{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_44770/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_44770","id":"gutenberg_44770","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44770","summary":null,"tags":["Benevolence -- Juvenile fiction","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Friendship -- Juvenile fiction","Missing children -- Juvenile fiction","Swearing -- Juvenile fiction","Ten commandments -- Juvenile fiction","Ten commandments -- Name of God -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 44770-h.htm or 44770-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/44770/pg44770-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/44770/44770-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      https://archive.org/details/daisysworkthirdc00mathiala\n\n\n\n\n\nDAISY'S WORK.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nFLOWERETS.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\nFlowerets.\n\nA SERIES OF STORIES ON THE COMMANDMENTS.\n\nBY JOANNA H. MATHEWS,\n\n_Author of the \"Bessie Books.\"_\n\n\n    I. VIOLET'S IDOL. THE FIRST AND SECOND COMMANDMENTS      $0.75\n\n   II. DAISY'S WORK. THE THIRD COMMANDMENT                    0.75\n\n  III. ROSE'S TEMPTATION. THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT              0.75\n\n   IV. LILY'S LESSON. THE FIFTH COMMANDMENT                   0.75\n\n    V. HYACINTHE AND HER BROTHERS. THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT      0.75\n\n   VI. PINKIE AND THE RABBITS. THE EIGHTH, NINTH, AND\n          TENTH COMMANDMENTS                                  0.75\n\n_The set in a neat box, $4.50._\n\n\nROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,\n\n_New York_.\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n\nDAISY'S WORK.\n\nThe Third Commandment.\n\nby\n\nJOANNA H. MATHEWS,\n\nAuthor of the \"Bessie Books.\"\n\n\n    \"Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain;\n    for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his\n    name in vain.\"\n\n    \"Let your communication be yea, yea, and nay, nay; for\n    whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nNew York:\nRobert Carter and Brothers,\n530, Broadway.\n1870.\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by\nRobert Carter and Brothers,\nIn the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\n\nCambridge:\nPress of John Wilson and Son.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n              TO\n    _MY DEAR LITTLE COUSIN_,\n         LULU CHAUNCEY.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                      PAGE\n       I. THE LITTLE FLOWER-GIRL        11\n      II. A CLUSTER OF DAISIES          35\n     III. THE DAISY TRANSPLANTED        63\n      IV. DAISY'S SISTER FLOWERETS      85\n       V. DAISY AT STUDY               107\n      VI. DAISY A TEACHER              127\n     VII. THE SWEARING CLASS           151\n    VIII. DAISY'S NAME                 181\n      IX. THE LOST FOUND               201\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE FLOWER-GIRL.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nDAISY'S WORK.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE LITTLE FLOWER-GIRL.\n\n\nTHERE stood our Daisy. What a Daisy it was too; what a fair, sweet\nfloweret; pure and innocent-looking as the blossoms over which she\nbent. There she stood beside her basket of flowers, a little spot of\nbrightness and beauty amidst all the dust and heat and turmoil of the\nnoisy street, on that warm summer afternoon.\n\nIt was a street which ran beside a great railroad depot. Porters,\ncarmen, and hackmen were calling, shouting, and swearing; passengers\nwere hurrying by to catch the trains which were starting every few\nminutes; carriages driving up with their loads of ladies and children;\nand farther down the street were great trucks laden with freight, and\nexpress-wagons filled with baggage, which the railroad porters were\nunloading with a great amount of noise and crash; and amongst it all\nwas Daisy, standing opposite the door of the ladies' entrance.\n\nBut not one of all those passers-by knew that she was a \"Daisy,\"\nor that those were her namesakes which she held so lovingly in her\nlittle hands. Now and then one stopped to buy one of the five or ten\ncent bouquets, so tastefully arranged, which lay in her basket; and\nalmost all who did so had a kind word to give the child; for there\nwas something in her look and air which pleaded for tenderness and\nsympathy. It did not seem that this was her proper place; for even\nin her homely dress she looked so dainty and delicate, and moved and\nspoke so like a little lady, that it was easy to see that she had been\naccustomed to a different kind of life. But all who noticed her, or\nstopped to buy her flowers, were in such haste that none had time for\nmore than a passing interest in the child, and contented themselves\nwith wondering and pitying.\n\nDown the street came a lady with a little girl, the latter skipping and\njumping as she held her mother's hand. No wonder the little one was\nhappy, and as full of play and merry pranks as any kitten; for she had\nbeen spending such a pleasant day with mamma in the city, and was now\ngoing back with \"such lots to tell about and heaps of pretty things\" to\nher own lovely country home.\n\n\"Oh, see, mamma!\" she said, as her eye fell upon the other child, \"see\nthose pretty flowers that dear little girl is selling. She is just\nabout as large as Lola Swan, and _don't_ she look nice and sweet. Won't\nyou buy some flowers from her, mamma?\"\n\n\"You have plenty of flowers at home, dear Lily, and we have about as\nmuch as we can carry now,\" answered her mother.\n\n\"Oh, dear mamma, but those little brenkays\" (bouquets, Lily meant)\n\"would take up such a tiny mite of room, and I want you to buy some for\nkindness to the little girl. She looks so sorry out of her eyes, mamma.\"\n\nMoved by the pleadings of her little daughter, Mrs. Ward turned toward\nthe flower-girl, whom in her hurry she had nearly passed without a\nlook, and asked the price of her bouquets.\n\n\"What a pretty pot of daisies! Can't I have that, mamma?\" asked Lily.\n\nBut at this the flower-girl drew back and put one hand over the pot of\ndaisies she held in the other, as if she feared it was to be taken from\nher by force.\n\n\"I'll ask papa to carry them for me, mamma,\" said Lily.\n\n\"Ho! ho!\" said a cheery voice behind her, \"so you think papa has\nnothing better to do than turn expressman and carry all your traps, do\nyou? I wonder how many bundles are already waiting in the depot for me\nto put safely in the cars;\" and turning about Lily saw her father, who\nhad overtaken his wife and little girl.\n\n\"Oh! lots and lots!\" said Lily, jumping about with new glee as she saw\nhim. \"We bought something for everybody, papa; and I bought a present\nfor your birthday to-morrow; but it is a secret. Mamma is going to fill\nit with ink and I'll put it on your writing-table 'fore you come down\nin the morning; but you won't ask what it is, will you?\"\n\n\"Not on any account,\" said Mr. Ward. \"But you must make haste and buy\nyour flowers, or we shall not find good seats in the cars. So you want\nthese daisies, do you? How much are they, my child?\"\n\nBut again the flower-girl drew back.\n\n\"I couldn't sell them, sir,\" she said; \"at least not now, not if,----\"\n\n\"Oh! they are for some favorite customer, hey? You see, Lily, you can't\nhave them. Well, pick out your bouquets; we'll hang them about our\nnecks if we can't carry them any other way,\" said Mr. Ward. \"This is\nthe little girl I told you about, my dear,\" turning to his wife, who\nhad been looking at the sweet, sad face of the young flower vender.\n\n\"What is your name, my child?\" asked the lady.\n\n\"My name is--they call me Margaret,\" said the child, with hesitation in\nher voice and manner, and a sudden flush breaking over her face.\n\n\"There,\" said Mr. Ward, when, having paid for the flowers which Lily\nhad chosen, he hurried his wife and daughter away; \"there, my dear, I\ndid not say too much about that child, did I?\"\n\n\"Why no,\" said Mrs. Ward, looking back to the small figure beside its\nbasket of flowers, \"there is certainly something very interesting about\nher. Her speech and manner, as well as her looks, are strangely refined\nand lady-like for one in her position. I wish we had time to talk more\nto her.\"\n\nThe flower-girl looked after them and sighed,--a long, weary sigh, as\nshe watched the frolicsome Lily.\n\n\"Most all little girls have their fathers and mothers,\" she said softly\nto herself; \"but I don't have either. I wonder why God did take both of\nmine away; if He didn't know how lonesome I would be, or why He didn't\ntake me too. I don't see what good I can be to Him all alone by myself,\nexcept Betty and Jack. But then He knows, and maybe He only wants me to\nbe patient till He's ready to take me.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut the wistful eyes brightened again, as, having watched Lily and her\nfriends disappear within the door of the depot, she turned them the\nother way to see if new customers were coming.\n\n\"There he comes,\" she said, as her eye fell upon a tall,\nbroad-shouldered gentleman coming down the street, \"soldier\" written in\nevery line and motion of his figure, from the erect, stately head, down\nto the ringing, military tread of his firm foot.\n\n\"Good afternoon, little woman,\" he said, returning with a pleasant\nsmile her welcoming look; \"is my wife's bouquet all ready?\"\n\nTaking from the corner of her basket a bouquet somewhat larger than the\nrest, and of rather choicer flowers, she held it up to him.\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" she said, as she received the price; and then, with\nrising color, added, \"would it be too much trouble to carry this to the\nlady?\"\n\n\"Too much trouble? No! How much is it?\" he said, putting his hand again\ninto his pocket.\n\n\"Oh! sir, I didn't mean that. I didn't want to sell it, but to give\nit to you, if you would take it to the lady you buy flowers for every\nday. I want to send it to her because you are so kind to me, and\nbecause--because you put me in mind of--of somebody.\"\n\n\"That is it, is it?\" said the gentleman. \"Well, I can't refuse such\na pretty gift, so prettily offered. And who do I put you in mind of,\npray?\"\n\n\"Of my papa, sir. You do look like him.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said the gentleman, not much pleased at the idea that he was\nlike the father of this little poor child, above her station though she\nlooked. \"And these are daisies, hey? My wife will like them.\"\n\n\"General, do you mean to miss the train?\" said an acquaintance, as he\npassed.\n\n\"Not with my own consent, certainly,\" said the gentleman. \"I shall\nthank you for the lady to-morrow, my little girl.\"\n\nBut as he turned to go, his foot slipped upon a piece of orange-peel,\nthrown down by some careless person, and he had nearly fallen. He would\nhave been down altogether but for his little companion; but as he\ninvoluntarily put out his hand, she caught it; and that support, frail\nand slight as it was, was sufficient to steady him.\n\nKind of heart, noble and generous though he was, the soldier was\nhasty-tempered and quick, and an oath--a fearful oath--burst from his\nlips.\n\n\"Ah, you were my good angel. You have saved me from a bad fall,\" he\nsaid almost in the same breath, but in a very different tone and\nmanner, as he turned to the child.\n\nHis good angel! Ah, yes! More than he knew, his good angel. Those\nlittle hands should from this time hold him from falling into the sin\nof which he had just been guilty.\n\nYears ago General Forster would have been shocked at the thought of\nletting such words escape his lips, though even then he was none too\nreverent or careful in speaking of sacred persons or things; but in\nthe bustle and excitement of war he had, alas! like many another brave\nman, allowed himself to fall into the habit of taking God's holy\nname in vain. But careless though he might be before men in moments\nof forgetfulness, or when his hasty temper got the better of him, he\nseldom or never suffered himself to use such words before women or\nchildren; why, you shall learn.\n\n\"Why, have I hurt you?\" he asked, seeing with surprise her startled and\ntroubled face.\n\n\"No, sir, oh! no,\" she answered, catching her breath, \"but, but\"--\n\n\"Well, but what?\"\n\n\"But I am so sorry;\" and that she was so was proved, as she covered her\nface with her hands and burst into tears.\n\n\"Sorry for what?\" he asked.\n\nShe gave him no answer, but shrank a little away.\n\n\"Sorry for what?\" he repeated, as if determined to know; and the tone\nof command, which seemed to say he was used to instant obedience,\nforced her to speak, whether she would or no.\n\n\"Sorry for those words you said, sir,\" she sobbed.\n\n\"Those words? What words?\" But his question answered itself as it\nwas spoken; for his wicked words, which but for this would have been\nforgotten the next instant, came back to him, and he stood rebuked\nbefore this poor little flower-girl. He repented already; but repented\nonly because he had distressed this simple child, in whom he took so\nmuch interest, not yet because he had grieved and offended the Holy One\nwhose name he had profaned.\n\nStill he was vexed too.\n\n\"Why, you don't mean to say,\" he said rather impatiently, \"that you\nnever hear such words as those, standing here as you do, half the day,\nwith those rough men and boys about you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir!\" she said, plaintively. \"I do hear such words, often,\noften. I try not to; but I can't help it, you see; and it makes me so\nsorry. But I thought those poor men and boys could not know how to\nread, and had never been taught better, or perhaps they did not know\nwhat God had said in His commandments. But I did not think gentlemen\nsaid such things; and I liked you _so_ much.\"\n\nAnd did she like him less now? He, the _gentleman_, the rich man, felt\nthat he could not wish to lose the respect and liking of this little\nchild whom he thought so far beneath him, and he was ashamed and sorry.\nHe knew that it was not impertinence, but only her innocent simplicity\nand truthfulness, which had caused her to say what she did. But to know\nthat he was in the wrong and to acknowledge it, were one and the same\nthing with this true-hearted man.\n\n\"You are right, Margaret,\" he said, forgetting how fast the moments\nwere flying. \"_Gentlemen_ should not say such things, especially before\nladies and children. It is bad manners; but I forgot myself just then.\"\n\nShe took her hands from her face and looked up at him. There was an\nunspoken question in the clear, earnest eyes, and it was plain that she\nwas not yet satisfied.\n\n\"Well,\" he said smiling at her, \"what troubles you still? Let me have\nit all.\"\n\n\"I was only thinking what difference could it make, sir.\"\n\n\"What difference could what make?\"\n\n\"Whether it was ladies and children who heard it, sir,\" she answered\ntimidly. \"God hears it all the same, doesn't He? And it can't make any\ndifference to Him who else hears it.\"\n\nShe looked up as she spoke at the blue sky overhead, and the look and\nthe words brought to him a sudden sense of God's constant presence and\nnearness. He had known it well enough before,--that the Almighty Eye\nsaw him always; that the Almighty Ear heard him always; but he had\nnever felt it as he did now. The gentle, timid reproof had gone far\ndeeper than the little giver had intended, and her hearer felt ashamed\nthat he had confessed to her that he would pay a respect to a woman or\nchild which he did not feel it needful to pay to his Maker. He could\nmake her no answer.