Citation
Daisy

Material Information

Title:
Daisy
Creator:
Saunders, Marshall, 1861-1947
Banes, Charles H ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Philadelphia
Publisher:
Charles H. Banes
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
57 p. : ill. ; 20 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
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
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

Statement of Responsibility:
by Marshall Saunders.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026947317 ( ALEPH )
ALH7584 ( NOTIS )
181822547 ( OCLC )

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Page 20.





DAISY

BY

MARSHALL SAUNDERS

Author of “Beautiful Joe”

“A little child shall lead them’’

PHILADELPHIA
CHARLES H. BANES
1420 Chestnut Street



PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This little stor ; by Miss Marshall Saunders,
author of “Beautiful Joe,” appeared some years
ago in Ringland, 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.







CONTENTS

Chapter |
A Baby's (Grace,

Chapter II

Sunshine and Shadow,

Chapter II
Almost Leost,

Chapter I\)
Leife’s Benediction,

39

Ag







CHAPTER I

A BABY’S GRACE



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\ Zips (ONE evening, Mrs. [rummond, >

the tired, careworn Woman who Ay
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presided over our boarding house, AS

Py
A W; glanced down the well-spread table, and in-
YAN 7
Y/ iff A formed us that the next day we were to
|



e.

a MM Re Robe rtson,

a young bank clerk who had lately come

have a new boarder

from. Eingland to our prosperous Canadian

, town.
| knew the lad by reputation, and the next
morning when he sauntered into the dining room,
| looked at him carefully. Poor boy, his eye

was heavy, and his step languid, In his foolish
9



10 DAISV

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.

e sat opposite me, and | could see that
he was making a mere pretence of taking his
breakfast.

Presently, there was a_ remark from Mrs.
rummond’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. ut the strangest



DAISY II

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, “Pat's
a berry fine-lookin’ boy, mamma.”

Riverybody smiled, for the boy in question,
though manly and stalwart in appearance, had a

He blushed a_ little, and

e
e

decidedly plain face.
bent over his plate. Mes. )rummond took her
hand from the coffee-urn long enough to lay it

‘

on Baisy’s head: “Hush, child, you must not
talk at the table.”

Ul emer dae hand Said the: child. ind
displeased tone. “Then rapping on the table with

her spoon, to call Robertson’s: attention, she asked,

“Boy, what's your name?”’



12 DAISY

“Roland Robertson,” he replied, with an em-
barrassed laugh.

Baisy, intensely interested, and altogether re-
gardiess of the boarders’ amused glances, said in
a stage whisper, while she solemnly wagged her
curly head, “Woland Wobertson, | love you.”
‘T'hen scrambling out of her high-chair, she ran
down the long room, and peremptorily demanded
a seat on his knee.

+e started, looked annoyed, then sheepish,
and finally took her up. |t did not suit his
Einglish reserve to be made the cynosure of all
eyes. [aisy sedately arranged her flounces,
then watched him playing with his food. “Bon’t
you like fwicasseed chicken?” she asked, gently.

“Yes,” he said; “but | am not hungry.”

“Some mornin’s | eat nuffin too,” she said,



Ne

DAISY 13

in a relieved way, ‘‘ more partickler when | 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 solicitide. “["hen turning to
a lady next her, who had finished her breakfast,
and was indolently fanning herself, “Rive me dat
fan, de poor darlin’ is hot.”
oth on that occasion and many subsequent
ones, Baisy amused us by the epithets she be-
*y stowed upon her favorite. We found that she
aa had not been an inattentive observer of the many

Xi
newly married couples that had sojourned at

uy Vee
‘ Ny Mrs. )rummond’s.
Y ee Robertson was fanned for several




z

Bye WS minutes—Baisy striking his face,



14 DAISY

with. an extra now and then for his nose, in her
awkward zeal, until | 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. @bhe 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. ‘He complied with a pretty good
grace. Baisy kept up an unbroken scrutiny of
his face, and presently dodging a spoonful of milk,
laid a pink forefinger on his upper lip. _ “T'here
was just the faintest ~ suspicion of a moustache
there. ..““| fordet what you call dis,” she said,
s moss—moss—— :

“ Moustache,’ he replied, abruptly bringing

the porridge feeding performance to a close, and



DAISY 15

putting her on her tiny feet. She ran out of
the room after him, pulling the napkin from her
neck as she went. When | reached the hall,
Robertson was taking down his hat from the rack,
Baisy in close attendance. She was Just prefac-
ing a remark with, «Woland, love,” when Mrs.
[rummond came out of the dining room. “Daisy,”
she said, peevishly, “you must say Mr. Robertson.”
oe ow berry cross you are dis mornin’,”’ 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. a ee

“No,” he replied, his hand on. the door, |
lunch in town; you won't see me till evening.
The child’s face fell, and she turned silently away.

| went out quickly, and overtook ‘him before ‘he



16 DAISY

reached the corner of the street. “That child
seems to have taken quite a fancy to you, | said
quietly ; “T never before knew her to show so much

interest in any one.’

