturbed in her favorite
occupation of playing with an ugly, yellow cat in
dark corners of the house. But the strangest


thing of all was her quietness. She never
romped like other children, never prattled; indeed,
she rarely spoke at all, so we Were all attention
as she pointed to young Robertson with her
spoon, and said in a clear, babyish voice, "Dat's
a berry fine-lookin' boy, mamma."
Everybody smiled, for the boy in question,
though manly and stalwart in appearance, had a
decidedly plain face. j e blushed a little, and
bent over his plate. JVrs. Drummond took her
hand from the coffee-urn long enough to lay it
on Daisy's head: "Jush, child, you must not
talk at the table."
"V emove dat hand," said the child, in a
displeased tone. Then rapping on the table with
her spoon, to call Robertson's attention, she asked,
"Boy, what's your name?"


S"Roland Robertson," he replied, with an em-
barrassed laugh.
laisy, intensely interested, and altogether re-
gardless of the boarders' amused glances, said in
a stage whisper, while she solemnly wagged her
curly head, land \&obertson, I love you."
Then scrambling out of her high-chair, she ran
down the long room, and peremptorily demanded
a seat on his knee.
ie started, looked annoyed, then sheepish,
and finally took her up. It did not suit his
English reserve to be made the cynosure .of all
eyes. Daisy sedately arranged her flounces,
then watched him playing with his food. "Don't
you like fwicasseed chicken?" she asked, gently.
"Yes," he said; "but I am not hungry."
"Some morning's I eat nuffin too," she said,


in a relieved way, "more partickler when I have
a glass of milk in de night. Woland," tenderly
patting the hand around her waist, "did you have
a dwink in de night?"
Robertson's face became scarlet. She viewed
him with the utmost solicitude. Then turning to
a lady next her, who had finished her breakfast,
and was indolently fanning herself, "Dive me dat
fan, de poor dalin' is hot."
Both on that occasion and many subsequent
ones, o.-', amused us by the epithets she be-
stowed upon her favorite. We found that she
had not been an inattentive observer of the many
newly married couples that had sojourned at
SJrs. Dlrummond's.
Robertson Was fanned for several
Sminutes--Daisy striking his face,

-\ K


with an extra now and then for his nose, in her
awkward zeal, until I wondered at his patience.
Suddenly, he pushed back his chair, said he had
finished his breakfast and that she had better get
down. This gave rise to a stroke of childish
policy. She ordered the table-maid to bring her
hitherto neglected plate of porridge, and putting
the spoon in Robertson's hand insisted upon his
feeding her. Je complied with a pretty good
grace. )aisy kept up an unbroken scrutiny of
his face, and presently dodging a spoonful of milk,
laid a pink, forefinger on, his upper lip. There
was just the faintest-suspicion of a moustache
there. fordet what you call dis," she said,
"eMoustache," he replied, abruptly bringing
the porridge feeding performance to a close, and


putting her on her tiny feet. She ran out of
the room after him, pulling the napkin from her
neck as she went. When I reached the hall,
Robertson Was taking down his hat from the rack,
Daisy in close attendance. She was just prefac-
ing a remark with, "Voland, love," when Vers.
Drummond came out of the dining room. "Daisy,"
she said, peevishly, "you must say eMr. Robertson."
low berry cross you are dis morning, said
the child, throwing a glance at her over her
shoulder; then turning to Robertson, she Went on
to ask him whether he would soon come back' to
see her.
"Jo," he replied,. his hand on the door, "I
lunch in town; you Won't see me till evening,"
The child's face fell, and she turned silently away.
I Went out quickly, and overtook him before'he


reached the corner of the street. "That child
seems to have taken quite a fancy to you," I said
quietly; "I never before knew her to show so much
interest in any one."
"I don't know why she does," he answered
awkwardly, and with some impatience, "unless it is
owing to my having spoken to her the other day.
\hen I went to engage my room, she was sitting
in a corner alone, and I gave her a picture I
happened to have in my pocket." Je stopped
suddenly. j-e did not tell me then, nor did I
find out until long afterward, that the little, lonely
child had reminded him of a dead sister of his,
and that when he gave her the picture, he gave
her a kiss with it.
I made some trite remark about the softening
and good influences a child can throw around


one-1 did not intend to hint at all that he was
in need of such infuences; but so suspicious was
he in his dawning manhood, that he resented my
remark, and relapsed into profound silence. A
minute later, he left me, under the pretence of
taking a short cut to the bank.
I did not see him again until evening. I
entered the dining room on the first stroke of the
dinner bell. ]Mrs. Drummond had just preceded
me. I could not help smiling at her dismayed
face. Daisy, with excited, nervous movements,
was dragging her high-chair from the head of the
table, to a place near Robertson's.
"That young man has bewitched the child,"
she said fretfully. "She slapped me just now,
because I would not let her put on her best dress
for him."


