Daisy's Work. The Third Commandment

"They call me Margaret, sir, – Betty and Jack; but Daisy is my own, own name, that papa and mamma called me," she answered, recovering herself a little.

"And where are your papa and mamma?" he asked. "I thought the woman who keeps the fruit-stall at the corner was your mother."

"Oh, no, sir!" she said. "She is only Betty. She is very good to me, but she is not mamma. Mamma was a lady," she added, with simple, childish dignity, which told that she was a lady herself.

"But where are your father and mother?" he repeated, with fresh interest in the child.

"Mamma is drowned, sir; and we could never find papa," she answered, with such pathos in her tones.

"Come into the depot with me," said General Forster: "I want to talk to you."

She obeyed, and, taking up her basket, followed him into the waiting-room, where, heedless of the many curious eyes around, he made her sit down beside him, and drew from her her sad, simple story: – how long, long ago she had lived with papa and mamma and her little brother and baby sister in their own lovely home, far away from here; where it was, she did not know, but in quite a different place from the great bustling city which she had never seen till she came here with Betty and Jack; how she had left home with mamma and the baby on a great ship, where to go she could not remember; how Betty was on board, and mamma had been kind to her; how a dreadful storm had come and there was great confusion and terror; and then it seemed as if she went to sleep for a long, long time, and knew nothing more till she found herself living with Betty and Jack in their poor home far up in the city.

They had been very good to her, nursing and caring for her during the many months she had been weak and ailing; and now that she was stronger and better, she tried to help them all she could, keeping the two small rooms tidy, while Betty was away attending to her stall; and in the afternoon selling the flowers which Jack raised in his little garden, and she arranged in tasteful bouquets. And, lastly, she told how from the very first time she had seen General Forster, she thought he "looked so like papa" that she felt as if she must love him, and was so happy when he stopped to buy flowers of her and spoke kindly to her.

The story was told with a straightforward and simple pathos, which went right to the listener's heart, and left him no doubt of its truth. But the child could tell nothing of her own name or her parents', save that she was always called "Daisy" at home, and that she had never since heard the familiar name until to-day, when she thought this stranger had given it to her. Betty and Jack always called her "Margaret;" and Betty thought she knew mamma's name, but she did not. But she loved daisies dearly for the sake of their name, which had been her own; and she had raised and tended with loving care the little plant she had given to "my gentleman" as a token of gratitude for his kindness, and because he was "so like papa."

Having learned all that he could from the child herself, the gentleman went to the fruit-woman on the corner.

"So," he said, "the little girl whom you call Margaret is not your own daughter?"

"Indade, no, sir," answered Betty; "niver a daughter of me own have I barrin' Jack, and he's not me own at all, but jist me sister's son what died, lavin' him a babby on me hands. More betoken that it's not a little lady like her that the likes of me would be raisin', unless she'd none of her own to do it."

"Will you tell me how that came about?"

Betty told the story in her turn, in as plain and simple a manner as the child's, though in language far different.

Her husband had been steward on a sailing vessel running between New Orleans and New York; and about three years ago, she, being sick and ordered change of air, had been allowed to go with him for the voyage. But it made her worse instead of better; and on the return trip she would have died, Betty declared, if it had not been for the kindness and tender nursing of a lady, "Margaret's" mother. This lady – "her name had been Saacyfut, she believed, but maybe she disremembered intirely, for Margaret said it was not" – was on her way to New York with her little girl who was sick, a baby, and a French nurse; but her home was neither there nor in New Orleans, – at least so the child afterwards said.

Her own account of the storm was the same as the child's; but while the recollection of the little one could go no further, Betty remembered only too well the horrors of that day.

When it was found that the ship must sink, and that all on board must leave her, there had been, as the little girl said, great confusion. How it was, Betty could not exactly tell; she had been placed in one boat, the French nurse, with the child in her arms, beside her; and the lady was about to follow with the infant, when a spar fell, striking the Frenchwoman on the head and killing her instantly, knocking overboard one of the three sailors who were in the boat, – while at the same time the boat was parted from the ship and at the mercy of the raging waves. In vain did the two sailors who were left try to regain the ship: they were swept further and further away, and soon lost sight of the vessel. They drifted about all night, and the next morning were taken up by a fishing-smack which brought them to New York.

Fright and exposure and other hardships, while they seemed to have cured Betty, were too much for the poor little girl, and a long and terrible illness followed: after which she lay for months, too weak to move or speak, and appearing to have lost all memory and sense. And when at last she grew better and stronger, and reason and recollection came back, she could not tell the name of her parents or her home.