“1 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.
When | went to engage my room, she was sitting
in a corner alone, and | gave her a picture |
happened to have in my pocket.” He stopped
suddenly. e det motutell ime thencron adel
find out until long afterward, that the little, lonely
side had del im of a decd Geter of he
and that when he gave her the picture, he gave
her a kiss with it.

| made some trite remark about the softening

and good influences a child can throw around



DAISY 17

one—| did not intend to hint at all that he was
in need of such influences; 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.

| did not see him again until evening.
entered the dining room on the first stroke of the
dinner bell. Mrs. rummond had just preceded
me. | could not help smiling at her dismayed
face. Baisy, 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 | would not let her put on. her. best dress

for him.”



18 DAISY

While she was speaking Robertson entered the
room. e was in_ better spirits than in the
morning. Wen his eye fell on Baisy, sitting
flushed with victory beside his plate, he smiled and
pinched her cheek as he sat down. BJuring 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, eV ou wed-haired man,
you—don’ t you see dat Welend: wants some vege-
tables? Pass some quick.”

inner over, all scattered about the house.
Baisy never retired earlier than any other per-

son, so | watched her curiously to see what ‘she :



DAISY 19

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,
“Pin afraid you re going to be a flirt.””
uWhat'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 Baisy—she was yet at the stage of
believing everything she heard. She shrugged
her white shoulders, as she said, “Brefful!’? and

hugged her dingy cat a little closer. Presently

they all laughed. She had thrown the cat to



20 DAISV

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.

Baisy 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.

«No, Baisy,” he said, trying to escape her
detaining hands, ce] am going to see-a play.”

«MM oland,” 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.

lt Was not a very inviting prospect. He’



DAISY 21

laughed, put her aside, saying, “Some~ other
time, little girl,’’ and went toward the hall door.
T’he child watched him, her little breast heaving,
her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her
dress. He was ' going to leave her, the only
person in the house whom she cared for. The
disappointment was too great, «Qh, Wy clend= |
fought you would stay,” she said; in a choking
voice. | hen 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.
eMWhatever: 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”



22 DAISY

Robertson hurried back at the sound of the
wiailing voice. “‘FJas she hurt herself?” he asked
anxiously. fle looked astonished when we ex-
plained the cause of her emotion. “‘B)on’t cry,
Baisy,” he said, “| will stay with you to-morrow
evening.” : |

The child’s sobs redoubled. Fle hesitated,
looked at his watch, then muttered “| suppose |
would be a brute to leave her like this,”

“Baisy,” | 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 Baisy. She
spent them in one of the parlors, leaning against

Robertson’s knee, looking at photographs of the



DAISY 23

Athenian Marbles. 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. Nien he came down, | saw him
glance irresolutely at the clock, as if uncertain
whether to go out or not. | asked him whether
he would like to come to my room. | had some
curios which | had picked . up in my rambles
about the world which | thought would be of
interest to him. | @ome of them | told him were
from (\thens, and bore some elation to the Mar-
bles he had been examining. He thanked me
very politely, but very stiffly, and said that at some

future time he would like to see them. In



24 DAISY

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.



CHAPTER II

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW

25









PY STOHE next day was Sunday. As

came downstairs in the morn-

ing | saw that Baisy was in her old place, on
the lowest step of the staircase. My salutation
she returned with reserve, but presently | heard
a gay, « Mornin’, dear,” and turning around, saw
that she was holding up her face to Robertson
fora kiss. Before they entered the dining room,
she made solicitous inquiries about his night's rest,
fe laughed shortly. “| haven't slept so well
for many a night,” he said. Her little face

brightened, and they went together to the table.
27



28 _ DAISY

The church bells were ringing when we finished
breakfast, and» some one laughingly asked [aisy
where he was going to attend service. “Vou
are teasin’ me,” she said rebukingly; “‘you know
| berry seldom go out.”

—“Boes 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.
Baisy was watching him attentively. ON eland

oe

she said ~ inquiringly, Hlave you any work dis:

mornin’ ?’””
« No, Baisy.”
“Then can’t you dive me a walk?”
Her file Hande stele confidingly in his. Her



DAISY 29

tone Was coaxing in the extreme. He laughed,



and said: “Very well—go ask your mamma.”

In delighted surprise, she scampered to her
mother’s end of the table. « Mamma, may | go
a-walkin’ wid Wie ri oMithter Wobertsen oe
Mrs. [rummond looked up, hastily ran her eyes
over [aisy’s shabby frock, then over Robertson’s
fee deomeneuit of clothes. EN have nothing
fit ‘to wear, child.” ,

Baisy’s face became. the. picture of despair.
The child looks very well as she isa interposed
Robertson dryly, as he walked toward them, “and
it is -a warm day; she only wants a bonnet.”’
Daisy listened in delight, then when her mother’s
consent was gained, seized [Robertson’s fingers
and pressed them to her lips. Not long after |

had taken my seat in church that morning, 4 tall



young man with
a ckild clinging to
him, came walk.

ing up the aisle



to a seat in front

ee vin RS
of me. aS my surprise, ] saws. :
Robertson and Baisy. He, fear, £&

napped a little during the sermon. Not a SS
word was lost on Baisy. 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. f\s we passed through the hot,
sunny streets, Robertson, as if to apologize for
being in church, said, “After We got outdoors
this morning, Baisy insisted upon going to church,

to see the clergyman ‘wing de bells.’
30



DAISV 3t

“The child is almost a heathen,” | answered,
in a low voice; ce] wish her mother would send
her to Sunday-school.””

Baisy’s sharp ears caught my remark. «ls
dat where little chillens go Sunday afternoons,
wid pretty books under dere arms?”

i Nee? | replied ; “wouldn't you like to go
too?”