\n\n\"_You_ behind time, General?\" said the voice of another friend as he\nhurried past; and the scream of the warning whistle told the gentleman\nthat he had no time to lose.\n\n\"I'll see you to-morrow. Good-by, my child. God bless you,\" he said\nhurriedly, and rushed away.\n\nBut just in time; he was the last passenger, and stepped upon the\nplatform of a car as the train was put in motion. The jar threw him\nonce more a little off his balance, and he caught by the rail to save\nhimself, while again hasty, profane words rose to his lips.\n\nBut they did not pass them. What though no human ear should hear; \"God\nheard them all the same,\" and they were checked before even the summer\nwind could catch them; and in their place the angels carried up the\nheart-breathed prayer, \"God keep me from them in time to come.\"\n\nHis next neighbor in the cars thought General Forster remarkably silent\nand unsociable that afternoon. He would not talk, but buried himself\nbehind his newspaper. If the neighbor had looked closer he would have\nseen that the General's eyes were fixed, not on the paper held before\nhis face, but on the little pot of daisies which rested on his knee.\nAnd over the delicate pink and white blossoms was breathed a vow,--a\nvow registered in heaven and faithfully kept on earth.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nA CLUSTER OF DAISIES.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nA CLUSTER OF DAISIES.\n\n\n\"WHAT are you thinking of, Frank?\" said Mrs. Forster, looking at her\nhusband as he stood leaning against the casing of the window, gazing\nthoughtfully out at the lovely garden beyond.\n\n\"Of a bad habit of mine,\" he answered.\n\n\"You have none; at least none that I cannot put up with,\" she said\nplayfully.\n\n\"That's not the question, dear Gertrude,\" he returned gravely. \"It is\nwhether my Maker can put up with it, and I believe that He cannot,\nsince he has said He 'will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name\nin vain.'\"\n\nMrs. Forster colored as she bent her head over the sleeping baby on her\nlap.\n\n\"You did not know, perhaps,\" her husband said, after a minute's\nsilence, \"that I was ever guilty of this--sin?\"\n\n\"I did know it, Frank; at least I have heard you now and then, when you\nwere speaking to your dogs and horses, or even when you were a little\nimpatient with the men. But you did not mean me to hear such words; and\nI noticed you never used them in my presence.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said a little sadly: \"I would not speak in my wife's presence\nwords which were not fit for her to hear; but I forgot an ear still\npurer, which I was insulting and defying. That is the second thrust I\nhave had to-day, Gertrude, which has made me feel that I have treated\nthe Almighty with less of reverence and respect than I would show to\nsome of my fellow-creatures. Let me tell you of the innocent lesson I\nreceived from the little flower-girl, who sent the daisies to you.\"\n\nAnd sitting down beside her, he told her of the teaching which had come\nto him from the little wayside blossom; to whose lonely, thirsting\nheart his few kind words and smiles had been as drops of dew from\nheaven.\n\nBut even while they talked of her and her pretty lady-like ways and\nsayings, which seemed so far above her station, they did not know\nshe was a \"Daisy,\" and that those were her namesakes over which Mrs.\nForster bent, dropping happy tears and kisses on them, mingled with\nmany a blessing on the little giver.\n\nPlucking one of the flowers from the stem, she opened her baby's tiny\nhand and placed it within it. The fairy fingers closed around it,\nclasping it tight, while the unconscious little one slept on.\n\n\"Her name is Gertrude, but we'll call her Daisy, Frank, as soon as she\nis old enough to be called any thing but baby,\" said the young mother,\n\"and her pretty pet name may serve as a reminder of this day's lesson,\nif ever it should be forgotten.\"\n\n\"You think I may need it,\" said her husband, smiling. \"I trust not; for\nthe sin, to say nothing of the vulgarity, of taking God's name in vain,\nhas been set forth so plainly by my innocent little teacher, that I\nmust have a short memory, indeed, if I failed to remember her lesson.\nShe thought _gentlemen_ must know better.\"\n\n\"But, dear,\" said the lady, \"you said you would inquire about this\nchild, and see if we could not be of some use to her.\"\n\n\"So I did,\" he answered; \"and so I will, and should have done long\nsince; but day after day I have let business or pleasure keep me till\nI had but just time to catch the train, and none to bestow on the\npoor little creature who seems to have been so grateful for the few\nkind words I have given her. You think I am rather fanciful about\nthis child, I know, Gertrude; but I am convinced that some of her few\nyears must have been spent among different people than those by whom\nshe is now surrounded. Nor am I the only one of her customers who has\nnoticed the grace of her speech and manners, so uncommon in a child\nof her class. Ward, and others beside, have seen it; but like myself\nhave never made it their business to see after her. However, to-morrow\nafternoon, I shall make it a point to be at the depot in time to have a\ntalk with her. I wonder if the woman who keeps the fruit-stall at the\ncorner, and whose child I believe she is, would give her up and let her\ngo to school.\"\n\nHe was as good as his word; and more than an hour earlier than usual,\nour little flower-girl saw \"her gentleman\" coming down the street\ntowards the depot. It was an eager, wistful little face, with some\nquestioning fear in it, that she raised to him, for she was anxious\nlest she should have offended her kind friend, as she had learned to\nthink him, by her plain speech of the day before.\n\nShe had scarcely meant to speak so plainly; the words had seemed to\nescape her without her intending it, and, it was true, had been drawn\nforth by the gentleman's own questions; but when she remembered them\nafterwards she feared that he would think her rude and disrespectful.\n\nShe need not have been afraid. His eye and voice were even kinder than\nusual as he came near to her, and he laid his hand gently on her head,\nsaying,--\n\n\"Well, my little woman! and how does the world go with you to-day? The\nlady told me to thank you very much for the daisies.\"\n\nThe young face brightened.\n\n\"Did she like them, sir?\"\n\n\"Very much indeed,--all the more because she has a little one at home\nwhom she is going to call 'Daisy' after your pretty flowers.\"\n\n\"Is she your little girl, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes, she is a mite of a Daisy, but a very precious one,\" he answered;\nthen looking into the flushed face, with its soft, shining eyes and\nparted lips, he added, \"You are a Daisy yourself.\"\n\nThe flowers she held dropped at her feet unheeded as she clasped both\nhands upon her breast, and with quick-coming breath and filling eyes,\nasked eagerly, \"How _did_ you know it, sir? how did you know it?\"\n\n\"Know what, my child? What troubles you?\"\n\n\"How did you know I was Daisy?\" she almost gasped.\n\n\"I did not know it,\" he answered in surprise. \"Is your name Daisy? I\nthought it was Margaret.\"\n\n\"They call me Margaret, sir,--Betty and Jack; but Daisy is my _own_,\n_own_ name, that papa and mamma called me,\" she answered, recovering\nherself a little.\n\n\"And where are your papa and mamma?\" he asked. \"I thought the woman who\nkeeps the fruit-stall at the corner was your mother.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, sir!\" she said. \"She is only Betty. She is very good to me,\nbut she is not mamma. Mamma was a lady,\" she added, with simple,\nchildish dignity, which told that she was a lady herself.\n\n\"But _where_ are your father and mother?\" he repeated, with fresh\ninterest in the child.\n\n\"Mamma is drowned, sir; and we could never find papa,\" she answered,\nwith such pathos in her tones.\n\n\"Come into the depot with me,\" said General Forster: \"I want to talk to\nyou.\"\n\nShe obeyed, and, taking up her basket, followed him into the\nwaiting-room, where, heedless of the many curious eyes around, he made\nher sit down beside him, and drew from her her sad, simple story:--how\nlong, long ago she had lived with papa and mamma and her little brother\nand baby sister in their own lovely home, far away from here; where it\nwas, she did not know, but in quite a different place from the great\nbustling city which she had never seen till she came here with Betty\nand Jack; how she had left home with mamma and the baby on a great\nship, where to go she could not remember; how Betty was on board, and\nmamma had been kind to her; how a dreadful storm had come and there was\ngreat confusion and terror; and then it seemed as if she went to sleep\nfor a long, long time, and knew nothing more till she found herself\nliving with Betty and Jack in their poor home far up in the city.\n\nThey had been very good to her, nursing and caring for her during the\nmany months she had been weak and ailing; and now that she was stronger\nand better, she tried to help them all she could, keeping the two small\nrooms tidy, while Betty was away attending to her stall; and in the\nafternoon selling the flowers which Jack raised in his little garden,\nand she arranged in tasteful bouquets. And, lastly, she told how from\nthe very first time she had seen General Forster, she thought he\n\"looked so like papa\" that she felt as if she must love him, and was so\nhappy when he stopped to buy flowers of her and spoke kindly to her.\n\nThe story was told with a straightforward and simple pathos, which went\nright to the listener's heart, and left him no doubt of its truth. But\nthe child could tell nothing of her own name or her parents', save that\nshe was always called \"Daisy\" at home, and that she had never since\nheard the familiar name until to-day, when she thought this stranger\nhad given it to her. Betty and Jack always called her \"Margaret;\" and\nBetty thought she knew mamma's name, but she did not. But she loved\ndaisies dearly for the sake of their name, which had been her own; and\nshe had raised and tended with loving care the little plant she had\ngiven to \"my gentleman\" as a token of gratitude for his kindness, and\nbecause he was \"so like papa.\"\n\nHaving learned all that he could from the child herself, the gentleman\nwent to the fruit-woman on the corner.\n\n\"So,\" he said, \"the little girl whom you call Margaret is not your own\ndaughter?\"\n\n\"Indade, no, sir,\" answered Betty; \"niver a daughter of me own have\nI barrin' Jack, and he's not me own at all, but jist me sister's son\nwhat died, lavin' him a babby on me hands. More betoken that it's not\na little lady like her that the likes of me would be raisin', unless\nshe'd none of her own to do it.\"\n\n\"Will you tell me how that came about?\"\n\nBetty told the story in her turn, in as plain and simple a manner as\nthe child's, though in language far different.\n\nHer husband had been steward on a sailing vessel running between New\nOrleans and New York; and about three years ago, she, being sick and\nordered change of air, had been allowed to go with him for the voyage.\nBut it made her worse instead of better; and on the return trip she\nwould have died, Betty declared, if it had not been for the kindness\nand tender nursing of a lady, \"Margaret's\" mother. This lady--\"her name\nhad been Saacyfut, she believed, but maybe she disremembered intirely,\nfor Marga_ret_ said it was not\"--was on her way to New York with her\nlittle girl who was sick, a baby, and a French nurse; but her home was\nneither there nor in New Orleans,--at least so the child afterwards\nsaid.\n\nHer own account of the storm was the same as the child's; but while the\nrecollection of the little one could go no further, Betty remembered\nonly too well the horrors of that day.\n\nWhen it was found that the ship must sink, and that all on board must\nleave her, there had been, as the little girl said, great confusion.\nHow it was, Betty could not exactly tell; she had been placed in one\nboat, the French nurse, with the child in her arms, beside her; and the\nlady was about to follow with the infant, when a spar fell, striking\nthe Frenchwoman on the head and killing her instantly, knocking\noverboard one of the three sailors who were in the boat,--while at the\nsame time the boat was parted from the ship and at the mercy of the\nraging waves. In vain did the two sailors who were left try to regain\nthe ship: they were swept further and further away, and soon lost sight\nof the vessel. They drifted about all night, and the next morning were\ntaken up by a fishing-smack which brought them to New York.\n\nFright and exposure and other hardships, while they seemed to have\ncured Betty, were too much for the poor little girl, and a long and\nterrible illness followed: after which she lay for months, too weak to\nmove or speak, and appearing to have lost all memory and sense. And\nwhen at last she grew better and stronger, and reason and recollection\ncame back, she could not tell the name of her parents or her home.\n\n\"Marga_ret_ Saacyfut,\" Betty persisted in saying the French nurse had\ncalled her little charge, \"Mamsell Marga_ret_,\" \"and if the lady's name\nwasn't Saacyfut it was mightily nigh to it.\"\n\n\"Marguerite\" had been the French woman's name for \"Daisy:\" that the\nGeneral saw plainly enough, but he could make nothing of the surname.\n\n\"But did you not seek for the child's friends, Betty?\" he asked.\n\n\"'Deed did I, sir,\" she answered. \"Didn't I even ad_ver_tise her, an'\nhow she was to be heerd of, but all to no good. An' I writ to New\nOrleans to them what owned the ship, but they were that oncivil they\nniver answered, not they. An' it took a hape of money, sir, to be\npayin' the paper, an' me such hard work to get along, an' Marga_ret_ on\nme hands, an' I had to be done with it. For ye see me man was gone wid\nthe ship, an' niver heerd of along wid the rest to this day; an' I had\nto use up the bit he'd put by in the savin's bank till the child was\nmendin' enough for me to lave her wid Jack.\"\n\n\"It was a very generous thing for you to burden yourself with the care\nof her,\" said General Forster.\n\n\"Burden is it, sir? Niver a burden was she, the swate lamb, not even\nwhen the sense had left her. An' that was what the neighbors was always\na sayin', and why didn't I put her in the hospital. An' why would I do\nthat after the mother of her savin' me from a buryin' in the say, which\nI niver could abide. For sure if it hadn't been for the lady I'd 'a\ndied on the ould ship, and they'd 'a chucked me overboard widout sayin'\nby your lave; and sure I'd niver have got over such a buryin' as that\nall the days of me life. And would I be turnin' out her child afther\nthat? An' isn't she payin' me for it now, an' 'arnin' her livin,' an'\nmine too? She an' Jack tends the bit of a garden, an' arternoons she\ncomes down an' sells her flowers, an' where'd be the heart to refuse\nher wid her pretty ways and nice manners; a lady every inch of her,\nlike her mother before her.\"\n\nAnd thrusting her head out from her stall, Betty gazed down the street\nwith admiring affection on her young _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_.