Molly was not sick now. Daisy's good offices in the material line were confined to supplying her with nice bread and butter and fruit and milk, with many varieties beside. But in that day or two of rheumatic pains, when Molly had been waited upon by the dainty little handmaiden who came in spotless frocks and trim little black shoes to make her fire and prepare her tea, Daisy's tenderness and care had completely won Molly's heart. She was a real angel in that poor house; no vision of one. Molly welcomed her so, looked at her so, and would perhaps have obeyed her as readily. But Daisy offered no words that required obedience1, except those she read out of the Book; and Molly listened to them as if it had been the voice of an angel. She was learning to read herself; really learning: making advances every day that shewed diligent2 interest; and the interest was fed by those words she daily listened to out of the same book. Daisy had got a large-print Testament3 for her at Crum Elbow; and a new life had begun for the cripple. The rose-bush and the geranium flourished brilliantly, for the frosts had not come yet; and they were a good setting forth4 of how things were going in the house.
One lovely October afternoon, when air and sky were a breath and vision of delight, after a morning spent in dressing5 and practising, Daisy went to Molly. She went directly after luncheon6. She had given Molly her lesson; and then Daisy sat with a sober little face, her finger between the leaves of the Bible, before beginning her accustomed reading. Molly eyed her wistfully.
"About the crowns and the white dresses," she suggested.
"Shall I read about those?" said Daisy. And Molly nodded. And with her little face exceedingly grave and humble8, Daisy read the seventh chapter of the Revelation, and then the twenty-first chapter, and the twenty-second; and then she sat with her finger between the leaves as before, looking out of the window.
"Will they all be sealed?" said Molly, breaking the silence.
"Yes."
"What is that?"
"I don't know exactly. It will be a mark of all the people that love
Jesus."
"A mark in their foreheads?"
"Yes, it says so."
"What mark?"
"I don't know, Molly; it says, 'His name shall be in their foreheads.'"
And Daisy's eyes became full of tears.
"How will that be?"
"I don't know, Molly; it don't tell. I suppose that everybody that looks at them will know in a minute that they belong to Jesus."
Daisy's hand went up and brushed across her eyes; and then did it again.
"Do they belong to him?" asked Molly.
"O yes! Here it is—don't you remember?—'they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'"
"So they are white, then?" said Molly.
"Yes. And his mark is on them."
"I wish," said the cripple slowly and thoughtfully,—"I wish 'twas on me. I do!"
I do not think Daisy could speak at this. She shut her book and got up and looked at Molly, who had put her head down on her folded arms; and then she opened Molly's Testament and pressed her arm to make her look. Still Daisy did not speak; she had laid her finger under some of the words she had been reading; but when Molly raised her head she remembered the sense of them could not be taken by the poor woman's eyes. So Daisy read them, looking with great tenderness in the cripple's face—
"'I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.' That is what it says, Molly."
"Who says?"
"Why Jesus says it. He came and died to buy the life for us—and now he will give it to us, he says, if we want it."
"What life?" said Molly vaguely9.
"Why that, Molly; that which you were wishing for. He will forgive us, and make us good, and set his mark upon us; and then we shall wear those robes that are made white in his blood, and be with him in heaven. And that is life."
"You and me?" said Molly.
"O yes! Molly—anybody. It says 'whosoever is athirst.'"
"Where's the words?" said Molly.
Daisy shewed her; and Molly made a deep mark in the paper under them with her nail; so deep as to signify that she meant to have them for present study or future reference or both. Then, as Molly seemed to have said her say, Daisy said no more and went away.
It was still not late in the afternoon; and Daisy drove on, past the Melbourne gates, and turned the corner into the road which led to Crum Elbow. The air was as clear as October could have it; and soft, neither warm nor cold; and the roads were perfect; and here and there a few yellow and red maple10 leaves, and in many places a brown stubble field, told that autumn was come. It was as pleasant a day for drive as could possibly be; and yet Daisy's face was more intent upon her pony11's ears than upon any other visible thing. She drove on towards Crum Elbow, but before she reached it she turned another corner, and drew up before Juanita's house.
It was not the first visit she had made here since going home; though Daisy had in truth not come often nor stayed long. All the more glad were Juanita and she to see each other now. Daisy took off her flat and sat down on the old chintz couch, with a face of content. Yet it was grave content; not joyous12 at all. So Juanita's keen eyes saw, through all the talking which went on. Daisy and she had a great deal to say to each other; and among other things the story of Molly came in and was enlarged upon; though Daisy left most of her own doings to be guessed at. She did not tell them more than she could well help. However, talk went on a good while, and still when it paused Daisy's face looked thoughtful and careful. So Juanita saw.
"Is my love quite well?"