« May I, Woland2” eagerly, “| will be
berry good.”

He laughed, and said that they must ask her
mamma_ to give the subject her consideration,

Ror the rest of the day, Baisy 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”



32 DAISY

came trooping downstairs. [he sound of their
merry voices floated to the room where | was
sitting. But they were all hushed, when a baby-
ish voice asked, “Are you going out, Woland?”

Robertson résorted to artifice to prevent the

recurrence of a scene. “Daisy,” he said, ‘‘my

fe tee Me Denounce
the shoulder of the youth nearest himn—‘‘is a great
admirer of yellow cats. Bo you suppose that
Pompey could be persuaded to walk upstairs and
say ‘‘How-do-you-do” to him?”

“@h yes, dear boy,” said the child, trotting
dowestare to follll her favorites chest When
the sound of her footsteps died away, there was
ie) louie, end came one that pretty child, Robertson?” "["hen the door

banged, and there was silence.



DAISY 33

When | heard Baisy returning, | went to the
door. ®he 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 Mithter Wobertsen 2” she inquired
of me in a dignified way.

« te has gone out,” | said, as gently as |
could. «Won't you come and talk to me for a
little while 2” Bisregarding the latter part of
my sentence, she said mournfully, «Do you weally
fink so?”

| nodded my head. She let the cat slip to
the floor; with a wrathful “Get downstairs, you
wetched 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



34 DAISY

great trouble, ‘There | think she passed the
next hour, A\bout nine o'clock she appeared and
from that time until nearly every one in the house
had, gone to bed, she wandered restlessly, but
quietly, about the parlors and halls. | knew
what she was waiting for—poor, little, lonely

creature, Shortly after eleven, Mrs. Brummond

put her head in the room. «Why, Baisy,”’ fret-

fully, “‘aren’t you in bed yet? Go right up.
stairs.”

‘T'he child silently obeyed, refusing, by a dis-
dainful gesture, my offer to carry her, ‘T'hat
night | could not get to sleep. [t seemed as if
| too was listening for a returning footstep. About
one oclock, there was a sound on the. staircase.
| got up, opened my door, and seeing that the

night-light was burning in the hall, stepped out.



DAISY 35

Robertson, with his hand on the railing, and
a terribly red face, was coming slowly upstairs.
dust 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, “| fought you was lost, like de
Babes in de Wood.”

He steadied himself against the wall, only
half comprehending what she said. ‘['hen he
muttered. thickly, “Go to bed, child.”

«Vewy well,’ she murmured obediently, then
standing on tip-toe, “Kiss me good-night, We
land.”

With abashed eyes and shamed countenance,
the young man looked down at the innocent, bab
face, shining out of its tangle of curls. He was
not fit to kiss her and he knew it, He turned



36 DAISY

_ his head from her, and in tones harsher than he
really meant said, “Go away, Daisy.”

Whe arid still clung to him. ees dide not
understand why the caress should be denicd her.
Suddenly his mood changed. He 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 | has-
tened toward her, took her up in my arms, and
rapped at her mother’s door. Mrs. rummond
was still up, sitting before a table, making entries
in an account book. She started in nervous
surprise, then when explained matters, looked
toward the empty crib, and said, She must have
slipped by me when my back was turned. fas

she fainted ? She sometimes does, | don’t



DAISY 37

know why she should be such a delicate child.
Please put her in the crib. | will get some
brandy.”

| glanced uneasily at the child’s pale face, then
quitted the room. Early the next morning, Mrs.
rummond knocked at my door. a wish you
would come and look at Baisy,” she said queru-
lously; ‘she has not slept all night, and now she
has fallen into a kind of stupor; | can’t get her
to speak to me.”

| hurried to the child’s cot, and bending over
it said, “Baisy, don't you want some breakfast ?””

She neither moved nor spoke, and after mak-
ing other ineffectual attempts to rouse her, | said,
“The child is ill—you must call a doctor.”

“Suppose we . get Mr. Robertson to speak to
her,’ she replied. This may be only temper.”



38 DAISY

@n going to his room | shook him vigorously.
“Robertson, Robertson, wake up.” After some.
difficulty, | roused him. He shuffled off the bed
as | told him my errand, and in a moment we
were beside the sick child.

“Speak to her,” said Mrs. Brummond im.
patiently; “she is ill” 3

ale bitched Wie Wand! over bis fece and lean.
ing over her said, “B)aisy, won’t you speak to
me?”’ |

A\t-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
liad cuttered
unspeakably dreadful coming from her childish lips.

“Put on your coat,” | said, “and go for a

doctor; the child’s mind is wandering,”



CHAPTER Ill

ALMOST LOST

39









TUFAT was the beginning of troublous times.

Hor that day, and many subsequent days,

the angel of death hovered over the child. f\
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. He, poor
. iC

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 | 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. Io you know anything about .
41



42 2 = DAISY:

him? Can you tell me anything in regard to
his habits ?”’