Vhile she Was speaking Robertson entered the
room. e' Was in better spirits than in the
morning. \hen his eye fell on Daisy, sitting
flushed With victory beside his plate, he smiled and
pinched her cheek as he sat down. During the
progress of the meal he showed a certain amount
of attention to the scrap of humanity at his side;
and she, with no eyes for the other people at
the table, hung on his looks, and with a more
practical interest in his Welfare, Watched every
morsel of food that went into his mouth. Once
she said impatiently to me, "You Wed-haired man,
you-don't you see dat Voland Wants some vege-
tables? Pass some quick."
Winner over, all scattered about the house.
1..,i never retired earlier than any other per-
son, so I Watched her curiously to see what she


would do. Robertson had gone to his room.
With a disappointed air she seated herself on the
loWest step of the staircase. Some young men
standing about the hall tried to tease her.
"Baby dear," said one of them mischievously,
"I'm afraid you're going to be a flirt."
"Vhat's dat?" she said, holding out inviting
arms to the yellow cat that was sneaking about
my boots.
"A flirt is an animal with eyes all over its
head, and an enormous mouth, and it goes about
the world eating men," explained another.
Poor IDaisy-she Was yet at the stage of
believing" everything she heard. She shrugged
her white shoulders, as she said, "Drefful!" and
hugged her dingy cat a little closer. Presently
they all laughed. She had thrown the cat to


the floor, and sprung to her-feet. Robertson
Was coming downstairs, Very carefully dressed, a
light overcoat thrown over his arm. Evidently,
it Was his intention to spend the evening with
some of his friends.
Daisy inquired wistfully whether he Was going
out, and on his replying in the affirmative, she
asked whether it was "work" that was taking
him-that term signifying to her something that
could not be neglected.
"J\o, iaisy," he said, trying to escape her
detaining hands, "I am going to see a play."
"Voland," she said beseechingly, "won't you
stay an' play Wid me an' Pompey?" pointing toward
the yellow cat, that was glaring at him from under
a hall chair.
It Was not a Very inviting prospect. ie


laughed, put her aside, saying, "Some other
time, little girl," and went toward the hall door;
The child watched him, her little breast heaving,
her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her
dress. le was going to leave her, the only
person in the house whom she cared for. The
disappointment was too great, "Oh;, oland-1
fought you would stay," she said, in a choking
voice. Then dropping on the white fur rug at
her feet, she burst into a perfect passion of tears.
This was such an unprecedented proceeding
on the part of the self-contained child, that a
crowd' of anxious faces soon surrounded her.
"'Vhatever is the matter with the child?" said
her mother querulously, as she bent over the pink,
sobbing bundle. "She hasn't, cried since the
day she fell downstairs, and nearly killed herself"


Robertson hurried back at the sound of the
Wailing voice. jas she hurt herself?" he asked
anxiously. Je looked astonished when we ex-
plained the cause of her emotion. don't' t cry,
laisy," he said, "I will stay with you to-morroW
The child's sobs redoubled. Je hesitated,
looked at his Watch, then muttered "1 suppose I
would be a brute to leave her like this."
"i)aisy," I whispered in her curly locks, "he
is going to stay with you." A shriek of joy,
and the child was on her feet, clinging to his
hand with an enthusiasm that made him turn
away with a half-foolish air. The next two
hours Were uninterrupted bliss for Daisy. She
spent them in one of the parlors, leaning against
Robertson's knee, looking at photographs of the