\n\n\"Och! but she's the jewel of a child,\" she went on; \"and it is\nsurprisin' how me and Jack is improved and become ginteel all along of\nher. Ye see, sir, I did use to say a hape of words that maybe wer'n't\njist so; not that I meant 'em for swearin', but it was jist a way of\nspakin'. But after Marga_ret_ began to mend and get about, ye would\nhave thought she was kilt intirely if I let one out of me mouth. So\nseein' how it hurted her, I jist minded what I was about, an' Jack the\nsame, for he was a boy that swore awful, poor fellow; he'd been left to\nhimself, and how was he to know better? At first him and me minded our\ntongues, for that the child shouldn't be hurted; but by and by didn't\nshe make it plain to us that it was the great Lord himself what we was\noffendin', and knowin' she'd been tached better nor me, I jist heeded\nher. And now, sir, them words that I never thought no harm of and used\nto come so aisy, I jist leave them out of me spache widout troublin';\nand a deal better it sounds, and widout doubt more plasin' to Him\nthat's above. And Jack the same mostly, though he does let one slip now\nand agin. So ye see, sir, it's not a burden she is at all, at all, but\njist a little bit of light and comfort to the house that houlds her.\"\n\nGlad to find a listener in a \"gintleman the likes of him,\" Betty had\ntalked away to the gentlemen, so taken up with her story, that she paid\nlittle heed to the business of her stall. She made wrong change more\nthan once, gave quarts instead of pints, oranges in place of apples,\nand peanuts for sugar-plums, and provoked some impatient customers not\na little; while one wicked boy, seeing her attention was taken up with\nsomething else, ran off without paying for the pop-corn he asked for,\nand was not called back.\n\nBut Betty lost nothing by the time and thought she had given to the\ngentleman, or the interest she had shown in her young charge, as she\nfound when she looked at the number upon the note he slipped into her\nhand when he left her: a note which the warm-hearted Irishwoman laid by\n\"to buy that new gown and pair of shoes Margaret needed so bad.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE DAISY TRANSPLANTED.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE DAISY TRANSPLANTED.\n\n\n\"BETTY,\" said General Forster, stopping the next morning at the\nfruit-woman's stall, \"could you make up your mind to give up that\nlittle girl if you were sure it was for her good?\"\n\nBetty sighed and shook her head mournfully as she answered,--\n\n\"I've always looked to give her up, sir, if them Saacyfuts, or whatever\ntheir name'll be, turned up, and if it was for her good, sorra a word\nwould they hear out of me, though I won't say but it would go hard with\nme and Jack. But ye'll not be tellin' me ye've been findin' her friends\nsince last night, sir?\"\n\n\"Not the people she belongs to, certainly, Betty; but I have found\nthose who will be friends to her, and provide for her, if you will\nconsent. She should go to school and be well taught: do you not think\nso?\"\n\n\"Indade, an' there's none knows that better nor meself, sir. An' is it\nyerself that's the friend ye're spakin' of?\" and Betty gave a searching\nlook into the gentleman's face.\n\nHe smiled. \"Yes,\" he said: \"I would like to put her to school and take\ncare of her. She seems a sweet child, and a good one. And you see,\nBetty, I have it in my power to do more to find her friends than you\nare able to do, and we may trace them yet. If we never find them, I\nwill promise to provide for her as long as it may be necessary. Are you\nwilling?\"\n\nBetty again stared into the face of her questioner as if she would look\nhim through.\n\n\"I'm sinsible of your kindness, sir,\" she answered; \"but ye see I'm\nin a way risponsible for the child, not to say that she is as dear to\nme as me own flesh and blood, and I'd say 'yis,' and thank ye kindly,\nbut--ye'll excuse me plain spakin'--ye're a stranger to me, and I\ncouldn't be partin' wid Marga_ret_ widout I was certified as to yer\nka_rac_ter. For if I didn't think she'd be brought up right, niver\na foot should she stir to go wid ye. I seen Miss Gertrude Allston a\nwalkin' wid ye once last summer, sir, jist after I set up me stand\nhere, but she niver heeded me wid her swate face. But I used to be\nlaundress in her mother's house afore I was married, and a swate child\nwas Miss Gertrude and a good as ye're sayin' of Marga_ret_, and she'll\nniver go far wrong, I'll answer for it. So, if ye'll jist bring me a\nline from her and she says ye're all right, I'll not say ye nay.\"\n\nGeneral Forster laughed heartily, not one whit offended at Betty's\n\"plain spakin'.\"\n\n\"Miss Gertrude Allston, as you call her, will give me all the lines you\nwant, Betty; and she thought me right enough to marry me. She is my\nwife,--Mrs. Forster.\"\n\n\"An' is it so, sir?\" said Betty, dropping the rosy-cheeked apple she\nwas polishing, and gazing at the gentleman with a mixture of curiosity\nand admiration that was droll to see. \"Well, but ye're in luck; and\nif it's Miss Gertrude that has the managin' of ye, that's ka_rac_ter\nenough of itself, an' I'll say take the child an' my blessin' on all\nof yees. But when she gets among yer fine folks, ye'll not let her be\nforgettin' the woman what cared for her when there was none else to do\nit: will ye, sir? An' ye'll be lettin' me see her once in a while?\"\n\nThere is no need to say that this was readily promised, and the General\nwent on to tell Betty what plans he and his wife had for Daisy. She\nwas to be taken for a while to his home, where Mrs. Forster would\nprovide her with proper clothing; and then send her to Miss Collins'\nboarding-school to be taught and trained in a way to satisfy her\nfriends if they should ever find her, or that she might one day be able\nto earn her own living, if it should be needful.\n\n\"An' I'm glad she should have the bringin' up of a lady which is what I\ncouldn't give her,\" said Betty, with another sigh, for it went to her\nheart to part with her darling; \"but ye'll not be able to make her more\nof a lady nor she is now; no, not if ye dress her in gould and jewels,\nan' silks an' satins. Niver a rough word nor way has she with her, if\nshe has been with me and Jack more nor two year, nor ye couldn't find a\npurtier behaved child in all the land.\"\n\nAn hour or two later, Betty, having found a friend to \"mind\" her stall\nfor her, guided General Forster to the tiny house in the suburbs of the\ncity where she lived with Daisy and Jack.\n\nThe two children were out in the little garden gathering the flowers\nwhich were to be tied up in bouquets for Daisy's afternoon sale; and\ngreat was their surprise, when the sound of the gate-latch causing them\nto look up, they saw Betty coming home at this unusual hour of the day,\nand the gentleman with her. Their business was soon told; but although\nDaisy flushed and smiled with astonishment and delight when she heard\nwhat the \"gentleman who looked so like papa\" meant to do for her, the\nlittle face soon shadowed over again, and she shook her head gently but\nfirmly when she was asked if she would go.\n\n\"An' why for no, dear?\" asked Betty. \"Sure ye'd niver be for throwin'\naway a chance the likes of that, not to spake of it's bein' ongrateful\nto the gintleman's kindness, an' he no more nor less than the husband\nof Miss Gertrude.\"\n\nBut Daisy shook her head again; and then first begging the gentleman's\npardon, as a polite little girl should do, stepped up to her faithful\nfriend, and putting her arms about her neck whispered something in her\near.\n\nThe tears she had before with trouble kept back now started to Betty's\neyes.\n\n\"Och, an' is it that, honey?\" she said in her broadest brogue, \"an'\nye'll not let that be thrubblin' yer dear heart. What a tinder,\ngrateful little sowl it is! Ye see, sir,\" she went on, turning to the\nGeneral, while she smoothed with her loving hand the little head which\nlay upon her breast, \"ye see, sir, it's just as I tellt ye. She's a\nlady, every inch of her, an' has feelin's that's jist oncommon. An'\nthere's a matter of back rint jew, it's more'n a year, though me\nlandlord he's as good as gould, an' a bill at the poticary's, an'\nlittle scores at the baker's an' grocers what I niver got paid off yet,\nnot since the child was sick an' I couldn't rightly make things go; an'\nshe says she won't be lavin' us now that she can turn a penny wid her\nposies an' help along.\"\n\nDrawing the child to him, General Forster whispered to her in his\nturn, promising that the \"back rint\" and other \"scores\" should be paid\noff without delay if she would but come with him; and Daisy, feeling\nherself nearer home and friends than she had ever done since the\ndreadful day of the shipwreck, when she was parted from \"mamma,\" put\nher hand trustingly in his to be led where he would.\n\nBut the parting went hard. Daisy could not leave those who had been\nso kind, and shared their little all with her, without many a bitter\ntear. Betty kissed her and clung to her and called down all heaven's\nblessings on her head; and Jack hung over the gate, uttering frantic\nhowls as he watched the sobbing child led away by her new protector.\nNot one thought gave Jack to his fourteen years; not one to the\n\"fellers from beyant the lot,\" who, drawn by his cries, came flocking\nto see what ailed him who was all their terror and admiration: their\nadmiration, because he was bigger, stronger, braver than any other boy\nof his age among their crew; their terror, because of late he allowed\nno bad word to be used in his presence, banishing all who offended\nin that way from their games, choosing as his favorites and chief\ncompanions those who were most careful not to take God's name in vain.\nSo cursing and swearing had come to be much less frequent than of old\namong the lanes and lots lying around the humble house where the little\nDaisy had bloomed and grown during the last two years, dropping upon\nthe path which God had chosen for her good seed of which she knew not\nherself.\n\nBetty went back to her stand with a heavy heart, knowing that when\nshe went home that night she should miss the sweet little face which\nhad brightened and cheered her after many a hard day's work; but she\nwas half-consoled for her own loss when she saw Daisy coming down the\nstreet holding General Forster's hand. For the General's first care had\nbeen to take the little girl to a place where children's clothes could\nbe had ready-made; and where he had her fitted out, as Betty said, \"as\nnice as a new pin and as became the little lady she was by right.\"\n\nBut Daisy was as much a lady in the coarse but clean calico frock\nand patched shoes she had worn yesterday, as she was now in the nice\nclothes provided for her by General Forster; for it was the sweet\nmanners and pretty ways she had never lost which made her so, and the\nnew garments covered as warm and loving a little heart as the old\nones had done. And so Betty found, and knew that pride would have no\nplace there, when, as she reached the stand, Daisy drew her hand from\nthe gentleman's, and running behind the stall as she had many a time\ndone when she was eager to show Betty what a good afternoon's sale she\nhad made with her flowers, threw her arms about her neck and kissed\nher again and again as lovingly as she had done when she had no other\nfriend in the world.\n\nGentle Mrs. Forster gave Daisy a warm welcome to her new home; and the\nmanner in which the child fell at once into the ways and habits of\nthose about her plainly showed that they were not new to her, but that\nshe had at some time been well accustomed to a different life than that\nshe had led for the last two years.\n\nShe had ways of her own, too, that were very charming: a pretty, dainty\ngrace in her behavior and speech; a thoughtfulness and care for others,\nsurprising in any child of her age,--for Daisy could not be more than\neight years old,--and particularly so for one who had had little\nteaching for some time. It was easy to see that Daisy had received\ncareful training at one time, and that the lessons then learned had\ntaken deep root and were not yet forgotten in spite of the long\nseparation from her home and friends.\n\nIt had been intended, as General Forster told Betty, to send the little\ngirl to boarding-school at Miss Collins'; but she soon grew so closely\nto the hearts of her new friends that they felt as if they could not\nbear to part with her; and it was at last settled that her home was to\nbe with them for the present, at least, and that she should only go\nto Miss Collins for the morning, as most of the other little girls in\nGlenwood did.\n\nMrs. Forster could not bear to send from her this loving child, whose\ngreatest happiness seemed to be in making others happy, and she grew\nevery day more and more interesting as the familiar objects and customs\nabout her called up past recollections of the home and parents she\nhad lost. She would watch the General for hours at a time, as he sat\nreading or writing, or follow him with wistful eyes as he mounted his\nhorse and rode down the broad avenue \"just like papa;\" would hang over\nthe lesser Daisy as she lay sleeping, \"'cause she looks just as our\nbaby at home used to,\" and delighted to wait upon her and Mrs. Forster\nin a dainty, neat-handed manner, which showed that such loving service\ncame quite naturally to her.\n\nShe never called the infant \"baby,\" as the rest of the family did.\nWith her it was always \"little Daisy.\" She seemed to love the pretty\nname, either given to herself or another; and all the variety of choice\nflowers with which General Forster's garden was filled could not win\nher chief affection from her old favorite daisies, \"'cause mamma loved\nthem so and named me after them.\"\n\nBut though she remembered so much, the child could not recall the name\nof her parents, or where they had lived. Their name \"was not what Betty\ncalled it,\" she was sure; but none the less had it passed from her mind.\n\n\"Francine,\" the French bonne, used to call mamma \"Madame,\" and herself\n\"Mademoiselle Marguerite;\" but when she was asked what other people\nused to call mamma and papa, the little face grew clouded and pained\nwith the effort to remember; and when name after name was mentioned to\nher, she shook her head at each one.\n\nThe General tried by every means in his power to discover the friends\nwho must still be mourning the loss of their sweet little daisy\nblossom, but all in vain; and as week after week went by, he and his\nwife decided that they could not send her forth from their own roof\nunless her relations came to claim her. She was an added ray of light\nwhere all had been brightness and sunshine before,--a lovely, precious\nlittle flower, lending new fragrance and beauty to the home where she\nblossomed.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nDAISY'S SISTER FLOWERETS.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nDAISY'S SISTER FLOWERETS.\n\n\n\"GOODNESS gracious! mercy _me_!\"\n\n\"I didn't mean to, Susy; 'pon my word and honor I didn't; just as sure\nas I'm alive.\"\n\nSuch were the words uttered by two different little voices which our\nDaisy heard, as holding by General Forster's hand, she reached the gate\nof Miss Collins' garden on the first morning of her going to school in\nGlenwood.\n\nNow would it not have been thought that some terrible misfortune must\nhave called forth that exclamation from the first young speaker; or\nthat the second thought herself accused of some dreadful crime, and\nthat she must prove her innocence at once by all the strong words she\ncould think of, if she would escape severe punishment?\n\nAnd what was this mighty matter?\n\nWhy, just this.\n\nSusy Edwards and several of her schoolmates were \"making a land of\nEgypt.