“Very little,” | said hesitatingly. | knew
that the man before me was a model of all virtues,
and had very little patience with youthful follies.
He spoke a few words fea disparaging way,
and | knew that Robertson’s careless habits were
drawing suspicion upon him, and endangering the
remarkably good position he held. “T'he thought
flashed into my mind, that perhaps it would be
as well for little Baisy 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. | pitied Robert.
son from the bottomi of my heart. e was

going about the house with a set face which as-



DAISY 43

sured me that he had not the slightest hope of
the child’s recovery. He never spoke to any
one, and after the bank closed, came home and
shut himelf up in his room. How he passed
the time no one knew. ®ne night, | heard
Mrs. Brummond come to his door, knock gently,
and ask whether he would like to come and say
good-bye to Baisy. 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. | 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. |

paused on the . threshold. Hehe room was



. | 6G
) the grave. Between the win-
\
\ &









ww
x Ss
ec
oe
; ay init
dimly lighted colllyf7
nt 1-2 ; a
f “XN ZAG e EN
Re fj 1A Z
SA and as quiet as &




ff dows, von her mother’s

ate bei large bed, the

child lay—— a little, frail, white
Zip.

ghost, ~ #/ her skin deathly pale,

hy
and drawn very tightly over her

his hands clasped around the iron
bars with a kind of stony com-

posure on his face.



Baisy gave him a little, wistful f i

f





DAISY 45

smile. Her 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. [?>resently, she murmured a request that
he would come beside her. The nurse made

room for him by the pillow. , He knelt down,
clenching one hand in the white counterpane with
a vice-like grasp, and holding gently in the other
the wasted fingers that Baisy stole feebly toward
him.

iW clone: dear boy,” she murmured, in a
scarcely audible voice, “lve been werry ill.”

His forehead contracted a little. Ne |
know,” and his voice was very soft and tender
and had the sound of tears in it.

“But I'm better now. Mebbe ltl get up

- . 299
In de mornin .



46 DAISY

tHe looked at her. Flor 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
away.

lis face became like marble. ‘The child
was dying, and she did not know it. ‘He put
his lips to her ear: “B)aisy,”” in an agonized voice,
“this is a sad world; wouldn’t you like to go
and leave it?” |

T’he child lifted her heavy lids. “‘Leeave it,”
she lisped.

“Yes, and go to heaven,” he ejaculated in
a desperate, broken voice, ‘‘where the lord Jesus
our Saviour is. You will be very happy there.

He will give you a white robe and a golden



DAISY 47

harp, and you will have other little children to
play with you; and there will be beautiful fields
and flowers—’

«How werry nice,’ half sighed, half breathed
the exhausted child. <\ sweet, almost seraphic
smile, flitted over her little face. "['hen a doubt
assailed her, With a last, supreme effort, she
tried to raise herself, and look in his face. ‘re
you comin’ too, Woland?”

A look of blank despair met her loving glance.
Surprised and bewildered, she shook off for an
instant her coming lethargy. «Woland,” she said
sharply, “1 sha’n’t go to heaven widout you.”
T’hen she sank back on the pillow—her eyes
closed.

The frightful tension in which the lad held
himself gave way. ler little fingers slipped



48 DAISY

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

watching the coming of the end.



CHAPTER IV

LIFE’S BENEDICTION

49









t ‘
| we poor, short-sighted mortals had the plan-

ning of our lives, how strangely would they
be laid out! | 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 waked 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. He staggered to his feet,
@ S48

51



52 DAISY

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. The heavy stamp of affliction had been
laid upon him. He was a man now, in the
best sense of the word,

Bay by day, Baisy 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: ata 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, ler

solitary life was at an end. Half his leisure



DAISY — 53

time he spent with her. This had the inevitable
effect of lessening his intercourse with his former
boon companions. T’hey had claimed a monop-
oly of his time. Now 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 seat, and Baisy’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. | he 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-



54 DAISY

tions, though her preference for Robertson was
decidedly marked, Ewen Mrs. rummond was
changing. She often took Baisy on her lap
now, and | had seen her- brush away a tear
when the child tried to smooth out her wrinkles
with her tiny hand,

lt was .late in the summer when Baisy 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.

Before the autumn closed my business con-
nections took me away, and for several years |
was a stranger to Fairfax. One winter day,

when the air was thick with snowflakes, | came



DAISV 55

back, My first thoughts were of the rum.
monds and Roland Robertson. @trange to say,
he was one of the first men | met, le
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

dly

prosperity, his face, the happy, upright. man,
PE OSRelity ’ Reames Bald



getting on. His surroundings showed wor
@ @ G @

e
@

fle looked grave when | spoke of the [rum-
monds. [oor Mrs. rummond—she has: been
dead for two years. She was utterly worn out.”
“And Baisy ?”
He stroked a heavy moustache. His object,
| think, was to conceal a smile. “She is in

Bingland at. school, er holidays she spends
g iy Pp

with my people.”



Pp a
A N AL “And do they like her? ”’
“A E te ae
> Aide nA y

Ze ”
| 2% 2 47 Se “|mmensely. She has
WANS
atown | to be a ssai# NC very -NY\ 4 beautiful
TERN SW
girl, both in disposition \n Oe? looks,”
Si ie
Then opening his coat, he “drew | from an
inner pocket a picture—the head of a lovely We
\




young girl.

‘| scarcely recognized the delicate child _
of old. “And does she keep up her A”
devotion to you?”

“She docs.” le gave me ade- ay
cidedly amused glance; carefully replaced aN
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.

He looked about his handsome, but solitary
56



DAISY 57

drawing room. el am going to Bingland in the
spring, to get her,’ he said with a laugh. cc]

have tried living without her, and | can endure it

no longer.”