Athenian eMarbles. They were evidently Greek
to her, but one glance at Robertson Would smooth
out her little, puzzled forehead. At ten o'clock
her little head drooped and she soon fell fast
asleep, so that he carried her upstairs, her face
bordered by its curls resting confidingly on his
shoulder. When he came down, I saW him
glance irresolutely at the clock, as if uncertain
whether to go out or not. I asked him whether
he would like to come to my room. I had some
curios which I had picked up in my rambles
about the World which I thought would be of
interest to him. Some of them I told him were
from Athens, and bore some relation to the eVlar-
bles he had been examining. Je thanked me
very politely, but very stiffly, and said that at some
future time he would like to see them. In

some Way, he hardly knew why, he felt very
sleepy this evening, and would go to bed at once.
)e went, and thoughts of his little companion
Went with him as he sunk to a rest purer and
sweeter than that which had been his during the
weeks preceding.




1 V next day Was Sunday. -As
I came downstairs in the morn-
ing I saw that Daisy Was in her old place, on
the lowest step of the staircase. eMy salutation
she returned With reserve, but presently I heard
a gay, "AMornin', dear," and turning around, saw
that she Was holding up her face to Robertson
for a kiss. Before they entered the dining room,
she made solicitous inquiries about his night's rest.
e laughed shortly. "I haven't slept so well
for many a night," he said. ier little face
brightened, and they Went together to the table.


The church bells were ringing when we finished
breakfast, and some one laughingly asked laisy
where she Was going to attend service. "You
are teasin' me," she said rebukingly; "you know
I berry seldom go out."
S"Does no one take you for walks?" asked
Robertson. The child shook her head, and said
that her mamma was always busy. The lad
drew up his stalwart frame, stifled some kind of
an indignant exclamation, and looked pityingly
down at the pale, delicate figure of the child.
laisy was watching him attentively. Voland,"
she said- inquiringly, "J'avee you any work dis
morning' ?"
o, Daisy."
"Then can't you dive me a walk?"
jper little hand stole confidingly in his. 'er


tone Was coaxing in the extreme. Je laughed,
and said: "Very well-go ask your mamma."
in dclighted surprise, she scampered to her
mother's end of the table. "Jiamma, may I go
a-walkin' wid Vo-wid eMithter Wobertson?"
Jvrs. Drummond looked up, hastily ran her eyes
over DljP~,-'s shabby. frock, then over Robertson's
handsome suit of clothes. "Y'ou have nothing
fit to wear, child."
Daisy's face became the. picture of despair.
"The child looks Very well as she is," interposed
Robertson dryly, as he walked toward them, "and
it is a warm day; she only Wants a bonnet."
I.h-,' listened in delight, .then when her mother's
consent Was gained, seized. Robertson's fingers
and pressed them to her lips. \ot long after I
had taken my seat in church that morning, a tall

young man with
a child clinging to

ing up the aisle
to a seat in front
of me. To my surprise, saw
Robertson and Daisy. Je, [ fear,
napped a little during the sermon. e\ot a "
word was lost on Daisy. She sat bolt upright,
her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes fixed
on the clergyman. -At the close of the service,
we found ourselves near each other and walked
home together. As we passed through the hot,
sunny streets, Robertson, as if to apologize for
being in church, said, "After We got outdoors
this morning, Daisy insisted upon going to church,
to see the clergyman 'Wing de bells.'"


"The child is almost a heathen," ] answered,
in a low voice; "I wish her mother would send
her to Sunday-school."
]Daisy's sharp ears caught my remark. "Is
dat where little chillens go Sunday afternoons,
wid pretty books under dere arms?"
Y"es," I replied; "wouldn't you like to go
"Mlay I, Vooland?" eagerly. "1 will be
berry blood "
na laughed, and said that they must ask her
mamma to give the subject her consideration.
For the rest of the day, Daisy followed
Robertson about the house like a pet dog.
Toward evening, some of his friends came in,
and he shook himself free from her, and went up
to his room with them. After a time, they all


came trooping downstairs. The sound of their
merry Voices coated to the room where I was
sitting. But they were all hushed, when a baby-
ish voice asked, "Are you going out, Voland?"
Robertson resorted to artifice -to prevent the
recurrence of a scene. "Daisy," he said, "my
friend here, Vr. Danforth"-laying his hand on
the shoulder of the youth nearest him-"is a great
admirer of yellow cats. Do you suppose that
Pompey could be persuaded to walk, upstairs and
say '%ow-do-you-do' to him?"
"Oh yes, dear boy," said the child, trotting
downstairs to fulfill her favorite's behest. Vhen
the sound of her footsteps died away, there was
subdued laughter, and some one said, "WVho is
that pretty child, Robertson?" Then the door
banged, and there was silence.