\" For of late the geography lesson of the young class had been\nupon that country, and they had been much interested in the pictures\nof the pyramids and Sphinx. And Susy, who \"liked to make her knowledge\nof use in her plays,\" and who was considered by the other children to\nhave a great genius in that way, had proposed that they should turn a\nportion of their play-ground into Egypt. This was thought a capital\nplan, and the recess of the day before had been employed in this\nway,--the little planners and builders leaving it with great regret,\nand returning to it before school-time that morning with fresh pleasure\nand some new ideas.\n\nThe gravel walk was supposed to be the desert; the trough which led the\nwaste water from the spring, the River Nile; while a jointed wooden\ndoll, cruelly deprived for the purpose of all its limbs, had half of\nits remainder buried in the gravel, to represent the Sphinx. Any number\nof pyramids, four or five inches high, had been built out of pebbles,\nand several were still going up.\n\nAnd Lily Ward, the pet and darling of the school, the youngest child,\nand till that day the newest scholar there, had brought that morning a\ntiny doll's bath-tub, with a doll to match lying in it, saying it was\nto be \"Moses in the bulrushes, for it couldn't be a real land of Egypt\nwithout a Moses.\"\n\nLily's idea was received with great applause and admiration, and she\nfelt rather proud of it herself when she heard it so much praised.\n\nBut a difficulty arose. The little tub did duty for the ark of\nbulrushes most beautifully, it was \"so real and so cunning;\" and never\nwas a meeker baby than the one which lay so quietly within it. But he\nmust be hidden, and nothing could be found to answer for flags. The\ngrass about the mock River Nile was quite too short for that purpose,\ntrampled on as it was through each day's playtime by at least twenty\npairs of little feet; and the willow twigs which Lola Swan planted\nwould not stand up straight enough to make a shade for the ark.\n\n\"There isn't time to plant them deep enough,\" said Lola; \"the\nschool-bell will ring in a few moments, and then we'll have to leave\nit.\"\n\n\"And the sun will go and come round here before recess,\" said Lily, in\na tone of distress, \"and Moses will be all sunburned. Besides, it isn't\na bit real: they never leave babies lying out in the sun.\"\n\n\"Put him out on the grass and turn the ark upside-down over him till we\ncome out again,\" said Susy.\n\nBut Lily scouted the idea of having her Moses treated in this way; and\nall began at once to deepen the holes for the willow twigs before the\nbell should ring.\n\nBut suddenly a bright thought struck Lily.\n\n\"Let's play Moses' mother and Miriam put a pyramid over him,\" she said.\n\"We could do that pretty quick, and it will be nice and shady for him,\nand very real too, 'cause they did have pyramids in Egypt.\"\n\nAll agreed readily, for this was thought an excellent arrangement, and\nthey fell to work as fast as possible; while Bessie Norton whispered to\nViolet Swan, \"What a smart child Lily is, isn't she?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Violet, in the same tone, \"very; and I expect when she is\ngrown up she will do something very remarkable.\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Susy Edwards, who heard them.\n\n\"Be a genius, I expect,\" answered Violet, solemnly.\n\n\"Oh, how nice!\" said Bessie, who had not the least idea what genius\nmeant, but did not like to say so.\n\nThe pyramid over the sleeping Moses was nearly completed, the little\nbuilders expecting each moment to hear the bell, when Lola Swan, coming\nwith a fresh supply of pebbles, tripped over a stick which lay upon the\ngrass, and, trying to recover herself, let her load fall around and\nupon the half-built pyramid, knocking down half a dozen or so of the\nstones which composed it. Not much harm was done, but Susy immediately\nexclaimed,--\n\n\"Goodness gracious! mercy me!\" and Lola answered as you have heard in\nthe words which met Daisy's ear as she and General Forster entered the\ngarden.\n\nThe click of the gate-latch caused all the children to look up, and\nMoses and the pyramids were for the moment forgotten at the sight of\nthe new scholar.\n\n\"Why! there's Daisy Forster,\" said Lily, for Daisy was now known by\nthis name.\n\n\"I wonder if she's coming here to school,\" said another; and that\nquestion was speedily answered, as, stopping by the little group, the\nGeneral, whom all knew and liked, said, \"Here's a new schoolmate for\nyou. Will you be kind to her, and make her feel at home?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, we will; and I'll take care of her,\" said Lily, scrambling\nto her feet and taking Daisy's hand in a patronizing manner. \"She won't\nfeel much strange after one day, 'cause we'll all be good to her, and\nshe shall help us make our land of Egypt.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is what you are doing, is it?\" said the General.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" answered Lily; \"we're just putting a pyramid over Moses in\nthe bulrushes, 'cause we hav'n't time to fix so many bulrushes till\nrecess. And part of it is knocked down. Lola did it, but she didn't\nmean to, and if you peep in there between those stones you can see\na little bit of the ark and Moses' dear little china arm poking up.\nPlease to peek, sir.\"\n\nThe General did as he was requested, saying that he saw Moses quite\nplainly.\n\n\"It isn't much matter if we do have to leave him now,\" said Lily; \"he's\npretty nicely covered up.\"\n\n\"I think so,\" said the General, gravely; \"and if I were Moses, with a\npyramid being built over me, I think I should prefer to have a small\nbreathing-hole left.\"\n\n\"Why, so he would,\" said Lily; \"and now we can leave him nicely fixed,\nand play he's very comfortable in his pyramid, even if it's not quite\ndone.\"\n\nLily being satisfied with the fate of Moses, all the rest were so; and\nthe bell now ringing, the little group turned towards the house. Daisy\nwondering, as well she might, that a matter which was so easily settled\nshould call for such violent expressions of distress and alarm as she\nhad heard from two of the little girls.\n\n\"Why, Miss Collins,\" said General Forster, as that lady met them at the\ndoor, \"what a bouquet of flowers you have here! A Rose, a Violet, a\nDaisy, and a Lily; as choice a nosegay as one could wish for.\"\n\n\"And the Lily is going to take care of the Daisy, and make her feel\nto home, Miss Collins,\" said Lily, who still held Daisy's hand. \"The\nGeneral said I could.\"\n\n\"No, he didn't,\" said Susy.\n\n\"Yes, he _did_, 'pon my word he did; least I said I would do it, and he\ndidn't say I couldn't: did you, sir?\" said Lily, throwing back her head\nto look up at the General's tall figure.\n\n\"And that comes to the same thing, does it, Lily?\" he said, laughing;\n\"well, I suppose it does; and I promise you shall look after Daisy till\nshe feels no longer a stranger among you.\"\n\n\"She knows me, and Loly and Violet, as well as any thing,\" said Lily;\nfor the little girls had met several times before, and Lily felt\nherself and the two Swans to be on rather intimate terms with Daisy\nForster.\n\n\"All right, then. I leave her to you. Good-morning, Miss Collins,\" and\nwith a bow to the lady, with whom he had before made all the necessary\narrangements for Daisy, a pleasant nod for the little ones, and a kiss\nfor Daisy, he went away.\n\nDaisy felt rather lonely when he was gone, in spite of Miss Collins'\nkind look, Lily's tight clasp of the hand, and Violet's, \"We have real\nnice times in school. Don't be afraid.\" For she was far more shy with\nchildren than she was with grown people, probably because she had never\nhad any companions of her own age; and the number of young faces, most\nof them strange, about her, made her long to be back again at Mrs.\nForster's side. And they all looked at her a good deal, for her story\nwas well known among them, and she was an object of great curiosity.\n\nLily observed this, as she took her seat with Daisy beside her, and\nthought she must speak up for her charge.\n\n\"Miss Collins,\" she said, \"please to make a rule.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Miss Collins, smiling; for Lily was constantly asking for\nnew rules concerning things which did not suit her. She had begun with\nthis more than a year ago when she was only a visitor at the school;\nand she was even now not a regular scholar, but only coming for a few\nweeks. For her papa and mamma had gone on a journey, and Lily, being\nlonely at home when Ella and the boys were at school, it had been\narranged that she was to go with Ella in the morning. So she was rather\na privileged person, and spoke her mind freely concerning that which\ndid not please her, which the other children thought rather a joke, and\nwere generally ready enough to fall in with Lily's rules. So now they\nall listened.\n\n\"Please to make a rule that nobody must stare, ma'am,\" said Lily: \"it\nmakes people feel so to be stared at,\"--and Lily put up both hands to\nher cheeks,--\"specially if they are new.\"\n\n\"Very true,\" answered Miss Collins: \"let us all try to remember the\nGolden Rule, and then we shall neither stare nor do any thing else to\nhurt another's feelings.\"\n\nThen she struck the little bell which stood upon her table, and all\nknew the school had begun, and they must be quiet.\n\nNext calling Bessie Norton to her, Miss Collins gave her a number of\nBibles, and the little girl handed one to each of her classmates. Then\nMiss Collins read a verse aloud, and the children followed, each in her\nturn.\n\n\"Minnie Grey may take the Bibles,\" said Miss Collins when this was done.\n\nMinnie rose, and went from one to another collecting the Bibles. But\ninstead of taking as many as she could conveniently carry at one time,\ngiving them to Miss Collins, and coming back for the rest, she went on\npiling one on top of another, till one arm was quite full, when she\ncame to Daisy and held out her other hand for her book. As she did so,\nthe top one of the pile fell to the floor. Minnie stooped for it, and\ndown went two or three more.\n\n\"Oh! bother the old things,\" said Minnie, in a low voice, but very\nimpatiently.\n\nDaisy had stooped to help her pick up the Bibles, but the glow her\ncheeks wore when she raised her head again was not all owing to that.\n\nBother the old things! What old things? Why, the Bibles, God's own Holy\nWord.\n\nDaisy was very much shocked, and she looked up at Miss Collins,\nexpecting to hear her reprove such _wicked words_, _she_ thought them.\n\nBut Miss Collins had not heard Minnie's exclamation, though the noise\nof the falling books had called her attention that way, and she said,--\n\n\"Minnie, my dear, you are careless with those Bibles: do you forget\nwhose books they are?\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" muttered Minnie, but not so that the lady could hear.\nDaisy heard again; and the thought passed through her mind, \"What a\nwicked little girl Minnie must be!\"\n\nAnd yet Daisy was mistaken. If she had asked Minnie's parents,\nteacher, or playmates, they would all have told her that Minnie was\nan uncommonly good and pleasant little girl; truthful, obedient,\nindustrious, and generous and obliging towards others. She had no\nthought now that she was breaking one of God's commandments; and she\nwould have been both offended and grieved, if she had known what was\nin Daisy's mind, believing herself, as she did, to be innocent of any\nwrong.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nDAISY AT STUDY.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nDAISY AT STUDY.\n\n\nDAISY was soon at home with her schoolmates, and a great favorite among\nthem.\n\nIt was not strange that they liked and were interested in her. She was\nsuch a gentle, modest, amiable little girl; watching and joining in the\ngames and lessons of the others with a kind of innocent wonder which\namused and touched them all. For Daisy was not at all accustomed to be\nwith children of her own age, and their ways were all new to her.\n\nAnd of course she was behind all the rest in her studies. She could\nnot even read as well as Lily Ward; and had to begin with the simplest\nlessons, such as Lily and two or three of the very youngest children\nlearned. At first this troubled her, and she feared the rest of the\nclass would laugh at her.\n\nBut she soon found she need not have been afraid of that, for the rule\nof Miss Collins' infant class was the law of kindness; and any one of\nthe little girls would have thought it almost a crime to laugh or mock\nat Daisy, for that which was her misfortune and not her fault.\n\nThey might now and then fall out a little among themselves, for they\nwere by no means perfect children; sometimes there would be some\nselfishness shown, or even a few angry words pass from one to another;\nbut, on the whole, they agreed about as well as any twenty little\ngirls could be expected to do; and not one among them would have had\nthe heart purposely to do an unkind thing to another. Least of all to\nDaisy Forster, whom they all looked upon with a kind of tender pity and\ninterest, because of her sad and romantic history; and who was at once\ntaken up by both teacher and scholars as a sort of twin pet with Lily,\nfor whom allowances were to be made, and who was to be encouraged and\naided as much as possible.\n\nSo Daisy found plenty of helpers, who, so far from laughing at her\nmistakes and backwardness, were rather inclined to think her quick and\nindustrious, as indeed she was, trying hard to make up for lost time,\nand \"catch up\" with those of her own age.\n\nShe was almost too eager about this, and had to be checked now and\nthen, for since the long illness which had followed the shipwreck,\nDaisy had never been strong; and too much fatigue or study, or even\ntoo much play, would make her nervous and sick, and her little head\nwould become confused and ache. So now and then Mrs. Forster would have\nto take the books from her, and forbid more study, sending her out to\nplay, or to work in the plot of ground which had been given her for a\ngarden of her own.\n\nShe was not always pleased at this, and sometimes would be rather\nfretful and impatient. But Mrs. Forster soon found a way to put a stop\nto this.\n\nOne afternoon she found the little girl bending over her slate with\nflushed and heated cheeks, anxious eyes, and trembling hands.\n\n\"Daisy,\" she said, quietly, \"what are you doing? Miss Collins has not\ngiven you lessons out of school, has she?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am,\" said Daisy; \"but I asked Ella Ward to set me a whole lot\nof sums so that I could do them at home, and I can't make this one come\nright. I know it is not right, 'cause Ella put the answers on the other\nside of the slate, and mine won't come the same, all I can do.\"\n\nMrs. Forster took the slate from her hand.\n\n\"This sum is too hard for you, Daisy,\" she said: \"you do not know\nenough arithmetic for this.\"\n\n\"It is not any harder than the sums Lola and Violet and the other\ngirls as large as I am do,\" answered Daisy, looking ready to burst out\ncrying; \"and I have to do arithmetic with the very little ones, like\nLily, and it makes me ashamed; so I want to go on all I can. _Please_\ngive me the slate again, Aunt Gertrude,\" she added, as Mrs. Forster\nlaid it beyond her reach.\n\n\"No, dear. I do not wish you to study out of school. I am glad you want\nto improve, but you have as much to do there as is good for you; and at\nhome I want you to have rest and play. You are improving quite as fast\nas could be expected, and for a time you must be content to go on with\nthose who are younger than yourself.