The Bind.





Fh 6 84 |









Full Text

The Baldwin Library

University
RmB wt





ee
<
C




Page 20.


DAISY

BY

MARSHALL SAUNDERS

Author of “Beautiful Joe”

“A little child shall lead them’’

PHILADELPHIA
CHARLES H. BANES
1420 Chestnut Street
PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This little stor ; by Miss Marshall Saunders,
author of “Beautiful Joe,” appeared some years
ago in Ringland, 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.

CONTENTS

Chapter |
A Baby's (Grace,

Chapter II

Sunshine and Shadow,

Chapter II
Almost Leost,

Chapter I\)
Leife’s Benediction,

39

Ag

CHAPTER I

A BABY’S GRACE
op -
t Xe








yr
WR:

WZ

~@\

We





N

ra

3

\\
AK

\ Zips (ONE evening, Mrs. [rummond, >

the tired, careworn Woman who Ay
/

WW
\




SS

CPP
é i
presided over our boarding house, AS

Py
A W; glanced down the well-spread table, and in-
YAN 7
Y/ iff A formed us that the next day we were to
|



e.

a MM Re Robe rtson,

a young bank clerk who had lately come

have a new boarder

from. Eingland to our prosperous Canadian

, town.
| knew the lad by reputation, and the next
morning when he sauntered into the dining room,
| looked at him carefully. Poor boy, his eye

was heavy, and his step languid, In his foolish
9
10 DAISV

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.

e sat opposite me, and | could see that
he was making a mere pretence of taking his
breakfast.

Presently, there was a_ remark from Mrs.
rummond’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. ut the strangest
DAISY II

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, “Pat's
a berry fine-lookin’ boy, mamma.”

Riverybody smiled, for the boy in question,
though manly and stalwart in appearance, had a

He blushed a_ little, and

e
e

decidedly plain face.
bent over his plate. Mes. )rummond took her
hand from the coffee-urn long enough to lay it

‘

on Baisy’s head: “Hush, child, you must not
talk at the table.”

Ul emer dae hand Said the: child. ind
displeased tone. “Then rapping on the table with

her spoon, to call Robertson’s: attention, she asked,

“Boy, what's your name?”’
12 DAISY

“Roland Robertson,” he replied, with an em-
barrassed laugh.

Baisy, intensely interested, and altogether re-
gardiess of the boarders’ amused glances, said in
a stage whisper, while she solemnly wagged her
curly head, “Woland Wobertson, | love you.”
‘T'hen scrambling out of her high-chair, she ran
down the long room, and peremptorily demanded
a seat on his knee.

+e started, looked annoyed, then sheepish,
and finally took her up. |t did not suit his
Einglish reserve to be made the cynosure of all
eyes. [aisy sedately arranged her flounces,
then watched him playing with his food. “Bon’t
you like fwicasseed chicken?” she asked, gently.

“Yes,” he said; “but | am not hungry.”

“Some mornin’s | eat nuffin too,” she said,
Ne

DAISY 13

in a relieved way, ‘‘ more partickler when | 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 solicitide. “["hen turning to
a lady next her, who had finished her breakfast,
and was indolently fanning herself, “Rive me dat
fan, de poor darlin’ is hot.”
oth on that occasion and many subsequent
ones, Baisy amused us by the epithets she be-
*y stowed upon her favorite. We found that she
aa had not been an inattentive observer of the many

Xi
newly married couples that had sojourned at

uy Vee
‘ Ny Mrs. )rummond’s.
Y ee Robertson was fanned for several




z

Bye WS minutes—Baisy striking his face,
14 DAISY

with. an extra now and then for his nose, in her
awkward zeal, until | 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. @bhe 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. ‘He complied with a pretty good
grace. Baisy kept up an unbroken scrutiny of
his face, and presently dodging a spoonful of milk,
laid a pink forefinger on his upper lip. _ “T'here
was just the faintest ~ suspicion of a moustache
there. ..““| fordet what you call dis,” she said,
s moss—moss—— :

“ Moustache,’ he replied, abruptly bringing

the porridge feeding performance to a close, and
DAISY 15

putting her on her tiny feet. She ran out of
the room after him, pulling the napkin from her
neck as she went. When | reached the hall,
Robertson was taking down his hat from the rack,
Baisy in close attendance. She was Just prefac-
ing a remark with, «Woland, love,” when Mrs.
[rummond came out of the dining room. “Daisy,”
she said, peevishly, “you must say Mr. Robertson.”
oe ow berry cross you are dis mornin’,”’ 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. a ee

“No,” he replied, his hand on. the door, |
lunch in town; you won't see me till evening.
The child’s face fell, and she turned silently away.

| went out quickly, and overtook ‘him before ‘he
16 DAISY

reached the corner of the street. “That child
seems to have taken quite a fancy to you, | said
quietly ; “T never before knew her to show so much

interest in any one.’

