Daisy's Work. The Third Commandment

"Oh, about as large as your sister Bertie. Not near old enough to come to school."

"I s'pose there are no other children but her," said Fanny Delisle. "Willie saw the family come yesterday; and he said there were only the lady and gentleman, and the little girl and servants. If there are no children as old as us, maybe it won't come into their heads to let us see the aviary again."

This short conversation put an end to the half hope, half wish, that had been in Daisy's heart. Even supposing the stranger who looked so like General Forster were the gentleman who had taken Beechgrove, he could be nothing to her (not until now had she said even to herself that she had hoped it might be so), for the family did not answer to her own. She had papa and mamma, little brother Theodore, and a baby sister, a very little baby; and only this child of three years old or more seemed to belong to the new-comers; and she had no sister so old.

Daisy reasoned this all out for herself with a sad, disappointed little heart, forgetting that time had not stood still with her own family any more than it had with her, and that changes might have come to them as well as to herself.

This was on Friday, and nothing more was seen or heard of the strangers by Daisy or her playmates, till Sunday came. But then such a strange and happy thing came to pass, and in such a wonderful way. "Just like a book thing," Lily Ward afterwards said.

It was the loveliest of Sabbath days, and every thing seemed to feel it.

"What day is it, Bertie?" asked Mr. Swan, as his youngest daughter stood on the piazza steps ready for church.

"Jesus' happy Sunday," answered the little one; "and, oh, didn't He mate a nice one!"

Other people than Bertie thought so; a nice one indeed.

It was the softest, sweetest, warmest of May Sundays. A busy little breeze, carrying with it the perfume of the apple-blossoms over which it had passed, stole in at the open windows of the church, and wandered around among aisles, pillars, and pews, now fluttering the leaves of a book, now toying with a ribbon, now tossing a curl upon some sunny head, now fanning some cheek flushed with a walk in the almost summer heat. A robin, saucy birdie, swung himself lightly to and fro on the branch of one of the fine old elms outside the church-door, and poured forth his hymn of praise; while from far and near came the answering notes of his mates; and mingling with his song were heard the voices of the children in the Sunday school beyond, as they sang the closing hymn.

Then they came trooping in gently, and with soft footsteps, as became the house of God (honoring His name and His word had taught them also to honor the place where He was worshipped), and took their places beside their parents and friends.

Watching them from one of the pews which ran by the side of the pulpit, were a pair of roguish, dancing eyes, which Rosie Pierson and Mattie Prime recognized at once. They were those of the little girl who had peeped at them through the railing of the Beechgrove grounds. Now they were peeping over the top of the pew-door as she stood at its foot, her hands crossed upon it, her chin resting upon them. What a bright, merry, laughing face it was, and how like Daisy's! General and Mrs. Forster had noticed it from their seat, which commanded a full view of that of the strangers.

Beside the little girl sat a gentleman, half turned from the congregation, his face partly shaded by his hand; but there could be no doubt that he was the man who was so like the General. Mrs. Forster saw the likeness at once, even in the turn and shape of his head. Beyond him was a lady in deep mourning, closely veiled.

"Frank must find out who they are," said Mrs. Forster to herself. "That child is so like Daisy. Can it be – oh, can it be?" Then she tried to collect her thoughts and bring them back to the service of Him whom she had come to worship.

Daisy came in a little behind the rest of the infant class (she had lingered for a word with her teacher), and took her seat. Almost immediately her eye fell on the new-comers to Glenwood. Mrs. Forster saw her start, flush all over, neck and face, and press her small hands tightly together, as if trying to keep back some exclamation which rose to her lips.

With a beating heart the child watched the strangers, striving in vain to get a better view of the face of the gentleman, gazing from him to the veiled lady, and then at the little girl.

The bell ceased tolling, the congregation were gathered, the hour of service had come, and the clergyman rose in the pulpit.

But at that moment the lady drew aside her veil; and ere Dr. Parker had opened his lips, a little voice rang through the still church.

"Mamma! Oh, my own mamma!"

How much was in those few words! What a tale they told! What a world of longing, of love, of joy, they held!

The stranger lady – ah! no stranger was she to our Daisy – started to her feet, stretched out her hands, then with a little cry sank fainting into the arms of the gentleman who had also suddenly arisen.

She was carried out; General and Mrs. Forster following with the excited, trembling Daisy; and so the father and mother found the long-lost child.

Who could describe it? Who could find words for the joy, the wonder, the gratitude of those concerned; who tell the sympathy which filled the hearts of all in that congregation, which dimmed their eyes with tears, and filled their hearts with adoration, as, before another word of the morning service was begun, the beloved minister called on all to render thanks for the great and signal mercy just shown to those long-parted parents and their little one!

And now there is little more to tell. Only how Daisy's mamma, and the little sister whom she remembered only as a tiny baby, had been rescued from the sinking ship with some of the other passengers; how, having been unable to trace their lost treasure, and believing that the boat, with all whom it contained, had gone down in the deep waters, the parents had gone abroad, where they had remained till a few months before this time, and so had never seen the advertisements which might have told them she was still living: all this was soon explained.

And then Daisy must tell her story, and Betty must come in to help her out where memory failed and the past was a blank, because of that long, wasting illness. And how Betty laughed and cried by turns, and would hear of no praise or thanks for what she had done, declaring that "Miss Daisy had done her and Jack far more good nor she resaved, taching them to mind their tongues afore God Almighty."

And though General and Mrs. Forster must now give up, to her rightful owners, the darling of whom they had grown so fond, yet they did not have to part with her altogether; for she was so near to them that they saw her every day; indeed, the two families became almost as one, and Daisy felt as if she had two homes.

The little brother, whom Daisy remembered so well, had gone to a home beyond the sky, but a few weeks before her father and mother came to Glenwood.

And so the Daisy blossom, which had been parted from its parent stem and cast by the wayside, where stranger hands had gathered and lovingly tended it, was planted once more in the soil where it belonged, after it had done the Master's work, and scattered the good seed which budded for His glory; proving well, that those who "honor" the Lord He will "delight to honor."

notes

1

If this is considered far-fetched, the writer can only say that Betty's rendering of the name of Proudfoot was actually given by a domestic in her own family, and occasioned considerable bewilderment, till the quick wit of one of its members solved the riddle.