\"\n\n\"But it makes me ashamed,\" pleaded Daisy, again.\n\n\"There is no reason for that,\" said Mrs. Forster, patting the hot cheek\nshe raised towards her. \"The other children do not laugh at you and\nmake you uncomfortable, do they?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, ma'am,\" said Daisy; \"they are all so good to me, and when they\ncan't help seeing what a dunce I am\" (here Daisy's tears overflowed),\n\"they always say kind things about how I never went to school before,\nand how my own dear mamma was drowned, and there was nobody to teach me\ntill I came to you.\"\n\n\"You are not a dunce, dear,\" said the lady. \"A child who idles away\nher time when she should be studying, and does not care whether or no\nshe learns as much as is fit for her, is a dunce: not a little girl\nwho really wishes to be industrious, but does not know quite as much\nas others of her own age only because God has not given her the same\nadvantages in time past. No one will think my Daisy a dunce. Now, we\nmust have no more studying at home, no more lessons than those Miss\nCollins sets you.\"\n\nDaisy did not look satisfied: on the contrary, she even pouted a little.\n\n\"Daisy,\" said Mrs. Forster, \"suppose Uncle Frank were to give you some\nbeautiful and costly thing which would be of great use to you in time\nto come if you took good care of it, say a watch: what would you do\nwith it?\"\n\n\"Why! I _would_ take great care, oh! such care of it,\" said Daisy,\nopening her eyes in some surprise at the question. She did not see what\nthat could have to do with her studies.\n\n\"I'd wind it up every night, and try to keep it right and safe every\nway I could. But I don't know if I am quite large enough to have a\nwatch of my own, or take care of it; maybe the best way would be to ask\nyou or Uncle Frank to keep it for me till I was older.\"\n\n\"And suppose for a while he gave you no key to this watch, but let it\nrun down and be quiet?\"\n\n\"I'd just put it away till he gave me a key, and be patient about it,\"\nsaid Daisy, wondering more and more.\n\n\"And if, by and by, when he gave you this key, you should go on winding\nand winding the watch farther and faster than it was right for it to\ngo, till the wheels and springs were all spoiled and out of order,\nwould Uncle Frank think you cared much for his gift?\"\n\n\"Why, no, Aunt Gertrude; and he wouldn't think I cared much for him,\neither, to use his pretty present so.\"\n\n\"You are right, dear. And now I want my own little Daisy to see how it\nis with herself. God has given to you a young mind, bright and quick\nenough; but, for a while, He did not choose that it should do much\nwork. But now He has given you the key by which you may wind it and set\nit to work; and if you use it without proper care, and so as to hurt\nand wear out this precious gift, would it not seem as if you cared very\nlittle about it, and did not respect and honor the Giver?\"\n\n\"Yes'm,\" answered Daisy, beginning to see what Mrs. Forster meant; \"but\nI never thought about that.\"\n\n\"I believe I never thought about it before, dear,\" said Mrs. Forster,\nsmiling. \"I am not afraid to praise you, Daisy; and I may safely say\nthat I have never seen any little child who showed such true honor and\nreverence for her Maker, and all which belongs to Him. You must have\nbeen well taught, my child; and to know and remember such lessons is\nworth all the book learning in the world.\"\n\nDaisy was pleased, as she always was when any one spoke to her of her\nlong-lost home, or praised the teaching she had received from those\nwho had loved and cared for her there. And from this time there was no\nfurther trouble about the lessons; for it was enough for Daisy to know\nthat she was misusing any one of God's good gifts, to make her change\nher ways. Many a lesson might have been learned, and, indeed, had been\nlearned, by those older and wiser than herself, from the loving care\nand respect paid by this little one to her Creator's name, and to all\nthe works of His hand.\n\nAnd it was a great trouble to her to hear the careless way in which\nmany of her schoolmates used sacred names and things. They did not\nmean any harm; they did not think it any sin; but every day Daisy was\nshocked and distressed by hearing such words as \"mercy,\" \"gracious,\"\n\"goodness,\" and \"good heavens,\" and the like, from the lips of the\nother children, as they were about their play and study. It had\nbecome a habit with nearly all in the school; one caught it from\nanother almost without knowing it; even Lily Ward, who once thought\nthe clergyman \"preached a sermon at her\" because she said \"hush up,\"\nnow and then followed the example of the others when any thing vexed\nor surprised her. A few weeks at school had accustomed Lily to the\nconstant use of expressions which a year ago she would have considered\n\"real naughty words.\"\n\nThe older girls in Miss Sarah Collins' room had fallen into this bad\nhabit as much, if not more, than the little ones of the infant class.\n\nAnd it was not only this carelessness of speech in which they were\nall, large and small, to blame; but it seemed to Daisy so strange that\nthey could handle and treat the Bible, God's holy Word, with so little\nreverence and respect, knocking it about among their other books as\nif it were no better than these last, even using it, sometimes, for\npurposes to which no book, even the most common one, should be put.\n\nDaisy wondered that Miss Collins did not teach them better; but\neither she did not notice all this, or she did not think it of much\nconsequence; certain it is that she did not check them, and the evil\nseemed to Daisy to grow worse from day to day.\n\nAt first she did not like to speak herself. You may wonder that this\nwas so, since she had not feared to speak so plainly to General\nForster, who was a grown gentleman, so much older than herself; but she\nhad done that almost without knowing what she was saying, for, as you\nknow, his profane words had startled her so that he was surprised, and\nhe had almost forced her to tell him what had disturbed her.\n\nAnd here she was with every thing strange around her, school,\nschoolmates, and teacher all new to her; so it is not astonishing that\nshe was rather shy and felt afraid to interfere with the others, or to\ntell them that she thought they were doing wrong.\n\nBut by and by there came a day when she could no longer hold her peace.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nDAISY A TEACHER.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nDAISY A TEACHER.\n\n\nONE morning just after school commenced, a heavy shower came up; and\nwhen it was time for the recess, which was always given to the infant\nclass at eleven o'clock, the ground was still so wet that the little\nones were forced to find amusement within doors or upon the piazza.\n\n\"What shall we play?\" asked Rosie Pierson.\n\n\"Lady Queen Fair,\" said Bessie Norton: \"we'll go out on the piazza and\nplay it.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Yes,\" said Violet; \"and Lily shall be Lady Queen Fair, and we'll dress\nher up a little. Miss Emily,\" as a third Miss Collins, who gave music\nlessons to the girls, passed by, \"may we have a rose to put in Lily's\nhair for Lady Fair?\"\n\nThe young lady smiled, stopped and pulled a couple of roses from the\nvine which wound itself around one of the pillars of the piazza, and\ngave them to Violet, then passed on.\n\nTime had been when Violet would have hoped, perhaps would have asked\nto be Lady Fair herself, and been sulky and displeased if the other\nchildren had not agreed; but now she was very different, and more apt\nto prefer another before herself.\n\nThe roses were soon arranged, the one in the hair, the other in the\nbosom of the little Lady Queen, who took her dignities in the calmest\nmanner. Meanwhile some of the other children were drawing forward one\nof the rustic chairs with which the piazza was furnished, to serve as a\nthrone.\n\nBut the little queen, like many another royal lady before her, found\nher throne by no means an easy one.\n\n\"Ow!\" she said, rubbing her little round white shoulders where she had\nscratched them against the rough bark of the twisted boughs which made\nthe back of the chair, \"ow! this is not nice at all, or comfortal. My\nfeet don't come to the floor, and if I lean back I'm all scratched. I'd\nrather be a queen without a throne.\"\n\n\"Oh, no! You must have a throne,\" said Susy Edwards. \"Queens have to.\"\n\n\"I don't see why,\" said Lily, rather pettishly; for she did not feel\nvery well that morning, and that and the close heat of the day made her\nmore fretful than usual. \"I should think queens could do just as they\nhave a mind to and make their subjiks do it too; and I don't see what\nthey have to have their skin all scraped up for if they don't want to;\"\nand Lily twisted her head to give an aggrieved look at the little fat\nshoulder with that red mark upon it.\n\n\"I'll fix you,\" said Lola. \"I'll put Miss Collins' footstool under your\nfeet and you shall have the big cushion behind you. Some one bring the\ncushion while I carry the stool.\"\n\nThe footstool was brought in a moment; but the cushion was not to be\nfound.\n\n\"The big girls had it yesterday,\" said Fanny Satterlee. \"I saw them\nwith it in their recess when I was going home. There comes Cora Prime\nnow; let's ask her. Cora, what did the big girls do with that cushion\nyesterday when they had done with it?\"\n\n\"The Lord knows; I don't,\" said Cora, playfully tapping Fanny on the\nhead with the roll of music in her hand.\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Lily.\n\nDaisy did not speak; but as Cora's eye happened to fall upon her, her\nface said as much as Lily's \"Oh!\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you two?\" asked Cora, looking from one to the\nother of the little girls, but still good-natured.\n\n\"You oughtn't to say that,\" said Lily.\n\n\"Ought not to say what?\"\n\n\"The Lord knows,\" answered Lily.\n\n\"Well, don't He know?\" asked Cora.\n\n\"No,\" said Lily, doubtfully, \"I guess not. I don't believe He'd bother\nHimself with knowing about a worn-out old cushion what has a hole in\nthe cover, and such things.\"\n\n\"Yes, He does, too,\" said Cora, laughing; \"are not the very hairs of\nour head numbered?\"\n\n\"Now, I _know_ you ought to be 'shamed,\" said Lily. \"You're talking\nBible; and that is not right, is it, Daisy?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Daisy, as boldly as Lily herself could have done, for\nquoting Scripture in a careless manner was also a habit of many in the\nschool.\n\n\"You two saucy monkeys! correcting your elders,\" said Cora, much\namused. \"I heard you both talking Bible to Miss Collins this morning\nwith all the rest of your class.\"\n\n\"We were only saying what we learned in Sunday school yesterday,\" said\nLily. \"That's not the same thing. I _know_ it's not right to talk Bible\nthat kind of a way. Papa says so, and he tells us not to do it.\"\n\n\"Your papa's saying so does not make a thing right or wrong,\" said Cora.\n\n\"Yes, it does, too!\" said Lily. \"My papa knows a whole lot, and he\nwouldn't tell a story for any thing. Cora, you'd better go to your\nmusic lesson: I 'speck Miss Emily wants you.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are very considerate for Miss Emily, all at once,\" said Cora,\nmore amused than ever; \"but you haven't told me why I shouldn't say,\nThe Lord knows, when He does know.\"\n\nLily looked at Daisy, who stood by the arm of her chair, for help. The\nlittle one felt that Cora was wrong, but she did not exactly know how\nto answer, and she had noticed how careful Daisy was to honor the name\nof God.\n\n\"Is it not taking the name of God in vain?\" said Daisy.\n\n\"Upon my word!\" said Cora. \"Do you mean to call that swearing?\"\n\n\"Well, yes,\" said Lily, taking up the word, \"a kind of baby swearing, I\ns'pose; but you know it's not very good of you, Cora.\"\n\n\"Everybody says such things: they don't mean any thing,\" said Cora.\n\n\"Not _everybody_,\" answered Lily. \"Daisy don't.\"\n\n\"Then Daisy's uncommonly good,\" said Cora.\n\n\"Yes, she is,\" replied Lily; \"and I s'pose _everybody_ ought to be\nuncommonly good and never say them.\"\n\nCora laughed again.\n\n\"Everybody must mind their p's and q's before you: mustn't they, Lily?\"\nand away she ran to her music lesson.\n\n\"Here's the cushion,\" said Rosie Pierson, running out from the\nschool-room. \"I found it in the closet under the shelf where those\ncareless big girls left it, I s'pose.\"\n\nThe cushion was put behind Lily's shoulders, but still the little queen\nfidgeted on her throne and declared she was not yet \"comfortal.\"\n\n\"'Cause if I lean back against the cushion my feet won't touch the\nstool,\" she said.\n\n\"We'll put something else on the stool to make it higher,\" said Nettie\nPrime, who was trying to arrange Lily satisfactorily: \"what shall we\ntake? Oh, I know. Daisy, run and bring the big Bible off Miss Collins'\ntable for Lily to put her feet on.\"\n\nDaisy, who made a motion to start forward as Nettie began to speak,\nstood still when she heard what she called for.\n\n\"Make haste,\" said the latter, impatiently: \"we won't have a bit of\ntime to play.\"\n\nDaisy did not move, but stood with rising color, trying to make up her\nmind to speak.\n\n\"Oh! you disobliging thing!\" said Violet, and she ran for the book.\n\n\"Oh! don't,\" said Daisy, as Violet came back and stooped to put the\nBible on the footstool; \"I didn't mean to be disobliging, but we ought\nnot to use the Bible to play with.\"\n\n\"Pooh!\" said Violet: \"Lily's little feet won't hurt it. It's all worn\nout, any way. The cover is real shabby.\"\n\n\"I didn't mean that,\" answered Daisy; \"I meant because it is God's\nbook, and we ought to treat it very carefully.\"\n\n\"Oh, fiddle! How awfully particular you are, Daisy!\" said Minnie Grey.\n\"Why, girls, do you know, the other day, when I was playing paper-dolls\nwith her and I turned up a Bible to make the side of a house, she took\nit away, and when I put it back again 'cause it stood up better than\nthe other books, she said she wouldn't play if I did so with the Bible.\"\n\n\"I s'pose Daisy would call that 'taking God's name in vain,'\" said\nanother, half reproachfully; \"wouldn't you, Daisy?\"\n\n\"I think it is something the same,\" answered Daisy, feeling as if\nall the others were finding fault with her and thinking her \"awfully\nparticular,\" a crime which no little girl likes to have laid to her\ncharge.\n\n\"I don't see how,\" said Lola. \"I know we ought not to play with the\nBible; but I don't see how it is taking God's name in vain.\"\n\n\"But the Bible is God's book, and He told it to the men who wrote it,\nand His name is in it a great many times,\" said Daisy, \"and I think it\nseems like taking it in vain to play with it or to put things upon it,\nor to knock it about like our other school-books. And it is not right\nto say 'the Lord knows,' and 'mercy,' and 'gracious,' and such words,\nwhen we are just playing, or when we are provoked.\"\n\n\"What is the harm?\" asked Rosie. \"Mercy and gracious are not God's\nname.\"\n\n\"Well, no,\" said Daisy, slowly, not exactly knowing how to explain\nherself. \"And maybe I make a mistake; but it does seem to me as if it\nwas a kind of--of--\"\n\n\"Of little swearing, as Lily says,\" said Lola.