Vhen I heard iDaisy returning, I Went to the
door. She came hurrying along, firmly holding
the disconsolate-looking, yellow animal under her
arm. A blank look overspread her face when
she saw that [ was sole occupant of the hall.
"Where is ,Jithter Vobertson?" she inquired
of me in a dignified way.
e has gone out," I said, as gently as I
could. Von't you come and talk to me for a
little while ? Disregarding the latter part of
my sentence, she said mournfully, "DBo you really
fink so ?"
I nodded my head. She let the cat slip to
the floor, with a wrathful "Get downstairs, you
etched beast," and then Went silently away.
There was a little, dark corner near a back stair-
case, to which she often retreated in times of


great trouble. There I think she passed the
next hour. yAbout nine o'clock she appeared and
from that time until nearly e\ery one in the house
had gone to bed, she wandered restlessly, but
quietly, about the parlors and halls. I knew
what she was waiting for-poor, little, lonely
creature. shortly after eleven, JVlrs. lrummond
put her head in the room. vhy, Dlaisy," fret-
fully, "aren't you in bed yet? (o right up-
The child silently obeyed, refusing, by a dis-
dainful gesture, my offer to carry her. That
night I could not get to sleep. It seemed as if
I too was listening for a returning footstep. About
one o'clock, there was a sound on the staircase.
I got up, opened my door, and seeing that the
night-light was burning in the hall, stepped out.

Robertson, with his hand on the railing, and
a terribly red face, was coming slowly upstairs.
Just as he reached his door, a little, white-robed
figure stole into the hall. She ran up to him.
"Oh my darlin', darlin' boy," with a curious catch-
ing of her breath, "1 fought you was lost, like de
Babes in de Vood."
e steadied himself against the wall, only
half comprehending what she said. Then he
muttered thickly, "Go to bed, child."
"Vewy well," she murmured obediently, then
standing on tip-toe, " land."
With abashed eyes and shamed countenance,
the young man looked down at the innocent, baby
face, shining out of its tangle of curls. je Was
not fit to kiss her and he knew it, ne turned


his head from her, and in tones harsher than he
really meant said, "(Go away, Daisy."
The child still clung to him. She did not
understand why the caress should be denied her.
Suddenly his mood changed. e uttered an
oath, pushed her violently from him, and staggered
into his room.
The child fell, struck her head heavily against
the floor, then lay quite white and still. I has-
tened toward her, took her up in my arms, and
rapped at her mother's door. JVlrs. Drummond
Was still up, sitting before a table, making entries
in an account book. She started in nervous
surprise, then when I explained matters, looked
toward the empty crib, and said, "She must have
slipped by me when my back was turned. oas
she fainted? She sometimes does. I don't


know why she should be such a delicate child.
Please put her in the crib. I will get some
I glanced uneasily at the child's pale face, then
quitted the room. Early the next morning, JArs.
Drummond knocked at my door. "I wish you
would come and look at Daisy," she said queru-
lously; "she has not slept all night, and now she
has fallen into a kind of stupor; I can't get her
to speak to me."
I hurried to the child's cot, and bending over
it said, "'.I ,:, don't you Want some breakfast?"
She neither moved nor spoke, and after mak-
ina other ineffectual attempts to rouse her, I said,
"The child is ill-you nlust call a doctor."
"Suppose We-get J]r. obertson to speak to
her," she replied. "This may be only temper."


On going to his room I shook him vigorously.
"Robertson, Robertson, wake up." After some
difficulty, I roused him. ie shuffled of the bed
as I told him my errand, and in a moment We
Were beside the sick child.
"Speak to her," said JVrs. Drummond im-
patiently; "she is ill."
Se brushed his hand oVer his face, and lean-
ing over her said, "Daisy, won't you speak to
At -the sound of his voice, the child opened
her eyes, and looked up at him dreamily. Then
in a low voice, she repeated the terrible oath he
had uttered a few hours before. It sounded
unspeakably dreadful coming from her childish lips.
"Put on your coat," [ said, "and go for a
doctor; the child's mind is Wandering."