“1 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.
When | went to engage my room, she was sitting
in a corner alone, and | gave her a picture |
happened to have in my pocket.” He stopped
suddenly. e det motutell ime thencron adel
find out until long afterward, that the little, lonely
side had del im of a decd Geter of he
and that when he gave her the picture, he gave
her a kiss with it.

| made some trite remark about the softening

and good influences a child can throw around
DAISY 17

one—| did not intend to hint at all that he was
in need of such influences; 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.

| did not see him again until evening.
entered the dining room on the first stroke of the
dinner bell. Mrs. rummond had just preceded
me. | could not help smiling at her dismayed
face. Baisy, 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 | would not let her put on. her. best dress

for him.”
18 DAISY

While she was speaking Robertson entered the
room. e was in_ better spirits than in the
morning. Wen his eye fell on Baisy, sitting
flushed with victory beside his plate, he smiled and
pinched her cheek as he sat down. BJuring 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, eV ou wed-haired man,
you—don’ t you see dat Welend: wants some vege-
tables? Pass some quick.”

inner over, all scattered about the house.
Baisy never retired earlier than any other per-

son, so | watched her curiously to see what ‘she :
DAISY 19

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,
“Pin afraid you re going to be a flirt.””
uWhat'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 Baisy—she was yet at the stage of
believing everything she heard. She shrugged
her white shoulders, as she said, “Brefful!’? and

hugged her dingy cat a little closer. Presently

they all laughed. She had thrown the cat to
20 DAISV

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.

Baisy 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.

«No, Baisy,” he said, trying to escape her
detaining hands, ce] am going to see-a play.”

«MM oland,” 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.

lt Was not a very inviting prospect. He’
DAISY 21

laughed, put her aside, saying, “Some~ other
time, little girl,’’ and went toward the hall door.
T’he child watched him, her little breast heaving,
her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her
dress. He was ' going to leave her, the only
person in the house whom she cared for. The
disappointment was too great, «Qh, Wy clend= |
fought you would stay,” she said; in a choking
voice. | hen 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.
eMWhatever: 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”
22 DAISY

Robertson hurried back at the sound of the
wiailing voice. “‘FJas she hurt herself?” he asked
anxiously. fle looked astonished when we ex-
plained the cause of her emotion. “‘B)on’t cry,
Baisy,” he said, “| will stay with you to-morrow
evening.” : |

The child’s sobs redoubled. Fle hesitated,
looked at his watch, then muttered “| suppose |
would be a brute to leave her like this,”

“Baisy,” | 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 Baisy. She
spent them in one of the parlors, leaning against

Robertson’s knee, looking at photographs of the
DAISY 23

Athenian Marbles. 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. Nien he came down, | saw him
glance irresolutely at the clock, as if uncertain
whether to go out or not. | asked him whether
he would like to come to my room. | had some
curios which | had picked . up in my rambles
about the world which | thought would be of
interest to him. | @ome of them | told him were
from (\thens, and bore some elation to the Mar-
bles he had been examining. He thanked me
very politely, but very stiffly, and said that at some

future time he would like to see them. In
24 DAISY

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.
CHAPTER II

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW

25



PY STOHE next day was Sunday. As

came downstairs in the morn-

ing | saw that Baisy was in her old place, on
the lowest step of the staircase. My salutation
she returned with reserve, but presently | heard
a gay, « Mornin’, dear,” and turning around, saw
that she was holding up her face to Robertson
fora kiss. Before they entered the dining room,
she made solicitous inquiries about his night's rest,
fe laughed shortly. “| haven't slept so well
for many a night,” he said. Her little face

brightened, and they went together to the table.
27
28 _ DAISY

The church bells were ringing when we finished
breakfast, and» some one laughingly asked [aisy
where he was going to attend service. “Vou
are teasin’ me,” she said rebukingly; “‘you know
| berry seldom go out.”

—“Boes 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.
Baisy was watching him attentively. ON eland

oe

she said ~ inquiringly, Hlave you any work dis:

mornin’ ?’””
« No, Baisy.”
“Then can’t you dive me a walk?”
Her file Hande stele confidingly in his. Her
DAISY 29

tone Was coaxing in the extreme. He laughed,



and said: “Very well—go ask your mamma.”

In delighted surprise, she scampered to her
mother’s end of the table. « Mamma, may | go
a-walkin’ wid Wie ri oMithter Wobertsen oe
Mrs. [rummond looked up, hastily ran her eyes
over [aisy’s shabby frock, then over Robertson’s
fee deomeneuit of clothes. EN have nothing
fit ‘to wear, child.” ,

Baisy’s face became. the. picture of despair.
The child looks very well as she isa interposed
Robertson dryly, as he walked toward them, “and
it is -a warm day; she only wants a bonnet.”’
Daisy listened in delight, then when her mother’s
consent was gained, seized [Robertson’s fingers
and pressed them to her lips. Not long after |

had taken my seat in church that morning, 4 tall
young man with
a ckild clinging to
him, came walk.

ing up the aisle



to a seat in front

ee vin RS
of me. aS my surprise, ] saws. :
Robertson and Baisy. He, fear, £&

napped a little during the sermon. Not a SS
word was lost on Baisy. 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. f\s we passed through the hot,
sunny streets, Robertson, as if to apologize for
being in church, said, “After We got outdoors
this morning, Baisy insisted upon going to church,

to see the clergyman ‘wing de bells.’
30
DAISV 3t

“The child is almost a heathen,” | answered,
in a low voice; ce] wish her mother would send
her to Sunday-school.””

Baisy’s sharp ears caught my remark. «ls
dat where little chillens go Sunday afternoons,
wid pretty books under dere arms?”

i Nee? | replied ; “wouldn't you like to go
too?”