"O yes, Juanita. I am quite well. I think I am getting strong, a little."
Juanita's thanksgiving was earnest. Daisy looked very sober.
"Juanita, I have been wanting to talk to you."
Now they had been talking a good deal; but this, the black woman saw, was not what Daisy meant.
"What is it, my love?"
"I don't know, Juanita. I think I am puzzled."
The fine face of Mrs. Benoit looked gravely attentive13, and a little anxiously watchful14 of Daisy's.
"The best way will be to tell you. Juanita, they are—I mean, we are—playing pictures at home."
"What is that, Miss Daisy?"
"Why, they take pictures—pictures in books, you know—and dress up people like the people in the pictures, and make them stand so or sit so, and look so, as the people in the pictures do; and so they make a picture of living people."
"Yes, Miss Daisy."
"They are playing pictures at home. I mean, we are. Mamma is going to give a great party next week; and the pictures are to be all made and shewn at the party. There are twelve pictures; and they will be part of the entertainment. There is to be a gauze stretched over the door of the library, and the pictures are to be seen behind the gauze."
"And does Miss Daisy like the play?" the black woman inquired, not lightly.
"Yes, Juanita—I like some things about it. It is very amusing. There are some things I do not like."
"Did Miss Daisy wish to talk to me about those things she not like?"
"I don't, know, Juanita—no, I think not. Not about those things. But I do not exactly know about myself."
"What Miss Daisy not know about herself?"
"I do not know exactly—whether it is right."
"Whether what be right, my love?"
Daisy was silent at first, and looked puzzled.
"Juanita—I mean—I don't know whether I am right."
"Will my love tell what she mean?"
"It is hard, Juanita. But—I don't think I am quite right. I want you to tell me what to do."
Daisy's little face looked perplexed15 and wise. And sorry.
"What troubles my love?"
"I do not know how it was, Juanita—I did not care at all about it at first; and then I began to care about it a little—and now—"
"What does my love care about?"
"About being dressed, Juanita; and wearing mamma's jewels, and looking like a picture."
"Will Miss Daisy tell Juanita better what she mean?"
"Why, you know, Juanita," said the child wistfully, "they dress up the people to look like the pictures; and they have put me in some very pretty pictures; and in one I am to be beautifully dressed to look like Queen Esther—with mamma's jewels all over me. And there is another little girl who would like to have that part,—and I do not want to give it to her."
Juanita sat silent, looking grave and anxious. Her lips moved, but she said nothing that could be heard.
"And Juanita," the child went on—"I think, somehow, I like to look better than other people,—and to have handsomer dresses than other people,—in the pictures, you know."
Still Juanita was silent.
"Is it right, Juanita?"
"Miss Daisy pardon me. Who Miss Daisy think be so pleased to see her in the beautiful dress in the picture?"
"Juanita—it was not that I meant. I was not thinking so much of that.
Mamma would like it, I suppose, and papa;—but I like it myself."
Juanita was silent again.
"Is it right, Juanita?"
"Why do Miss Daisy think it not right?"
Daisy looked undecided and perplexed.
"Juanita—I wasn't quite sure."
"Miss Daisy like to play in these pictures?"
"Yes, Juanita—and I like—Juanita, I like it!"
"And another little girl, Miss Daisy say, like it too?"
"Yes, I think they all do. But there is a little girl that wants to take my part."
"And who Miss Daisy want to please?"
Daisy hesitated, and her eyes reddened; she sat a minute still; then looked up very wistfully.
"Juanita, I think I want to please myself."
"Jesus please not himself"—said the black woman.
Daisy made no answer to that. She bent16 over and hid her little head in Mrs. Benoit's lap. And tears undoubtedly17 came, though they were quiet tears. The black woman's hand went tenderly over the little round head.
"And he say to his lambs—'Follow me.'"
"Juanita"—Daisy spoke18 without raising her head—"I want to please him most."
"How Miss Daisy think she do that?"
Daisy's tears now, for some reason, came evidently, and abundantly. She wept more freely in Juanita's lap than she would have done before father or mother. The black woman let her alone, and there was silent counsel-taking between Daisy and her tears for some time.
"Speak to me, Juanita"—she said at last.
"What my love want me to say?"
"It has been all wrong, hasn't it, Juanita? O have I, Juanita?"
"What, my love?"
"I know I have," said Daisy. "I knew it was not right before."
There was yet again a silence; a tearful silence on one part. Then Daisy raised her head, looking very meek19.
"Juanita, what ought I to do?"
"What my love said," the black woman replied very tenderly. "Please the
Lord."
"Yes; but I mean, how shall I do that?"
"Jesus please not himself; and he say, 'Follow me.'"
"Juanita, I believe I began to want to please myself very soon after all this picture work and dressing began."