"Margaret Saacyfut," Betty persisted in saying the French nurse had called her little charge, "Mamsell Margaret," "and if the lady's name wasn't Saacyfut it was mightily nigh to it."

"Marguerite" had been the French woman's name for "Daisy: " that the General saw plainly enough, but he could make nothing of the surname.

"But did you not seek for the child's friends, Betty?" he asked.

"'Deed did I, sir," she answered. "Didn't I even advertise her, an' how she was to be heerd of, but all to no good. An' I writ to New Orleans to them what owned the ship, but they were that oncivil they niver answered, not they. An' it took a hape of money, sir, to be payin' the paper, an' me such hard work to get along, an' Margaret on me hands, an' I had to be done with it. For ye see me man was gone wid the ship, an' niver heerd of along wid the rest to this day; an' I had to use up the bit he'd put by in the savin's bank till the child was mendin' enough for me to lave her wid Jack."

"It was a very generous thing for you to burden yourself with the care of her," said General Forster.

"Burden is it, sir? Niver a burden was she, the swate lamb, not even when the sense had left her. An' that was what the neighbors was always a sayin', and why didn't I put her in the hospital. An' why would I do that after the mother of her savin' me from a buryin' in the say, which I niver could abide. For sure if it hadn't been for the lady I'd 'a died on the ould ship, and they'd 'a chucked me overboard widout sayin' by your lave; and sure I'd niver have got over such a buryin' as that all the days of me life. And would I be turnin' out her child afther that? An' isn't she payin' me for it now, an' 'arnin' her livin,' an' mine too? She an' Jack tends the bit of a garden, an' arternoons she comes down an' sells her flowers, an' where'd be the heart to refuse her wid her pretty ways and nice manners; a lady every inch of her, like her mother before her."

And thrusting her head out from her stall, Betty gazed down the street with admiring affection on her young protégée.

"Och! but she's the jewel of a child," she went on; "and it is surprisin' how me and Jack is improved and become ginteel all along of her. Ye see, sir, I did use to say a hape of words that maybe wer'n't jist so; not that I meant 'em for swearin', but it was jist a way of spakin'. But after Margaret began to mend and get about, ye would have thought she was kilt intirely if I let one out of me mouth. So seein' how it hurted her, I jist minded what I was about, an' Jack the same, for he was a boy that swore awful, poor fellow; he'd been left to himself, and how was he to know better? At first him and me minded our tongues, for that the child shouldn't be hurted; but by and by didn't she make it plain to us that it was the great Lord himself what we was offendin', and knowin' she'd been tached better nor me, I jist heeded her. And now, sir, them words that I never thought no harm of and used to come so aisy, I jist leave them out of me spache widout troublin'; and a deal better it sounds, and widout doubt more plasin' to Him that's above. And Jack the same mostly, though he does let one slip now and agin. So ye see, sir, it's not a burden she is at all, at all, but jist a little bit of light and comfort to the house that houlds her."

Glad to find a listener in a "gintleman the likes of him," Betty had talked away to the gentlemen, so taken up with her story, that she paid little heed to the business of her stall. She made wrong change more than once, gave quarts instead of pints, oranges in place of apples, and peanuts for sugar-plums, and provoked some impatient customers not a little; while one wicked boy, seeing her attention was taken up with something else, ran off without paying for the pop-corn he asked for, and was not called back.

But Betty lost nothing by the time and thought she had given to the gentleman, or the interest she had shown in her young charge, as she found when she looked at the number upon the note he slipped into her hand when he left her: a note which the warm-hearted Irishwoman laid by "to buy that new gown and pair of shoes Margaret needed so bad."

III.

THE DAISY TRANSPLANTED

"BETTY," said General Forster, stopping the next morning at the fruit-woman's stall, "could you make up your mind to give up that little girl if you were sure it was for her good?"

Betty sighed and shook her head mournfully as she answered, —

"I've always looked to give her up, sir, if them Saacyfuts, or whatever their name'll be, turned up, and if it was for her good, sorra a word would they hear out of me, though I won't say but it would go hard with me and Jack. But ye'll not be tellin' me ye've been findin' her friends since last night, sir?"

"Not the people she belongs to, certainly, Betty; but I have found those who will be friends to her, and provide for her, if you will consent. She should go to school and be well taught: do you not think so?"

"Indade, an' there's none knows that better nor meself, sir. An' is it yerself that's the friend ye're spakin' of?" and Betty gave a searching look into the gentleman's face.

He smiled. "Yes," he said: "I would like to put her to school and take care of her. She seems a sweet child, and a good one. And you see, Betty, I have it in my power to do more to find her friends than you are able to do, and we may trace them yet. If we never find them, I will promise to provide for her as long as it may be necessary. Are you willing?"