« May I, Woland2” eagerly, “| will be
berry good.”

He laughed, and said that they must ask her
mamma_ to give the subject her consideration,

Ror the rest of the day, Baisy 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”
32 DAISY

came trooping downstairs. [he sound of their
merry voices floated to the room where | was
sitting. But they were all hushed, when a baby-
ish voice asked, “Are you going out, Woland?”

Robertson résorted to artifice to prevent the

recurrence of a scene. “Daisy,” he said, ‘‘my

fe tee Me Denounce
the shoulder of the youth nearest himn—‘‘is a great
admirer of yellow cats. Bo you suppose that
Pompey could be persuaded to walk upstairs and
say ‘‘How-do-you-do” to him?”

“@h yes, dear boy,” said the child, trotting
dowestare to follll her favorites chest When
the sound of her footsteps died away, there was
ie) louie, end came one that pretty child, Robertson?” "["hen the door

banged, and there was silence.
DAISY 33

When | heard Baisy returning, | went to the
door. ®he 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 Mithter Wobertsen 2” she inquired
of me in a dignified way.

« te has gone out,” | said, as gently as |
could. «Won't you come and talk to me for a
little while 2” Bisregarding the latter part of
my sentence, she said mournfully, «Do you weally
fink so?”

| nodded my head. She let the cat slip to
the floor; with a wrathful “Get downstairs, you
wetched 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
34 DAISY

great trouble, ‘There | think she passed the
next hour, A\bout nine o'clock she appeared and
from that time until nearly every one in the house
had, gone to bed, she wandered restlessly, but
quietly, about the parlors and halls. | knew
what she was waiting for—poor, little, lonely

creature, Shortly after eleven, Mrs. Brummond

put her head in the room. «Why, Baisy,”’ fret-

fully, “‘aren’t you in bed yet? Go right up.
stairs.”

‘T'he child silently obeyed, refusing, by a dis-
dainful gesture, my offer to carry her, ‘T'hat
night | could not get to sleep. [t seemed as if
| too was listening for a returning footstep. About
one oclock, there was a sound on the. staircase.
| got up, opened my door, and seeing that the

night-light was burning in the hall, stepped out.
DAISY 35

Robertson, with his hand on the railing, and
a terribly red face, was coming slowly upstairs.
dust 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, “| fought you was lost, like de
Babes in de Wood.”

He steadied himself against the wall, only
half comprehending what she said. ‘['hen he
muttered. thickly, “Go to bed, child.”

«Vewy well,’ she murmured obediently, then
standing on tip-toe, “Kiss me good-night, We
land.”

With abashed eyes and shamed countenance,
the young man looked down at the innocent, bab
face, shining out of its tangle of curls. He was
not fit to kiss her and he knew it, He turned
36 DAISY

_ his head from her, and in tones harsher than he
really meant said, “Go away, Daisy.”

Whe arid still clung to him. ees dide not
understand why the caress should be denicd her.
Suddenly his mood changed. He 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 | has-
tened toward her, took her up in my arms, and
rapped at her mother’s door. Mrs. rummond
was still up, sitting before a table, making entries
in an account book. She started in nervous
surprise, then when explained matters, looked
toward the empty crib, and said, She must have
slipped by me when my back was turned. fas

she fainted ? She sometimes does, | don’t
DAISY 37

know why she should be such a delicate child.
Please put her in the crib. | will get some
brandy.”

| glanced uneasily at the child’s pale face, then
quitted the room. Early the next morning, Mrs.
rummond knocked at my door. a wish you
would come and look at Baisy,” she said queru-
lously; ‘she has not slept all night, and now she
has fallen into a kind of stupor; | can’t get her
to speak to me.”

| hurried to the child’s cot, and bending over
it said, “Baisy, don't you want some breakfast ?””

She neither moved nor spoke, and after mak-
ing other ineffectual attempts to rouse her, | said,
“The child is ill—you must call a doctor.”

“Suppose we . get Mr. Robertson to speak to
her,’ she replied. This may be only temper.”
38 DAISY

@n going to his room | shook him vigorously.
“Robertson, Robertson, wake up.” After some.
difficulty, | roused him. He shuffled off the bed
as | told him my errand, and in a moment we
were beside the sick child.

“Speak to her,” said Mrs. Brummond im.
patiently; “she is ill” 3

ale bitched Wie Wand! over bis fece and lean.
ing over her said, “B)aisy, won’t you speak to
me?”’ |

A\t-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
liad cuttered
unspeakably dreadful coming from her childish lips.

“Put on your coat,” | said, “and go for a

doctor; the child’s mind is wandering,”
CHAPTER Ill

ALMOST LOST

39



TUFAT was the beginning of troublous times.

Hor that day, and many subsequent days,

the angel of death hovered over the child. f\
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. He, poor
. iC

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 | 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. Io you know anything about .
41
42 2 = DAISY:

him? Can you tell me anything in regard to
his habits ?”’