"Then it not please the Lord," said Juanita decidedly.
"I know," said Daisy; "and it has been growing worse and worse. But Juanita, I shall have to finish the play now—I cannot help it. How shall I keep good? Can I?"
"My love knows the Good Shepherd carry his lamb in his bosom20, if she let him. He is called Jesus, for he save his people from their sins."
Daisy's face was very lowly; and very touching21 was the way she bent her little head and passed her hand across her eyes. It was the gesture of penitent22 gentleness.
"Tell me some more, Juanita."
"Let the Lord speak," said the black woman turning over her well used Bible. "See, Miss Daisy—'Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed23 up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own—'"
"I was puffed up," said Daisy, "because I was to wear those beautiful things. I will let Nora wear them. I was seeking my own, all the time, Juanita. I didn't know it."
"See, Miss Daisy—'That women adorn24 themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broidered hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly25 array.'"
"Is there any harm in those pretty things, Juanita? They are so pretty!"
"I don't know, Miss Daisy; the Lord say he not pleased with them; and the Lord knows."
"I suppose," said Daisy——but what Daisy supposed was never told. It was lost in thought.
"My love see here what please the Lord—'the ornament26 of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.'"
Daisy lifted her little face and kissed the fine olive cheek of her friend.
"I know now, Juanita," she said with her accustomed placidness. "I didn't know what was the matter with me. I shall have to play in the pictures—I cannot help it now—but I will let Nora be Queen Esther."
It was quite late by this time and Daisy after a little more talk went home; a talk which filled the child's heart with comfort. Daisy went home quite herself again, and looked as happy and busy as a bee when she got there.
"Daisy! what late doings!" exclaimed her father. "Out all the afternoon and practising all the morning—Where have you been?"
"I have been visiting, papa."
"Pray whom?"
"Molly, papa—and Juanita," Daisy said, not very willingly, for Mrs.
Randolph was within hearing.
"A happy selection!" said she. "Go and get ready for dinner, Daisy."
"Have you been all the afternoon at those two places, Daisy?" asked her father, within whose arms she stood.
"Yes, papa."
He let her go; and a significant look passed between him and his wife.
"A little too much of a good thing," said Mr. Randolph.
"It will be too much, soon," the lady answered.
Nevertheless Daisy for the present was safe, thanks to her friend Dr. Sandford; and she passed on up stairs with a spirit as light as a bird. And after she was dressed, till it was time for her to go in to the dinner-table, all that while a little figure was kneeling at the open window and a little round head was bowed upon the sill. And after that, there was no cloud upon Daisy's face at all.
In the drawing-room, when they were taking tea, Daisy carried her cup of milk and cake to a chair close by Preston.
"Well, Daisy, what now?"
"I want to talk to you about the pictures, Preston."
"We did finely to-day, Daisy! If only I could get the cramp27 out of
Frederica's fingers."
"Cramp!" said Daisy.
"Yes. She picks up that handkerchief of hers as if her hand was a bird's claw. I can't get a blue jay or a canary out of my head when I see her. Did you ever see a bird scratch its eye with its claw, Daisy?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is what she puts me in mind of. That handkerchief kills Marie Antoinette, dead. And she won't take advice—or she can't. It is a pity you hadn't it to do; you would hold it right queenly. You do Esther capitally. I don't believe a Northern girl can manage that sort of thing."
Daisy sipped28 her milk and eat crumbs29 of cake for a minute without making any answer.
"Preston, I am going to let Nora be Queen Esther."
"What!" said Preston.
"I am going to let Nora be Queen Esther."
"Nora! Not if I know it," said Preston.
"Yes, but I am. I would like it better. And Nora would like to be Queen
Esther, I know."
"I dare say she would! Like it! Of course. No, Daisy; Queen Esther is yours and nobody's else. What has put that into your head?"
"Preston, I think Nora would like it; and you know, they said she was most like a Jewess of all of us; I think it would be proper to give it to her."
"I shall not do it. We will be improper30 for once."
"But I am going to do it, Preston."
"Daisy, you have not liberty. I am the manager. What has come over you?
You played Esther beautifully only this morning. What is the matter?"
"I have been thinking about it," said Daisy; "and I have concluded I would rather give it to Nora."
Preston was abundantly vexed31, for he knew by the signs that Daisy had made up her mind; and he was beginning to know that his little cousin was exceedingly hard to move when once she was fully7 set on a thing. He debated within himself an appeal to authority; but on the whole dismissed that thought. It was best not to disgust Daisy with the whole affair; and he hoped coaxing32 might yet do the work. But Daisy was too quick for him.
"Nora," she said at the next meeting, "if you like, I will change with you in the fainting picture. You shall be the queen, and I will be one of the women."