IAVT IwOas the beginning of troublous times.
For that day, and many subsequent days,
the angel of death hovered over the child. A
fever had seized upon her, and her little body be-
came wasted and spent till she was but a shadow
of her former self. In her delirium, Robertson's
name Was constantly on her lips. fe, poor
follow, could do nothing. From the first day a
nurse Was installed in the sick-room, and no one
was allowed to enter.
It was on that day that I met, on my way
to my office, one of Robertson's superiors in the
bank. "By the way," he said, "one of our
clerks boards where you do-Roland Robertson,
his name is. lDo you know anything about


him? Can you tell me anything in regard to
his habits?"
"Very little," I said hesitatingly. I knew
that the man before me Was a model of all virtues,
and had very little patience with youthful follies.
le spoke a few words in a disparaging way,
and I knew that Robertson's careless habits were
drawing suspicion upon him, and endangering the
remarkably good position he held. The thought
flashed into my mind, that perhaps it would be
as well for little IDaisy to die. The shock of
having been the indirect means of her death
would sober the lad her little lonely heart had
clung to, and make a man of him for life. God
was going to take her from us. I pitied Robert-
son from the bottonr of my heart. e was
going about the house with a set face which as-


sured me that he had not the slightest hope of
the child's recovery. le never spoke to any
one, and after the bank closed, came home and
shut himself up in his room. now he passed
the time no one knew. One night, I heard
JVlrs. Ilrummond come to his door, knock gently,
and ask whether he would like to come and say
good-bye to aaisy. The doctor had said that she
would probably not live through the night, and the
nurse thought that now she was having the lucid
interval which sometimes comes before death-and
she wanted to see him. I stole quietly out of
my room, Robertson stood in the hall, his hand
on the door-handle, an expression of terrible an-
guish on his face. Suddenly he composed his
features, and went toward the child's room. I
paused on the threshold. The room was

dimly lighted
and as quiet as
S the grave. Between the win-
\dows, on her mother's
/ large bed, the
child lay a little, frail, white
ghost, / her skin deathly pale,
and drawn very tightly over her
bones, her beautiful, dark eyes
figed languidly on Robertson.
ee stood at the foot of the bed,
his hands clasped around the iron C
bars with a kind of stony com-
posure on his face.
.I',, gave him a little, wistful

smile. ier affection for him was as strong
as ever. The fever had not burnt it up, nor
was it killed by the pains that racked her tender
body. Presently, she murmured a request that
he Would come beside her. The nurse made
room for him by the pillow.. Je knelt down,
clenching one hand in the white counterpane with
a vice-like grasp, and holding gently in the other
the wasted fingers that .I..' stole feebly toward
"Voland, dear boy," she murmured, in a
scarcely audible Voice, "I've been Werry ill."
iis forehead contracted a little. "Yes, I
know," and his Voice was Very soft and tender
and had the sound of tears in it.
"But I'm better now. Ajebbe I'll get up
in de morning. "


Spe looked at her, For one instant the rigid
control in which he held himself almost gave way.
But he recovered himself, and she went on feebly:
"Will you carry me down to breakfus' ?" Then
her eyes closed. She seemed to be slipping
Jis face became like marble. The child
Was dying, and she did not know it. ne put
his lips to her ear: "IDaisy," in an agonized voice,
"this is a sad world; wouldn't you like to go
and leave it?"
The child lifted her heavy lids. Leave it,"
she lisped.
"Yes, and go to heaven," he ejaculated in
a desperate, broken voice, "where the Lrord Sesus
our Saviour is. You will be very happy there.
Je will giVe you a white robe and a golden


harp, and you will have other little children to
play with you; and there will be beautiful fields
and flowers-"
low Werry nice," half sighed, half breathed
the exhausted child. A sweet, almost seraphic
smile, flitted over her little face. Then a doubt
assailed her. \ith a last, supreme effort, she
tried to raise herself, and look in his face. "Are
you coming' too, VWoland?"
A look of blank despair met her loving glance.
Surprised and bewildered, she shook off for an
instant her coming lethargy. oland," she said
sharply, "I sha'n't go to heaven widout you."
Then she sank back on the pillow-her eyes
The frightful tension in which the lad held
himself gave way. rer little fingers slipped


from his grasp, and he fell back in a dead faint.
It did not disturb the little one however, and in
a little time he was himself again, and anxiously
watching the coming of the end.