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Daisy. \"Rosie thinks it is no harm; but even if it is not\nmuch harm, I don't see what is the good of it. We can talk just as well\nwithout saying such words.\"\n\n\"I guess they are pretty wicked,\" said Lily. \"The day mamma went away,\nI said 'good heavens,' and she said 'Lily! Lily!' very quick, like she\ndoes when I do something very naughty, and she asked me where I learned\nthat; and I told her Elly said it. I didn't mean to tell a tale about\nElly; but mamma looked sorry, and she told me never to say it again. I\nguess 'mercy' is 'most the same, and I guess I won't say it any more;\nand, Daisy, if I hear the other girls say those words, I'll help you\ncorrect 'em.\"\n\nLily promised this with an air of such grave importance that the other\nchildren laughed. Not in the least abashed, Lily went on,--\n\n\"Papa's coming home day after to-morrow, and I'll ask him to tell me a\nwhole lot about God's name, and why it is wrong to say those things;\nand then I'll tell all you girls. But I'm not coming to school any more\nwhen mamma comes home; so you'll have to come to my house, and I'll\nhave a swearing class, and teach you all about it.\"\n\nLily's words might have been taken with a different meaning from that\nwhich she intended to give them; but the other children understood her,\nand that was enough.\n\n\"But, Daisy,\" said Lola, \"how do you know so much about these things\nwhen you don't know a great deal about every-day lessons, and have had\nno one to teach you for so long?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Daisy. \"I think my own mamma who was drowned used\nto teach me in the home I used to have;\" and the dreamy look came into\nher eyes which they always wore when she spoke of her far-away home and\nthose she had loved there. \"I think I've forgotten a good many things,\"\nshe added; \"but you know I couldn't forget what mamma taught me about\nJesus and what He wanted us to do if we loved Him. And I think if we do\nlove Him we won't say words about His name, His heaven, or any thing\nthat is His, that are not very good and gentle, and that we are very\nsure He would like us to say.\"\n\n\"But you are so _very_ particular, Daisy,\" said Minnie; \"I think you\nare most _too_ particular.\"\n\n\"I didn't think we could be too particular about doing what Jesus\nlikes,\" said Daisy.\n\nThe other children had all gathered about Daisy, and were listening\nwith interest to what she said. Perhaps they heard her with more\npatience than they would have given to any one else; for Daisy was a\nkind of mystery to them, and they looked upon her as a sort of fairy\nor princess in disguise, and would not have been at all surprised to\nhear the most extravagant stories about her, for she was \"just like a\nstory-book child.\" Lily had said so one day when she was speaking of\nher at home.\n\n\"No,\" said Lola, thoughtfully; \"but it does not seem as if such little\nthings could be wrong. I know it can't be right to play with the\nBible or say its words just when we are joking or for our own common\ntalk; but I don't see the harm of saying 'goodness,' or 'mercy,' or\n'heavens,' or those words which you never will say, Daisy; they are not\nGod's name, and I don't see how it is taking it in vain to say them.\"\n\nDaisy looked thoughtful. She felt she was right, and wanted to explain\nherself; but she was rather shy and could not find words to do so.\n\nBut Lily, whom shyness never troubled, came to her aid.\n\n\"Never mind,\" she said: \"I'll ask papa just as soon as he comes home,\nand he'll tell us all about it; and if he says it is naughty, why, it\nis, and we won't do it; and if he says it's good enough, why, we will.\nThat's the way to fix it.\"\n\nHere the bell rang.\n\n\"There, now,\" said Susy Edwards, \"we have to go in, and we've wasted\nall our time talking, and never had a bit of good of our recess.\"\n\nBut I think Susy was mistaken, and that they had one and all gained\nmore good from their talk than they could have done from any amount\nof play; for it had set more than one young mind thinking; and from\nthis day, even the most careless among them would check herself when\nshe found she was on the point of using these words which had grown\nso common among them, more from want of thought than from any wish or\ntemptation to do wrong.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SWEARING CLASS.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nTHE SWEARING CLASS.\n\n\nWHEN Lily's papa and mamma came home, she was so glad to see them, and\nthere was so much to hear and to talk about, that she quite forgot her\npurpose of asking her father to teach her about the third commandment.\nBesides, she no longer went to school now that her mother was at home,\nbut had her lesson each day with her as she had done before Mrs. Ward\nwent on her journey; and so she was not as apt to hear or to say those\ncareless words which Daisy Forster had said it was not right to use.\n\nBut it was at last brought to her mind one evening as the family all\nsat at the tea-table.\n\n\"Mamma,\" said Ella, \"will you let Lily and me have a tea-party\nto-morrow? I want to ask half a dozen of our girls, and I suppose Lily\nwould like to have a few of the little ones at the same time.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mrs. Ward, \"you may each ask six of your most intimate\nfriends.\"\n\n\"Can Walter and I ask some of the fellows?\" said Ned.\n\n\"Oh, mercy! no,\" said Ella: \"we don't want any boys. It is not to be a\nregular party, Ned. I just want the girls to spend the afternoon and\ndrink tea; and it makes more fuss to have boys too.\"\n\n\"Goodness me! You needn't get into such a way about it,\" said Ned.\n\n\"Children,\" said Lily, her brother's and sister's words bringing back\nto her what Daisy had said, \"children, you needn't either of you swear\nabout it.\"\n\nLily's efforts to keep the family straight were generally considered\nas a good joke, and her reproofs and advice received with a laugh; but\nthis plain speaking was rather _too_ much for either Ella or Ned, and\nthe former exclaimed,--\n\n\"Well, who is swearing, I'd like to know?\"\n\n\"And who gave you leave to correct your elders?\" said Ned.\n\n\"Nobody: I just took it,\" said unabashed Lily; and then, turning to her\nfather, she exclaimed, \"Papa, I b'lieve the girls in our school are\npretty heathen, and don't know enough about the comman'ments. So I told\nthem we'd have a swearing class, and I'd ask you to teach it, 'cause\nI s'pose you know a good deal about swearing; and this will be a good\nchance when they come to-morrow.\"\n\nThis speech turned the vexation of Ella and Ned into amusement, and\nthey laughed with the others.\n\n\"I don't think your playmates will thank you for asking them here to\ntake tea and then bringing them up for a lecture from me, my pet,\" said\nMr. Ward.\n\n\"Yes: they will, papa. They want to know about it, and I think we'd\nbetter make a swearing party of this. I b'lieve it would do those big\ngirls good too. They swear, oh, dreadfully! and they don't seem to\nthink they do, least Cora don't. Mamma, let's make a rule we won't have\nany swearing in this house: won't you?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said mamma, smiling; \"and I think we must find out what\n_swearing_ is, and be careful not to break the rule.\"\n\n\"If one is going to call 'goodness' and 'mercy,' and such things,\nswearing, one might as well give up talking altogether,\" said Ella.\n\n\"Perhaps not exactly swearing,\" said her father; \"but the use of them\nis a bad habit, and one that I have noticed is quite too frequent among\nall the young people of this place. It is growing stronger too, as all\nsuch habits do, and going from bad to worse. But I must go out now, and\nhave not time to talk to you about it. If Lily can persuade her little\nfriends to take the 'swearing class,' as part of their afternoon's\nentertainment to-morrow, well and good; if not, we will have a little\nprivate talk among ourselves some other time.\"\n\nElla was not at all pleased by Lily's proposal; and hoping that it\nwould pass from the child's mind before the afternoon, she was careful\nnot to make her remember it by the use of any such words as had called\nforth Lily's reproof.\n\nThis had very nearly proved successful; and in the excitement of\narranging her baby-house, setting out the new tea-set mamma had brought\nher, and dressing the doll which had been papa's present, Lily had\nalmost forgotten her plan for mingling wholesome instruction with the\namusement provided for her young friends.\n\nThere were Lola and Violet Swan, Daisy Forster, Rosie Pierson, Minnie\nGrey, and Bessie Norton; and they were all having a real good time\nsitting around a small table and playing tea out of the new china set,\nwhen Minnie said,--\n\n\"I have a secret to tell all of you, if you'll promise never to tell.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" said Violet.\n\n\"On your sacred word and honor?\" said Minnie.\n\n\"On my sacred word and honor,\" repeated Violet.\n\n\"And you, Rosie?\" asked Minnie.\n\n\"On my word and honor,\" said Rosie.\n\n\"Sacred?\" said Minnie.\n\n\"Sacred. Sacred word and honor,\" was Rosie's answer.\n\nLily repeated the words as desired, and next came Daisy's turn.\n\n\"I won't tell,\" she said, when Minnie looked at her.\n\n\"On your sacred word and honor?\" asked Minnie.\n\n\"I promise I won't tell, Minnie.\"\n\n\"But you must say on your word and honor.\"\n\n\"I can't,\" said Daisy.\n\n\"Then I shan't tell you; and you're real mean, Daisy Forster,\" said\nMinnie. \"Why won't you say so?\"\n\n\"I don't see why I need, and I don't know if it is quite right,\"\nanswered Daisy, coloring.\n\n\"Oh, Daisy Forster, what a girl you are!\" said Rosie.\n\n\"Well,\" said Lily, \"there's nothing left, 'cept these two caramels.\nDaisy, you eat up this; and, Bessie, you eat up the other. Now\nthe tea-party is all done, and we'll go and ask papa about that\ncomman'ment. He's been playing croquet with the big girls, but they\nseem to be resting now.\"\n\nLily was right. Mr. Ward had been persuaded to make the eighth in a\ngame of croquet, for he was a great favorite with all the young people\nin Glenwood, and his presence never put any check upon their games or\npleasure parties.\n\nBut the afternoon proved rather warm for exercise, even the gentle one\nof bewitching croquet; and, after a long game was finished, the whole\nparty were ready to agree to Ella's proposal that they should take a\nrest, and send to the house for some cooling drink.\n\nSo Mr. Ward was at liberty to attend to Lily, when she came rushing up\nto him, followed, rather more slowly, by the rest of the children.\n\n\"Papa,\" she said, throwing herself across his knee, as he sat upon\nthe green mound which was raised about the foot of one of the fine\nelm-trees which shaded the croquet-ground, \"papa, Daisy says we\noughtn't to say upon our words and honors! Oughtn't we? And will you\nteach us about taking God's name in vain now? It's the _singalest_\ncircumstance, but I went and forgot all about the swearing class, till\nDaisy said that.\"\n\n\"A very singular circumstance, certainly;\" said Mr. Ward, lifting Lily\nto a seat upon his knee, and smiling, while the other girls laughed at\nher speech. \"I am quite willing to have a little talk with you all on\nthis subject; but tell me first what you want to know.\"\n\n\"Daisy is so awfully particular, Mr. Ward,\" said Minnie, in an\naggrieved tone. \"She won't let us say any thing; at least, she says\nevery thing is 'wrong.'\"\n\n\"Every thing?\" said Mr. Ward: \"that is bad. Does Daisy want you all to\nkeep silence? That _must_ spoil your play.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\" said Minnie, \"not that; but she says such lots of things are\nwrong to say. Why, sir, she won't say 'upon her word and honor,' 'cause\nshe don't think it is right.\"\n\n\"Why do you want her to say it?\" asked Mr. Ward.\n\n\"I was just going to tell them all a great secret, and I wanted her to\npromise, on her sacred word and honor, she would never tell; and she\nwouldn't do it.\"\n\n\"So Daisy is apt to break her promises, is she?\" said the gentleman,\nwith a smile at Daisy, which told very plainly that he was only joking.\n\n\"Oh, no, sir!\" said Minnie. \"Indeed she is not. Daisy always tells the\ntruth, and never does what she says she won't; at least, we never knew\nher to do it: did we, girls?\"\n\nA chorus of young voices was raised in Daisy's favor.\n\n\"And yet you cannot trust her unless she swears to what she promises,\"\nsaid Mr. Ward.\n\n\"Swears, sir!\" said Minnie. \"I'm sure I don't want her to swear! 'Word\nand honor' are not bad words, are they?\"\n\n\"Not in themselves, certainly;\" answered Mr. Ward. \"Many a thing which\nis good in itself when properly used, becomes bad and hurtful if put to\na wrong purpose. Now to swear is to say, by some word or person which\nyou consider holy and sacred, that you will or will not do, that you\nhave or have not done, a certain thing. Suppose some man were accused\nof a crime, and that the judge were about to try him, and punish him if\nhe were guilty, and it was thought that I knew whether or no the man\nhad done that of which he was accused. So I am called to the court,\nand there made to promise that I will tell the truth, and nothing but\nthe truth; and to make sure of this I am made to lay my hand on the\nBible,--God's holy word,--and call upon Him, to hear me tell what I\nknow. And this is considered a very solemn thing, even by many who\nhave little care or respect for God in other ways; and it is called\nswearing, or taking the oath.\"\n\n\"They ought to be 'shamed of theirselves,\" said Lily, indignantly;\n\"they ought to know you would never tell a story, papa. And to go and\nmake you swear too! I wouldn't do it if I was you; but I'd tell 'em the\nthird comman'ment, and run away fast from them.\"\n\n\"But if this is done in the fear of God, and as a sort of prayer that\nHe will hear and help us to tell that which is true, it is not taking\nHis name in vain, Lily,\" said Mr. Ward; \"and to do it falsely is\nconsidered even by men to be a great crime. This is called perjury;\nand if any one is found guilty of it, he is severely punished by the\nlaw. Now it may be wise, and even necessary, for a man to take an\noath at such a time as this, when the very life of another may depend\non whether he tells the truth or no; but it can hardly be necessary\nfor one little girl at play with another to make her promise sure by\nswearing to it. For to say 'by your sacred word and honor' is neither\nmore nor less than a sort of swearing or taking an oath that what you\nsay is true.\"\n\n\"Then we'll make a rule not to say it any more,\" said Lily. \"We\ndidn't know it was naughty before, papa. But please tell us now about\nother words. Daisy says we mustn't say 'mercy,' and 'gracious,' and\n'heavens,' and maybe we mustn't; but why is that swearing? Swearing is\ntaking God's name in vain, and how do such words take His name in vain\nif we don't speak it? And she thinks playing with the Bible, or saying\nits words when we are playing or just talking common talk, is taking\nGod's name in vain, too. Is it?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" said Mr. Ward. \"Suppose, Lily, that some great king\nor queen, or the president of our own country, were to come here; would\nyou not wish to be particularly polite and respectful to them, both in\nyour manner and way of speaking?\"\n\n\"Um-m-m, I don't know,\" answered Lily, doubtfully; \"not partic'lar. I\nguess I'd just as lieve be saucy to them as to any one else.\"\n\nMr. Ward saw this would not do, at least, not for Lily: he must go\nhigher than earthly rulers.