"Shall I be the queen?" said Nora.
"Yes, if you like."
"But why don't you want to do it?"
"I would rather you would, if you like it."
"Well, I'll do it," said Nora; "but Daisy, shall I have all the dress you were going to wear?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Because, if I don't, I won't. I must have just exactly what you were going to wear."
"Why you will of course, I suppose," said Daisy, a good deal astonished.
"Every bit," said Nora. "Shall I have that same white satin gown?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Of course you will. It is only you and I that change; not the dress."
"And shall I have the ornaments33 too?"
"Just the same, I suppose; unless Mrs. Sandford thinks that something else will look better."
"I won't have anything else. I want that same splendid necklace for my girdle—shall I?"
"I suppose so, Nora."
"You say 'I suppose so' to everything. I want to know. Shall I have that same pink silk thing over my hair?"
"That scarf? yes."
"And the red necklace on it? and the bracelets34? and the gold and diamonds round my neck? I won't be Esther if I don't have the dress."
"I suppose you will have the dress," said Daisy; "of course you will.
But if you say you do not want to be Esther, they will make me do it."
A hint that closed Nora's mouth. She did not say she did not want to be Esther. Mrs. Sandford was astonished at the change of performers; but Daisy's resignation was so simply made and naturally, and Nora's acceptance was so manifestly glad, that nobody could very well offer any hindrance35. The change was made; but Preston would not suffer Daisy to be one of the attendants. He left her out of the picture altogether and put Jane Linwood in Nora's vacated place. Daisy was content; and now the practising and the arrangements went on prospering36.
There was a good deal of preparation to be made, besides what the mantua-maker could do. Mr. Stilton was called into the library for a great consultation37; and then he went to work. The library was the place chosen for the tableaux38; the spectators to be gathered into the drawing-room, and the pictures displayed just within the wide door of communication between the two rooms. On the library side of this door Mr. Stilton laid down a platform, slightly raised and covered with green baize cloth, and behind the platform a frame-work was raised and hung with green baize to serve as a proper background for the pictures. A flower stand was brought in from the greenhouse and placed at one side, out of sight from the drawing-room; for the purpose, as Preston informed Daisy, of holding the lights. All these details were under his management, and he managed, Daisy thought, very ably indeed. Meantime the dresses were got ready. Fortitude's helmet was constructed of pasteboard and gilt39 paper; and Nora said it looked just as if it were solid gold. The crown of Ahasuerus, and Alfred's six-foot bow were also made; and a beautiful old brown spinning wheel was brought from Mrs. Sandford's house for Priscilla. Priscilla's brown dress was put together, and her white vandyke starched40. And the various mantles41 and robes of velvet42 and silk which were to be used, were in some way accommodated to the needs of the young wearers. All was done well, and Preston was satisfied; except with Daisy.
Not that Daisy did not enter into the amusement of what was going forward; for perhaps nobody took so much real share in it. Even Mr. Stilton's operations interested her. But she was not engrossed43 at all. She was not different from her usual self. All the glory of the tableaux had not dazzled her, so far as Preston could see. And daily, every morning, she stepped into that little pony chaise with a basket and drove off—Preston was at the pains to find out—to spend a couple of hours with Molly Skelton. Preston sighed with impatience44. And then in the very act of dressing and practising for the pictures, Daisy was provokingly cool and disengaged. She did her part very well, but seemed just as much interested in other people's parts and as much pleased with other people's adornment45. Queen Esther in particular was Daisy's care, since she had given up the character; and without putting herself forward she had once or twice made a suggestion to Mrs. Sandford, of something that she either thought would please Nora or that she felt called for by her own tastes; and in each case Mrs. Sandford declared the suggestion had been an improvement.
But with a pleasure much greater and keener, Daisy had seen the pot containing the 'Jewess' geranium taken up out of the ground, and set, with all the glory of its purple-red blossoms, in Molly's poor little room. There it stood, on a deal table, a spot of beauty and refinement46, all alone to witness for the existence of such things on the earth. And heeded47 by Molly as well as by Daisy. Daisy knew that. And all the pleasure of all the tableaux put together could give nothing to Daisy equal to her joy when Molly first began to read. That day, when letters began really to be put together into words to Molly's comprehension, Daisy came home a proud child. Or rather, for pride is a bad word, she came home with a heart swelling48 with hope and exultation49; hope and exultation that looked forward confidently to the glory to be revealed.
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1
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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prospering
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的现在分词 ) | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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tableaux
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| n.舞台造型，（由活人扮演的）静态画面、场面；人构成的画面或场景( tableau的名词复数 )；舞台造型；戏剧性的场面；绚丽的场景 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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40
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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42
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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43
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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44
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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45
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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46
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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47
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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49
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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