"Grant, you are a good fellow!" said Mrs. Sandford one night. "I do not know what I should do with that child, if it were not for you."
"You would do nothing. She would not be here if it were not for me."
"I do not suppose, however, that your care for her is dictated5 by a conscientious6 regard for that fact. It is good of you."
"She is my patient, Mrs. Sandford."
"Yes, yes; _im_patient would be the word with some young men."
"I am glad you do not class me with such young men."
"Well, no child ever gave less cause for impatience7, I will say that. Nor had more. Poor child! How she looks at you every day when you come home! But I suppose you doctors get hard hearts."
Dr. Sandford's lips curled a little into one of the smiles that Daisy liked, but he said nothing.
Daisy did look hard at her friend those days, but it was only when he came home. So she was not expecting anything the next morning when he said to her,
"Daisy—will you take a ride with me?"
Daisy looked up. The doctor was sitting by the breakfast-table, poring over a newspaper. Breakfast was done, and Daisy herself busy with a book. So she only answered,
"If you please, Dr. Sandford."
"Where shall we go?"
Daisy looked surprised. "I supposed you had business, sir."
"So I have. I am going to visit a patient. Perhaps you would like to make the visit with me."
"To one of your patients, Dr. Sandford?"
"Yes, one. Not more than one. But I think that one would like to see you."
A light came into Daisy's face, and colour started upon her cheeks, almost painfully.
"Dr. Sandford—do you mean—"
"I think so, Daisy," said her friend quietly. "It will do no harm,—if you are a good child."
He was so quiet, that it stilled Daisy's feeling, which else might have been impetuous. There was danger of that, as the child's eye and cheek bore witness. But she only said, "I'll get ready, Dr. Sandford—" and went off in orderly style till she reached the hall and was out of sight. Then Daisy's feet made haste up the stairs. In three minutes she was back again, with her hat and gloves in her hand.
The doctor threw down his newspaper and drew her up to him.
"Daisy, can you be quiet?"
"I think so, Dr. Sandford."
"I think so too; therefore I tell you beforehand that I wish it. Your father has not fully8 recovered his strength yet; and it would not be good for him to be excited. You will be very glad to see him, and he will be very glad to see you; that is quite enough; and it would be too much, if you were to shew him how glad you are."
Daisy said nothing, but she thought within herself she could not do that!
"Can you command yourself, Daisy?"
"I will try, Dr. Sandford."
"You must do it—for my sake," added the doctor.
"Dr. Sandford," said Daisy, "was that what you meant?"
"When?"
"When you said, if I was a good child?"
"It must have been that I meant, I think. I could have said it in no other connection."
"The pony-chaise, ma'am, for Miss Randolph—" said a servant at the door.
"The chaise may go away again, Daisy, I suppose," said Mrs. Sandford.
"You will not want it."
"Yes, she will," said the doctor,—"to drive to Melbourne. Go, Daisy, since you are ready; I will follow you. That little waddling9 fellow can be overtaken without any great difficulty."
"Do you want me to drive slowly, sir?"
"Not at all," said the doctor; "only drive well, for I shall come and see."
If ever a little pride in her driving accomplishments10 had lodged11 in Daisy's mind, she certainly did not feel it that afternoon. She drove without knowing very well how she drove; she did not think of Dr. Sandford's criticism, or admiration12; what she thought of, was the miles of the road to Melbourne.
They were not very many, and unconsciously the eager spirit in Daisy's fingers made itself known to Loupe's understanding, through the medium of the reins13. He travelled better than usual, so that they were not more than half way from Melbourne when the doctor's gig overtook them. And then Loupe went better yet.
"Remember, Daisy, and keep quiet—" said the doctor as he took her out of the chaise. Daisy trembled, but she followed him steadily14 through the hall and up the stairs and into her father's room. Then she went before him, yet even then she went with a moderated step, and stood by her father's couch at last silent and breathless. Breathless with the very effort she made to keep silent and quiet. With excitement too; for Mr. Randolph was looking feeble and pale, more than Daisy had ever seen him, and it frightened her. He was not in bed but on a sofa and as Daisy came to his side he put out his arm and drew his little daughter close to him. Without a word at first and Daisy stooped her lips to his, and then stood hiding her face on his shoulder; perfectly15 quiet, though trembling with contained emotion, and not daring to say anything lest she should say too much.
"Daisy," said her father,—"Daisy,—do you know I have been ill?"
There was a little, little tone of surprise or disappointment in the voice. Daisy felt it, knew it, but what could she do? She was afraid to speak to say anything. She turned her face a little to Dr. Sandford; he saw an agony struggling in the eye that appealed to him. This was not what he wanted.
"She knows it almost too well," he said, coming to the rescue; "I have been her gaoler all these days; a severe one."
"Are you glad to see me, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph.
Daisy half raised herself, half glanced at his face, and turning from him threw herself upon Dr. Sandford's arm with a cry and gave way to a deep passion of weeping. Deep and still; her sobs16 could not but be heard, but they were kept under as much as the heaving of that little breast could bear. Mr. Randolph's pale face flashed; and the doctor saw that his precautions had been too good.
"Why Daisy!" he said lightly, "is this your self-command?"
"Let me have her—" said Mr. Randolph. "Self-command is a good thing, doctor; but people may have too much of it."
And getting hold of Daisy's hand, which the doctor brought within his reach, he again drew the sobbing17 child to his breast and folded her close in both his arms. The sobs were very soon hushed; but during all the rest of the doctor's visit and through all the conversation that took place, Daisy and her father never changed their position. The conversation indeed was not much, being confined to a few quiet questions and answers and remarks; and then Dr. Sandford took his departure, leaving Daisy very unconscious of his movements. He only waved his hand to Mr. Randolph, with a smile at Daisy who did not see him.