\n\n\"Suppose, then,\" he said, \"that Jesus should come down here among us,\nso that we could see Him with our eyes, walking and talking with us,\nwhat would you all do?\"\n\n\"I'd fall down and worship Him,\" said Minnie.\n\n\"I'd listen to every word He said, and never speak one myself for fear\nI should miss one,\" said Daisy; \"and then I'd remember them all the\ndays of my life.\"\n\n\"Dear child!\" said Mr. Ward, laying his hand fondly on hers: \"I believe\nyou do treasure your Lord's words and try to live according to them.\"\n\n\"I'd ask Him to put His hand on my head and bless me just as He did\nthose other little children when He was on earth before,\" said Lola,\nsoftly.\n\n\"So would I. And I'd be glad there were no disciples to forbid us to\ncome to Him,\" said Lily. \"I s'pose they thought Jesus wouldn't care\nabout children; but He did, didn't He? And you wouldn't think so, papa,\nwould you?\" and the little child laid her hand lovingly against her\nfather's cheek. \"I'd keep very close to Him all the time He was here,\nand take fast hold of His hand, only I wouldn't be troublesome, but\njust keep as still as a mouse; and I'd give Him every thing of mine\nthat He wanted.\"\n\n\"So you would all show your love and reverence for Him by every means\nin your power,\" said Mr. Ward, \"trying not to grieve or offend Him\nby treating His name or His presence with the least carelessness or\ndisrespect, but letting Him see that you honored the one and were\nblessed by the other: is it not so?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" came from the older as well as the younger children.\n\n\"And if, after He had gone away, He should send you each a letter,\ntelling you what He wanted you to do, how you were to love and serve\nHim, and in which you would find all the advice, help, and comfort you\nmight need at any time,--how would you treat that letter?\"\n\n\"I'd keep it all my life, and take such good care of it,\" said Rosie.\n\n\"I'd read it, and read it, and read it; and kiss it, and kiss it, and\nkiss it,\" said Lily, \"and then I'd put it in my bosom, and keep it, oh!\nso carefully.\"\n\n\"And so would I, and I, and I,\" said the rest, satisfied to have Lily\nfor spokeswoman.\n\n\"And if you saw any one misusing that letter, how would you feel?\"\nasked Mr. Ward.\n\n\"I'd be very provoked with them,\" answered Lily, \"and I think I\nwouldn't love them any more, 'cept it was you, papa, or mamma, or Elly,\nor any one of my own that I _have_ to love; and then I'd cry, and ask\nyou not to serve my Jesus' letter so.\"\n\n\"You mean the Bible is Jesus' letter to us: don't you, sir?\" asked\nDaisy.\n\n\"Yes; and, dear children, our Lord's presence is here among us as much\nas if He were in man's form which He once wore on earth. His ear is as\nquick to hear our words of love and praise, or those of carelessness\nand disrespect, as it was then; His eye as ready to see the use we make\nof the precious Word He has given us. But we forget this when we use\nHis book more carelessly than we would any gift from an earthly friend,\nor when we take His name lightly or without thought upon our lips. To\ndo this is to take it in vain, and it displeases Him.\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Ward,\" said Minnie, \"it is not cursing and swearing to say\n'mercy,' and 'gracious,' and 'good Lord,' and such things, is it?\"\n\n\"Not cursing, certainly: that is to use God's name profanely, or to\ncall on Him to destroy us or other people; and this is a most terrible\nsin. But, Minnie, the use of such words in play or thoughtlessness is a\nbad habit, and leads to worse. Suppose a man breaks open a bank here,\nand takes all the money from it: that is stealing, is it not?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, sir,\" answered Minnie.\n\n\"And suppose you take a sugar-plum belonging to your sister: it is a\nvery small thing compared to the money taken from the bank, but is it\nnot stealing, all the same?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; and if I was to be so bad as to take Julia's sugar-plums,\nI'm afraid I'd maybe steal something worse some time.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" said the gentleman; \"and now you see why it is not wise or\nright to make use of such expressions. It is, as Lily says, a kind of\nlittle swearing, and may lead to worse. Besides, it is very useless.\nYou can surely believe one another,--unless, indeed, it is some false\nand deceitful child,--without saying 'upon your sacred word and honor,'\n'as sure as you live,' 'Heaven knows,' and so forth. And there is so\nlittle temptation to fall into this sin that it seems strange it should\nbe so common. There is nothing to be gained by it, even of this world's\ngood,--no pleasure, no profit. It is only an idle, useless habit,\nmost displeasing and vexing to the holy ear of Him whose commandment\nwe break without thought or care. Goodness and mercy and graciousness\nbelong to the Almighty; and so, too, we must take heed that we do not\nspeak of what belongs to Him in an irreverent, careless way. And now I\nthink we have had enough talk on this subject for this afternoon. You\ndid not ask your friends here that I might lecture them.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! I did, papa,\" said Lily; \"for we all deserved it very much,\n'specially the big girls. But, papa, do you believe the Lord troubles\nHimself to know where the girls put an old, worn-out cushion, and such\nthings; and if He does, ought we to say He does?\"\n\n\"God knows every thing, Lily; even the smallest trifle is seen by Him;\nbut it is very wrong to say, in a heedless way, 'the Lord knows,' for\nI suppose that is what you mean. And this very thought, that His eye\nand His ear are always with us, noticing every word and look, knowing\nthe very feelings of our hearts, should make us all the more careful\nhow we use His holy name. I am glad this question has come up among\nyou; for heedlessness in using God's name, and other sacred words, in\nquoting Scripture,--talking Bible, my Lily calls it,--and other such\nhabits, were becoming too common, I fear, among all the young people\nin Glenwood; and we older ones too, I believe, fall too often into the\ncustom. We have, too many of us, constant need of the prayer, 'Set a\nwatch, O Lord, upon my mouth; keep the door of my lips.'\"\n\n\"It is Daisy's doing, sir, that we have come to think of this,\" said\nhonest Cora. \"I, for one, have been very thoughtless about offending\nGod in this way, and have set a bad example to the rest. I believe the\nlittle ones have caught it from us larger girls, and we have to thank\nDaisy that she has taught us a better lesson.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nDAISY'S NAME.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nDAISY'S NAME.\n\n\n\"INDADE, now, and hasn't me words come true, sir? For wasn't I afther\ntellin' ye she was as nate a little lady as iver stepped in two shoes?\"\nsaid Betty Macarthy, as she stood with her arms akimbo, her head on one\nside, and her honest face one broad glow of delight and satisfaction,\ngazing at the dainty-looking little creature who stood before her, her\nyoung face bright with as much pleasure as Betty's own.\n\nFor Daisy's old friend had come to live at Mrs. Forster's; and this was\nthe way it had been brought about.\n\nThe lady had wanted a laundress; and, thinking that Betty, who had once\nheld that post in her father's family, might know of one, had begged\nthe General to ask her.\n\nNo sooner had he put the question than Betty eagerly answered she\nshould be only too glad of the place herself; for she was tired of her\npresent position, and a countrywoman of her own was ready to take it\noff her hands, stock, fixtures, goodwill, and all. \"For her heart was\nsore for the child,\" Betty said, and to be where she could see her\nevery day, and to live once more with \"Miss Gertrude,\" would be almost\nas much happiness as she could wish for; and then she would try to put\nJack out with some gardener to learn his trade, for which he had always\nhad a turn.\n\nSo the General, having talked the matter over with his wife, and\nmindful of the generous care and kindness shown to their Daisy by these\npoor people, not only told Betty she should come to live with them, but\nalso put Jack under his own gardener, though there was really no need\nof any more hands about the place.\n\nThus did the \"bread cast upon the waters\" by this kind-hearted\nIrishwoman, come back to her, blessed sevenfold.\n\nNothing was told to Daisy of this arrangement till one afternoon, when\nthe General had returned from the city, Mrs. Forster said to her, \"I am\ngoing to speak to the new laundress and gardener's boy. Come with me,\nDaisy;\" and half wondering, the little girl obeyed.\n\nBut her surprise soon changed into delight and gratitude when she saw\nwho the new domestics were; for, in spite of all the pleasure she felt\nin her new way of life, Daisy's loving little heart often longed for\nthe old friends who had been so good to her in her time of need, and\nshe wanted not only to see them, but to share some of her many comforts\nwith them.\n\nSo you may know how glad she was when her eye fell upon the two figures\nstanding by the back door, and she knew that they had been brought to\nlive in the same place with her.\n\nWith an excitement very unusual in her, she flew at Betty, and,\nthrowing both arms about her neck, covered her broad, smiling face with\nwarm kisses. Betty returned them with a will, holding her fast in both\narms; and then, putting her from her and looking at her from head to\nfoot, put on an air of strong approval, and spoke to the General in the\nwords you have read at the beginning of this chapter.\n\n\"An' isn't it fit for a princess, she is?\" she continued, quite unable\nto keep back her admiration and pleasure at the child's improved\nappearance. \"Isn't it fit for a princess she is; and Saacyfuts or no\nSaacyfuts, isn't it a right her own folks would have to the name if\nthey found her now? Sure I'd be saacy meself to have the ownin' of a\nchild like that. An' her not a bit spoiled, but just as lovin' and\nfree-like as when she had none but me an' Jack.\"\n\nThen Daisy was told she might take Betty and Jack away and show them\nthe neat little wash-house, shaded by a fine clump of trees, with its\nnice bleaching and drying ground beyond, its laundry on the first\nfloor, and two small bedrooms above, where they were to sleep. Betty\nwas enchanted, and expressed over and over again her satisfaction at\nthe change in her life. It was far better, she thought, to stand at the\nwash-tub or ironing-table, breathing the sweet country air, with all\nits pleasant sights and sounds about her, than to do the same at her\nstall in the hot, dusty, crowded city.\n\nAs for Jack, when he saw the splendid garden, when Daisy had led\nthem there, and knew it was to be his privilege to work among those\nlovely flowers, he could not contain himself, but shouted and shouted,\nturned somersault after somersault, till recalled to himself by\nBetty's reminder that he must \"remember that Margaret--she begged\nher pardon,--Miss Daisy--was a little lady now, and he must mind his\nmanners before her.\"\n\nBut Daisy was so like her old self, so free from any pride or\nhaughtiness in her new position, that Jack found it hard to remember\nshe was any other than the little waif whom he had pitied and petted\nfor so long; and his \"manners\" were brought to his mind with much more\nforce by the sight of the gray-haired old Scotch gardener under whom he\nwas to work, and before whom his gambols ceased at once.\n\nMeanwhile General and Mrs. Forster were talking on a very interesting\nsubject, for Betty's words about Daisy's lost friends had given the\nlady a new idea.\n\n\"Frank,\" she said to her husband, \"did you notice what Betty said about\nDaisy's friends?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered. \"I hope she won't turn Daisy's head and make her\nvain with her praise and flattery.\"\n\n\"I'm not afraid,\" said his wife. \"Daisy has a right to her name, the\nmodest, unaffected little girl; and she has too much sense to be\nspoiled by what she looks upon only as the overflowing of Betty's\naffection. But don't you know that the Irish often say _saacy_ when\nthey mean proud?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. I have often noticed it in people of Betty's class,\" answered\nthe General; \"but what has that to do with Daisy's friends?\"\n\n\"Is it not possible that their name is Proudfoot or Proudfit, and that\n'Saacyfut' is Betty's way of calling it?\"\n\nThe General laughed heartily.\n\n\"Hardly, I think,\" he said; \"and yet--I do not know. It may be. But it\nnever struck me. It took a woman's wit to think of that.\"\n\n\"We will ask Daisy when she comes,\" said Mrs. Forster. \"If Proudfoot\n_was_ their name, she must remember it when she hears it spoken, I\nthink. She can hardly have forgotten it so entirely that she would not\nrecognize it. And then, if it should be so, it will be a help to find\nher friends.\" Mrs. Forster spoke the last words more slowly.\n\n\"Yes,\" said her husband, giving words to the thought which had made her\nhalf unwilling to utter them; \"and if found, we must give up our Daisy.\"\n\n\"But we must not seek them the less for that,\" she said, \"or I shall\nfeel as if we had found some lovely jewel that we were striving to\nhide from the rightful owner. I know what terrible longings must fill\nher mother's heart;\" and a tear dropped from Mrs. Forster's eye on her\nbaby's face, as she clasped it more tenderly than ever in her arms.\n\n\"Daisy,\" said the General that evening, as the little girl stood by his\nknee, \"did you ever hear the name of Proudfoot?\"\n\nDaisy started, drew a quick, gasping breath, and suddenly threw herself\ninto his arms.\n\n\"That is it!\" she cried, in a rapid, excited manner, \"that is it! That\nis my name, that is what they called papa and mamma. I never heard it\nsince; but I know it now. I am Daisy Proudfoot, I am, I am!\"\n\nIt was some time before the child's excitement could be calmed; but\nthere was no farther knowledge to be gained from her. Proudfoot was her\nname, of that she was quite sure; and the recollection of it at this\nlate hour seemed to fill her with a kind of tremulous happiness; but\nstill she could not tell where she belonged.\n\nBetty too, when she was asked if Proudfoot was the name of Daisy's\nmother, answered,--\n\n\"Sure, an' it was, ma'am. Didn't I say so all along, only she was\nalways gainsayin' it?\"[A]\n\nThe matter was settled; and General Forster, loath as he was to part\nwith Daisy, feeling that he must leave no stone unturned to trace her\nfriends, again put advertisements in the papers, saying, that if any\nfamily of the name of Proudfoot had had a child supposed to be lost at\nsea, they might hear of her at such and such a place.\n\nDaisy was not told of this; she was contented and happy in her new home\nand among her new friends, and it was not thought best to disturb her\nmind with fresh hopes of finding those who might never come to claim\nher.\n\nBut although she was still called Daisy Forster by all in Glenwood, it\nwas a satisfaction to herself and to the kind friends who had taken her\nup and cared for her, to know the name which rightly belonged to her.\n\nHowever, days and weeks and months went by, and still no one came to\nseek the Daisy blossom which had been transplanted to such pleasant\nsoil. And there it grew and flourished, and did its Master's work;\nproving how much even such a simple floweret can do by its own modest\nexample and teaching to win others to honor Him.