P We poor, short-sighted mortals had the plan-
ning of our lives, how strangely would they
be laid out! I had imagined that the child Was
going to die, in order that her influence over the
life that had become so strangely mixed up with
hers might live. It had not occurred to me
that the lad, thrown into a state of desperation
and feeling himself branded as her murderer,
might be tempted to some rash act. Thank
heaven, he Was not put to it. The child did
not die, but lived to be a further blessing to him.
When he walked from his swoon, We Were
able to whisper in his ear that she had fallen
into a quiet sleep-that possibly there had been
a mistake made. je staggered to his feet,


and sat by the sleeping child for a while, with a
look of one who has received a reprieve from
death, then Went to his room and shut himself
in. From that hour he was a different crea-
ture. T1he heavy stamp of affliction had been
laid upon him. ie was a man now, in the
best sense of the word.
Day by day, F.I-, steadily improved; Robert-
son Was constantly with her, and until she was
able to run about on her own small feet, he
carried her everywhere in his strong arms.
Sometimes he would walk up and down the
halls for hours at a time, listening to her childish
confidences and telling her stories with the utmost
patience and gentleness. And his devotion did
not cease when her strength returned. Jier
solitary life was at an end. ialf his leisure


time he spent with her. This had the inevitable
effect of lessening his intercourse with his former
boon companions. They had claimed a monop-
oly of his time. Jow he got in with another
set-these jolly, good fellows, who kept him out
in the daytime, playing out-door games, and
sending him home so exhausted that he wanted
no further excitement for the night, but a book,
a comfortable scat, and Daisy's good-night kiss.
The child was proving a guardian angel to
him, and not only to him, but to all the house.
An astonishing change had come over her since
her illness. She was always gentle now, never
sullen, and cheerful sometimes to gayety. The
boarders had all taken to petting her-she was a
link to bind them together and make them less
selfish-and she seemed to appreciate their atten-


tions, though her preference for Robertson Was
decidedly marked. Even JV rs. Drummond Was
changing. She often took Daisy on her lap
now, and I had seen her brush away a tear
when the child tried to smooth out her wrinkles
with her tiny hand.
It was .late in the summer when Daisy re-
covered from the fever. All through the autumn,
Robertson gave her walks and drives, bought her
picture-books and toys to amuse herself with
during his absence, and with a sense of grati-
tude far beyond her years, her little heart seemed
running over with love toward him.
BFefore the autumn closed my business con-
nections took me away, and for several years I
Was a stranger to pairfax. One Winter day,
when the air was thick with snowflakes, I came


back. My first thoughts Were of the Drum-
monds and Roland Robertson. Strange to say,
he was one of the first men I met. e
knew me at once, gave me a hearty greeting,
and insisted upon my going along with him to
his house.
There Was no need to ask him how he was
getting on. jis surroundings showed worldly
prosperity, his face, the happy, upright man.
-Ic looked grave when I spoke of the Drum-
monds. "IPoor eMrs. Drummond-she has been
dead for tWo years. She Was utterly worn out."
"And 7.?"
e stroked a heavy moustache. Jis object,
I think. was to conceal a smile. "Dhe is in
England at school. Jer holidays she spends
with my people."

'!' V' "And do they like her? "
"immensely. She has
grown to be a Very beautiful
girl, both in disposition \ and I, looks."
Then opening his coat, he drew from an
inner pocket a picture-the head of a lovely
young girl.
I scarcely recognized the delicate child
of old. "And does she keep up her/'
devotion to you?"
"She does." ie gave me a de- ,\
cidedly amused glance; carefully replaced 4 .
next the photograph two or three pressed '
white field daisies that had fallen out, and
put it back in his pocket.
"And what is to become of her?" Went
on curiously.
Te looked about his handsome, but solitary


drawing rooni. "I am going to England in the
spring, to .get her," he said with a laugh. "I
ha\e tried lIVing without her, and I can endure it
no longer."

The End.

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