Betty again stared into the face of her questioner as if she would look him through.

"I'm sinsible of your kindness, sir," she answered; "but ye see I'm in a way risponsible for the child, not to say that she is as dear to me as me own flesh and blood, and I'd say 'yis,' and thank ye kindly, but – ye'll excuse me plain spakin' – ye're a stranger to me, and I couldn't be partin' wid Margaret widout I was certified as to yer karacter. For if I didn't think she'd be brought up right, niver a foot should she stir to go wid ye. I seen Miss Gertrude Allston a walkin' wid ye once last summer, sir, jist after I set up me stand here, but she niver heeded me wid her swate face. But I used to be laundress in her mother's house afore I was married, and a swate child was Miss Gertrude and a good as ye're sayin' of Margaret, and she'll niver go far wrong, I'll answer for it. So, if ye'll jist bring me a line from her and she says ye're all right, I'll not say ye nay."

General Forster laughed heartily, not one whit offended at Betty's "plain spakin'."

"Miss Gertrude Allston, as you call her, will give me all the lines you want, Betty; and she thought me right enough to marry me. She is my wife, – Mrs. Forster."

"An' is it so, sir?" said Betty, dropping the rosy-cheeked apple she was polishing, and gazing at the gentleman with a mixture of curiosity and admiration that was droll to see. "Well, but ye're in luck; and if it's Miss Gertrude that has the managin' of ye, that's karacter enough of itself, an' I'll say take the child an' my blessin' on all of yees. But when she gets among yer fine folks, ye'll not let her be forgettin' the woman what cared for her when there was none else to do it: will ye, sir? An' ye'll be lettin' me see her once in a while?"

There is no need to say that this was readily promised, and the General went on to tell Betty what plans he and his wife had for Daisy. She was to be taken for a while to his home, where Mrs. Forster would provide her with proper clothing; and then send her to Miss Collins' boarding-school to be taught and trained in a way to satisfy her friends if they should ever find her, or that she might one day be able to earn her own living, if it should be needful.

"An' I'm glad she should have the bringin' up of a lady which is what I couldn't give her," said Betty, with another sigh, for it went to her heart to part with her darling; "but ye'll not be able to make her more of a lady nor she is now; no, not if ye dress her in gould and jewels, an' silks an' satins. Niver a rough word nor way has she with her, if she has been with me and Jack more nor two year, nor ye couldn't find a purtier behaved child in all the land."

An hour or two later, Betty, having found a friend to "mind" her stall for her, guided General Forster to the tiny house in the suburbs of the city where she lived with Daisy and Jack.

The two children were out in the little garden gathering the flowers which were to be tied up in bouquets for Daisy's afternoon sale; and great was their surprise, when the sound of the gate-latch causing them to look up, they saw Betty coming home at this unusual hour of the day, and the gentleman with her. Their business was soon told; but although Daisy flushed and smiled with astonishment and delight when she heard what the "gentleman who looked so like papa" meant to do for her, the little face soon shadowed over again, and she shook her head gently but firmly when she was asked if she would go.

"An' why for no, dear?" asked Betty. "Sure ye'd niver be for throwin' away a chance the likes of that, not to spake of it's bein' ongrateful to the gintleman's kindness, an' he no more nor less than the husband of Miss Gertrude."

But Daisy shook her head again; and then first begging the gentleman's pardon, as a polite little girl should do, stepped up to her faithful friend, and putting her arms about her neck whispered something in her ear.

The tears she had before with trouble kept back now started to Betty's eyes.

"Och, an' is it that, honey?" she said in her broadest brogue, "an' ye'll not let that be thrubblin' yer dear heart. What a tinder, grateful little sowl it is! Ye see, sir," she went on, turning to the General, while she smoothed with her loving hand the little head which lay upon her breast, "ye see, sir, it's just as I tellt ye. She's a lady, every inch of her, an' has feelin's that's jist oncommon. An' there's a matter of back rint jew, it's more'n a year, though me landlord he's as good as gould, an' a bill at the poticary's, an' little scores at the baker's an' grocers what I niver got paid off yet, not since the child was sick an' I couldn't rightly make things go; an' she says she won't be lavin' us now that she can turn a penny wid her posies an' help along."

Drawing the child to him, General Forster whispered to her in his turn, promising that the "back rint" and other "scores" should be paid off without delay if she would but come with him; and Daisy, feeling herself nearer home and friends than she had ever done since the dreadful day of the shipwreck, when she was parted from "mamma," put her hand trustingly in his to be led where he would.