\n\nIt was surprising to see how much her schoolmates thought of her\nopinion; how they profited by the simple lesson she had taught them,\nand tried to break themselves of the foolish and sinful habit into\nwhich nearly all of them had fallen, of using sacred names and things\nin such a heedless, unthinking manner.\n\nIt was not only the very little girls, but the older ones also, and\neven Miss Collins herself, who learned from our Daisy to set a watch\nupon their lips, and to remember whose ear was ever present, hearing\neach thoughtless word which dishonored Him or that which especially\nbelonged to Him.\n\nPerhaps they gave more heed to Daisy's words than they would have\ndone to those of any other one of their number. There was such a\nhalf-mystery about her, and their thoughts were so tender towards her,\nthat they checked their heedless speech for her sake at first; then, as\nthey learned to think more about it, for a better and higher reason,\ntill at last the bad habit was broken up; and if, by chance, such a\nword as \"mercy,\" \"heavens,\" \"good Lord,\" or the like, came from the\nlips of any child, the surprised and reproving looks of her companions\ntold her of her fault, and punished her sufficiently.\n\nAnd the good influence spread far and wide. Since the little ones were\nso careful, their parents and older friends felt that they, too, must\ntake heed lest they offended in this way; and so it came to pass that\namong the families of Glenwood God's name and word came to be held in\nsuch true reverence and honor as had never been before.\n\nAnd so nearly a year passed by, and brought the Daisy and her\nsister-flowerets to another spring.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[A] If this is considered far-fetched, the writer can only say that\nBetty's rendering of the name of Proudfoot was actually given by a\ndomestic in her own family, and occasioned considerable bewilderment,\ntill the quick wit of one of its members solved the riddle.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOST FOUND.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nTHE LOST FOUND.\n\n\n\"IS that you, Daisy?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Is that you, Uncle Frank?\" answered Daisy, playfully.\n\n\"Well, I thought it was this morning when I went to town; but I am\ndoubtful of it now.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Daisy, laughing, as she reached up on tiptoe to offer the\nkiss with which she always welcomed her uncle on his return from the\ncity.\n\n\"Baby Daisy is not doubtful, at least,\" said Mrs. Forster, coming\nforward, and putting her little daughter, all crows and smiles, in her\nfather's arms. \"Let her pull your hair a little to convince you of the\nfact.\"\n\n\"It will be difficult,\" said the General. \"There was a man in the cars\nso like me, face, height, and figure, that some of my friends were\ntaking him for me; others accusing me of having a brother whom I have\nnever owned. He sat two or three seats in front of me, and I could not\nhelp being amused. Ward came in, nodded familiarly to my double, with,\n\"How are you, General?\" passed on to me, stopped, and looked from one\nto the other with a mixture of surprise and curiosity that was droll;\nthen asked for information which I could not give him. It was the same\nwith many others. I hope the stranger will keep himself out of mischief\nwhile he is in Glenwood, or I may be held responsible for his wrong\ndoings.\"\n\n\"Did he come to Glenwood?\" asked Daisy.\n\n\"Yes: I left him standing on the platform at the station, and I hardly\nknew whether my own carriage belonged to him or to me. However, he made\nno claim as I stepped into it.\"\n\n\"Who was he?\" asked Mrs. Forster. \"Did not you find out?\"\n\n\"No. No one could tell me, and I could not go and ask the man who he\nwas, merely for the reason that he resembled me so much. There, there,\nlittle woman,\" as the baby gave a vigorous pull at his hair. \"I've\nhad enough of mamma's proofs, and am satisfied that no other man than\nFrank Forster would submit to such usage at these tiny hands. I rather\nimagine this stranger came up to look at Beechgrove, which is to let,\nas I heard him asking the railway porter in which direction it lay, and\nwhere the agent was to be found.\"\n\nA fortnight went by, and nothing more was seen of the stranger who\nlooked so like General Forster; nor after that evening did the General\nor his wife think of him.\n\nNot so Daisy. She thought often of him with a kind of half wish that\nshe might see him; why she scarcely knew herself, but she never spoke\nof it. She was rather a shy, quiet child, keeping her ideas and wishes\npretty much to herself, unless they were drawn out by some one whom she\nloved or trusted; and neither the General nor Mrs. Forster suspected\nwhat was working in her mind.\n\nHer idea, too, that the General looked so like her own papa, they\nregarded only as a childish fancy, ready to see a likeness between\nthe two she most admired and loved in all the world. And they never\nimagined how the child was dreaming and wondering over this unseen\nstranger who had had such a passing interest for them.\n\nMeanwhile, it became certain that Beechgrove, as the place was called,\nwas taken; for the placards advertising it to rent were taken down, and\nthe house was going through a thorough cleaning.\n\nBut the General and his wife, being people who never gossiped or\nconcerned themselves about their neighbors' affairs, did not trouble\nthemselves in the matter. And those who were curious and asked\nquestions received no satisfaction from old Dr. Harding, who had charge\nof the property.\n\nAll Miss Collins' young scholars, however, thought themselves very much\nconcerned in the letting of Beechgrove, and with good reason. For a\nlarge aviary belonged to the place, containing many rare and beautiful\nbirds, and the former owner, who was fond of children, often used to\ninvite the young people of Glenwood to see these birds, and to amuse\nthemselves in other ways about his grounds. But since Dr. Harding had\nhad the care of the place, not a child had been suffered to come within\nsight or hearing of the aviary, which had a new charm for them since it\nwas a forbidden pleasure.\n\nSo the new occupants of Beechgrove, and the question as to whether\nthey were likely to recover their old privileges there or no, had been\na subject of great interest to our young friends, and they were very\nanxious for information on the matter.\n\nOne morning when Daisy came to school, she found the rest of the\nclass grouped about Mattie Prime and Rosie Pierson, who lived beyond\nBeechgrove, and had to pass it on their way to Miss Collins'.\n\n\"The new people have gone to Beechgrove,\" said Violet Swan, when Daisy\nasked what they were talking about; \"and Mattie and Rosie saw a little\ngirl there this morning. We are glad there is a child there, because\nmaybe having her will make the papa good to other children, and he will\nlet us go in and see the birds because of her.\"\n\n\"She's a very little thing,\" said Rosie. \"She can't speak plain. Such a\ncrooked tongue.\"\n\n\"But she's very cunning,\" said Mattie. \"We were going past the gate and\nshe called out to us, 'Itty dirls, itty dirls;' and when we stopped she\nput her face through the rails to kiss us, and handed us some flowers\nshe had. She was real sweet.\"\n\n\"What is her name?\" asked Daisy.\n\n\"We asked her, but we could not make out what she said. Mamy Modwit it\nsounded like; but she did speak so crooked,\" said Mattie.\n\n\"Do you know,\" said Rosie, \"I think she looked like Daisy. Don't you,\nMattie?\"\n\n\"Why, so she does,\" said Mattie. \"Isn't that funny? Only Daisy's eyes\nalways look sorry except when she is laughing or speaking, and that\nlittle girl's were so full of mischief and laughing.\"\n\n\"How big was she?\" asked Lola.\n\n\"Oh, about as large as your sister Bertie. Not near old enough to come\nto school.\"\n\n\"I s'pose there are no other children but her,\" said Fanny Delisle.\n\"Willie saw the family come yesterday; and he said there were only the\nlady and gentleman, and the little girl and servants. If there are no\nchildren as old as us, maybe it won't come into their heads to let us\nsee the aviary again.\"\n\nThis short conversation put an end to the half hope, half wish, that\nhad been in Daisy's heart. Even supposing the stranger who looked so\nlike General Forster were the gentleman who had taken Beechgrove, he\ncould be nothing to her (not until now had she said even to herself\nthat she had hoped it might be so), for the family did not answer to\nher own. She had papa and mamma, little brother Theodore, and a baby\nsister, a very little baby; and only this child of three years old or\nmore seemed to belong to the new-comers; and she had no sister so old.\n\nDaisy reasoned this all out for herself with a sad, disappointed little\nheart, forgetting that time had not stood still with her own family any\nmore than it had with her, and that changes might have come to them as\nwell as to herself.\n\nThis was on Friday, and nothing more was seen or heard of the strangers\nby Daisy or her playmates, till Sunday came. But then such a strange\nand happy thing came to pass, and in such a wonderful way. \"Just like a\nbook thing,\" Lily Ward afterwards said.\n\nIt was the loveliest of Sabbath days, and every thing seemed to feel it.\n\n\"What day is it, Bertie?\" asked Mr. Swan, as his youngest daughter\nstood on the piazza steps ready for church.\n\n\"Jesus' happy Sunday,\" answered the little one; \"and, oh, didn't He\nmate a nice one!\"\n\nOther people than Bertie thought so; a nice one indeed.\n\nIt was the softest, sweetest, warmest of May Sundays. A busy little\nbreeze, carrying with it the perfume of the apple-blossoms over which\nit had passed, stole in at the open windows of the church, and wandered\naround among aisles, pillars, and pews, now fluttering the leaves of\na book, now toying with a ribbon, now tossing a curl upon some sunny\nhead, now fanning some cheek flushed with a walk in the almost summer\nheat. A robin, saucy birdie, swung himself lightly to and fro on the\nbranch of one of the fine old elms outside the church-door, and poured\nforth his hymn of praise; while from far and near came the answering\nnotes of his mates; and mingling with his song were heard the voices of\nthe children in the Sunday school beyond, as they sang the closing hymn.\n\nThen they came trooping in gently, and with soft footsteps, as became\nthe house of God (honoring His name and His word had taught them also\nto honor the place where He was worshipped), and took their places\nbeside their parents and friends.\n\nWatching them from one of the pews which ran by the side of the pulpit,\nwere a pair of roguish, dancing eyes, which Rosie Pierson and Mattie\nPrime recognized at once. They were those of the little girl who had\npeeped at them through the railing of the Beechgrove grounds. Now they\nwere peeping over the top of the pew-door as she stood at its foot,\nher hands crossed upon it, her chin resting upon them. What a bright,\nmerry, laughing face it was, and how like Daisy's! General and Mrs.\nForster had noticed it from their seat, which commanded a full view of\nthat of the strangers.\n\nBeside the little girl sat a gentleman, half turned from the\ncongregation, his face partly shaded by his hand; but there could be no\ndoubt that he was the man who was so like the General. Mrs. Forster saw\nthe likeness at once, even in the turn and shape of his head. Beyond\nhim was a lady in deep mourning, closely veiled.\n\n\"Frank must find out who they are,\" said Mrs. Forster to herself. \"That\nchild is so like Daisy. Can it be--oh, can it be?\" Then she tried to\ncollect her thoughts and bring them back to the service of Him whom she\nhad come to worship.\n\nDaisy came in a little behind the rest of the infant class (she had\nlingered for a word with her teacher), and took her seat. Almost\nimmediately her eye fell on the new-comers to Glenwood. Mrs. Forster\nsaw her start, flush all over, neck and face, and press her small hands\ntightly together, as if trying to keep back some exclamation which rose\nto her lips.\n\nWith a beating heart the child watched the strangers, striving in vain\nto get a better view of the face of the gentleman, gazing from him to\nthe veiled lady, and then at the little girl.\n\nThe bell ceased tolling, the congregation were gathered, the hour of\nservice had come, and the clergyman rose in the pulpit.\n\nBut at that moment the lady drew aside her veil; and ere Dr. Parker had\nopened his lips, a little voice rang through the still church.\n\n\"Mamma! Oh, my own mamma!\"\n\nHow much was in those few words! What a tale they told! What a world of\nlonging, of love, of joy, they held!\n\nThe stranger lady--ah! no stranger was she to our Daisy--started to her\nfeet, stretched out her hands, then with a little cry sank fainting\ninto the arms of the gentleman who had also suddenly arisen.\n\nShe was carried out; General and Mrs. Forster following with the\nexcited, trembling Daisy; and so the father and mother found the\nlong-lost child.\n\nWho could describe it? Who could find words for the joy, the wonder,\nthe gratitude of those concerned; who tell the sympathy which filled\nthe hearts of all in that congregation, which dimmed their eyes with\ntears, and filled their hearts with adoration, as, before another word\nof the morning service was begun, the beloved minister called on all\nto render thanks for the great and signal mercy just shown to those\nlong-parted parents and their little one!\n\nAnd now there is little more to tell. Only how Daisy's mamma, and\nthe little sister whom she remembered only as a tiny baby, had been\nrescued from the sinking ship with some of the other passengers; how,\nhaving been unable to trace their lost treasure, and believing that the\nboat, with all whom it contained, had gone down in the deep waters,\nthe parents had gone abroad, where they had remained till a few months\nbefore this time, and so had never seen the advertisements which might\nhave told them she was still living: all this was soon explained.\n\nAnd then Daisy must tell her story, and Betty must come in to help her\nout where memory failed and the past was a blank, because of that long,\nwasting illness. And how Betty laughed and cried by turns, and would\nhear of no praise or thanks for what she had done, declaring that \"Miss\nDaisy had done her and Jack far more good nor she resaved, taching them\nto mind their tongues afore God Almighty.\"\n\nAnd though General and Mrs. Forster must now give up, to her rightful\nowners, the darling of whom they had grown so fond, yet they did not\nhave to part with her altogether; for she was so near to them that they\nsaw her every day; indeed, the two families became almost as one, and\nDaisy felt as if she had two homes.\n\nThe little brother, whom Daisy remembered so well, had gone to a home\nbeyond the sky, but a few weeks before her father and mother came to\nGlenwood.\n\nAnd so the Daisy blossom, which had been parted from its parent stem\nand cast by the wayside, where stranger hands had gathered and lovingly\ntended it, was planted once more in the soil where it belonged, after\nit had done the Master's work, and scattered the good seed which budded\nfor His glory; proving well, that those who \"honor\" the Lord He will\n\"delight to honor.\"\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n    Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son","title":"Daisy's Work: The Third Commandment","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":22492}