“Very little,” | said hesitatingly. | knew
that the man before me was a model of all virtues,
and had very little patience with youthful follies.
He spoke a few words fea disparaging way,
and | knew that Robertson’s careless habits were
drawing suspicion upon him, and endangering the
remarkably good position he held. “T'he thought
flashed into my mind, that perhaps it would be
as well for little Baisy 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. | pitied Robert.
son from the bottomi of my heart. e was

going about the house with a set face which as-
DAISY 43

sured me that he had not the slightest hope of
the child’s recovery. He never spoke to any
one, and after the bank closed, came home and
shut himelf up in his room. How he passed
the time no one knew. ®ne night, | heard
Mrs. Brummond come to his door, knock gently,
and ask whether he would like to come and say
good-bye to Baisy. 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. | 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. |

paused on the . threshold. Hehe room was
. | 6G
) the grave. Between the win-
\
\ &









ww
x Ss
ec
oe
; ay init
dimly lighted colllyf7
nt 1-2 ; a
f “XN ZAG e EN
Re fj 1A Z
SA and as quiet as &




ff dows, von her mother’s

ate bei large bed, the

child lay—— a little, frail, white
Zip.

ghost, ~ #/ her skin deathly pale,

hy
and drawn very tightly over her

his hands clasped around the iron
bars with a kind of stony com-

posure on his face.



Baisy gave him a little, wistful f i

f


DAISY 45

smile. Her 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. [?>resently, she murmured a request that
he would come beside her. The nurse made

room for him by the pillow. , He knelt down,
clenching one hand in the white counterpane with
a vice-like grasp, and holding gently in the other
the wasted fingers that Baisy stole feebly toward
him.

iW clone: dear boy,” she murmured, in a
scarcely audible voice, “lve been werry ill.”

His forehead contracted a little. Ne |
know,” and his voice was very soft and tender
and had the sound of tears in it.

“But I'm better now. Mebbe ltl get up

- . 299
In de mornin .
46 DAISY

tHe looked at her. Flor 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
away.

lis face became like marble. ‘The child
was dying, and she did not know it. ‘He put
his lips to her ear: “B)aisy,”” in an agonized voice,
“this is a sad world; wouldn’t you like to go
and leave it?” |

T’he child lifted her heavy lids. “‘Leeave it,”
she lisped.

“Yes, and go to heaven,” he ejaculated in
a desperate, broken voice, ‘‘where the lord Jesus
our Saviour is. You will be very happy there.

He will give you a white robe and a golden
DAISY 47

harp, and you will have other little children to
play with you; and there will be beautiful fields
and flowers—’

«How werry nice,’ half sighed, half breathed
the exhausted child. <\ sweet, almost seraphic
smile, flitted over her little face. "['hen a doubt
assailed her, With a last, supreme effort, she
tried to raise herself, and look in his face. ‘re
you comin’ too, Woland?”

A look of blank despair met her loving glance.
Surprised and bewildered, she shook off for an
instant her coming lethargy. «Woland,” she said
sharply, “1 sha’n’t go to heaven widout you.”
T’hen she sank back on the pillow—her eyes
closed.

The frightful tension in which the lad held
himself gave way. ler little fingers slipped
48 DAISY

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

watching the coming of the end.
CHAPTER IV

LIFE’S BENEDICTION

49



t ‘
| we poor, short-sighted mortals had the plan-

ning of our lives, how strangely would they
be laid out! | 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 waked 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. He staggered to his feet,
@ S48

51
52 DAISY

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. The heavy stamp of affliction had been
laid upon him. He was a man now, in the
best sense of the word,

Bay by day, Baisy 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: ata 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, ler

solitary life was at an end. Half his leisure
DAISY — 53

time he spent with her. This had the inevitable
effect of lessening his intercourse with his former
boon companions. T’hey had claimed a monop-
oly of his time. Now 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 seat, and Baisy’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. | he 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-
54 DAISY

tions, though her preference for Robertson was
decidedly marked, Ewen Mrs. rummond was
changing. She often took Baisy on her lap
now, and | had seen her- brush away a tear
when the child tried to smooth out her wrinkles
with her tiny hand,

lt was .late in the summer when Baisy 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.

Before the autumn closed my business con-
nections took me away, and for several years |
was a stranger to Fairfax. One winter day,

when the air was thick with snowflakes, | came
DAISV 55

back, My first thoughts were of the rum.
monds and Roland Robertson. @trange to say,
he was one of the first men | met, le
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

dly

prosperity, his face, the happy, upright. man,
PE OSRelity ’ Reames Bald



getting on. His surroundings showed wor
@ @ G @

e
@

fle looked grave when | spoke of the [rum-
monds. [oor Mrs. rummond—she has: been
dead for two years. She was utterly worn out.”
“And Baisy ?”
He stroked a heavy moustache. His object,
| think, was to conceal a smile. “She is in

Bingland at. school, er holidays she spends
g iy Pp

with my people.”
Pp a
A N AL “And do they like her? ”’
“A E te ae
> Aide nA y

Ze ”
| 2% 2 47 Se “|mmensely. She has
WANS
atown | to be a ssai# NC very -NY\ 4 beautiful
TERN SW
girl, both in disposition \n Oe? looks,”
Si ie
Then opening his coat, he “drew | from an
inner pocket a picture—the head of a lovely We
\




young girl.

‘| scarcely recognized the delicate child _
of old. “And does she keep up her A”
devotion to you?”

“She docs.” le gave me ade- ay
cidedly amused glance; carefully replaced aN
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.

He looked about his handsome, but solitary
56
DAISY 57

drawing room. el am going to Bingland in the
spring, to get her,’ he said with a laugh. cc]

have tried living without her, and | can endure it

no longer.”

The Bind.


Fh 6 84 |