"Daisy—my darling—" said Mr. Randolph, when he was gone.
"Papa!—" came in a whisper.
"What is the matter?"
Daisy lifted her face from its resting place and kissed, with kisses that were like velvet18, first one side of her father's mouth and then the other.
"Papa—Dr. Sandford told me I must keep quiet."
"Well, you shall," said Mr. Randolph. "That is right enough. You shall keep quiet, and I will go to sleep."
So he did. But he did not loose his hold of Daisy; and she lay, still as happiness could make her, with her head upon his breast. She knew, she was conscious, that he must be very feeble yet, to go to sleep in that way; but she was with him again, and in his arms, and her heart was so full of joy that it could do nothing but overflow19 in silent thanksgivings and prayers. Daisy would not have stirred till he did, no matter how long it might have been; but there came an interruption. A door opened, and Mrs. Randolph appeared on the threshold, and so soon as she saw Daisy beckoned20 her to come to another room. Mr. Randolph's arms had relaxed their hold somewhat, and Daisy obeyed the signal and left him.
Her mother wanted then to know all the story of her days at Mrs. Sandford's; and Daisy had a good deal to tell. That is, Mrs. Randolph's questionings made it so. Daisy herself would not have had it a long story. Then, she must see June, and Joanna; and then came dinner. It was not till the afternoon was well passed that the call came for her to go to her father again. Daisy had watched and waited for it; her mother had forbidden her to go in without it. At last she was sent for, and Daisy sprang away.
Mrs. Randolph was there.
"No noise!—remember," she said, lifting her finger as Daisy came in. Daisy came near slowly. Her father held out his hand to her, and folded her in his arms again.
"You are such a noisy child!" he said,—"your mother does wisely to warn you."
"She is an excitable child,"—said Mrs. Randolph;—"and I think you want warning too."
"We will keep each other quiet," said Mr. Randolph.
The lady looked on, with what seemed a doubtful eye. Nobody watched it. Her husband's eyes were often closed; Daisy's little head lay on his breast, quiet enough, unless when she moved it to give soft noiseless kisses to her father's cheek. They remained so a good while, with scarce any word spoken; and Mrs. Randolph was busy at her tetting. The light faded; the evening drew on.
"It is time for Daisy's tea." It was the first thing that broke a long silence.
"She and I will have it together," said Mr. Randolph.
"Will that be best for you, Mr. Randolph?"
"I hope so."
"I doubt it."
"Most things in this world are doubtful," said Mr. Randolph; "but we will try."
"Will you choose to have tea now, then?"
"Now?—no."
"This is Daisy's time."
"Very well. She must wait for my time."
Not a word did Daisy say; only little alternate throbs22 of joy and fear, as her father or her mother spoke21, passed through her heart. Mrs. Randolph gave it up; and there was another hour of quiet, very sweet to Daisy. Then lights were brought, and again Mrs. Randolph proposed, to have the tea served; but again Mr. Randolph negatived her proposal; and things remained as they were. At last Mrs. Randolph was summoned to preside at the tea-table down stairs; for even now there were one or two guests at Melbourne. Then there was a stir in the room up stairs. The tray came with Mr. Randolph's supper; and Daisy had the delight of sharing it and of being his attendant in chief. He let her do what she would; and without being unquiet, Daisy and her father enjoyed themselves over that entertainment.
"Now I think I could bear a little reading," said Mr. Randolph, as he laid his head back on his couch.
"What, papa?" said Daisy, a sudden hope starting into some dark corner of her heart, almost without her knowing it.
"What?—what you please."
"Shall I read what, I like, papa?"
"Yes. If I do not like it, I will tell you."
Daisy ran away and flew through the rooms to her own, and there hastily sought her Bible. She could not wait to get another; she took her own and ran back softly with it. Her father's languid eye watched the little white figure coming towards him, book in hand; the gentle eager step, the slight flush on the cheek; till she took her seat beside him.
"What have you got there, Daisy?" he asked.
"Papa—my Bible."
"Well—what are you going to read?"
"I don't know, papa—" said Daisy doubtfully. What would come next?
"Do you remember your picture, the 'Game of Life'?"
"Yes, papa."
"Do you remember your talk about good and evil spirits?"
"Yes, sir."
"Find me the grounds of your philosophy."
Daisy thought what that might mean, and guessed at it. She turned to the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew, a favourite chapter, and read the parable23 of the sheep and the goats. The servant had withdrawn24; Daisy and her father were alone. There was a moment's pause when she had done.
"Is that all?" said Mr. Randolph.
"That is all of this, papa."
"There is nothing there about the rejoicings of the good spirits,"—said
Mr. Randolph.
Daisy's fingers trembled, she hardly knew why, as she turned over the leaves to find the place. Her father watched her.
"Are you sure it is there, Daisy?"
"O yes, papa—it is in the story of the man with a hundred sheep—I will find it directly."
So she did, and read the parable in the fifteenth chapter of Luke. Her father listened with shut eyes, while the child's voice gave the words in a sort of sweet clear gravity.
"'Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners for to hear him. And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them. And he spake this parable unto them, saying, What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness25, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance26. Either what woman, having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently27 till she find it? And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbours together, saying, Rejoice with, me; for I have found the piece which I had lost. Likewise I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.'"
There Daisy stopped, and there was silence. Presently her father opened his eyes. He saw that hers were full, but they were not looking at her book, neither at him; they were gazing away at the light, with an intent, very serious expression.
"Daisy!—" said her father.
She came back instantly to a sweet happy look at him.
"What were you studying?"
"Papa!—I was thinking—"
"What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking, papa," said Daisy unwillingly,—"how strange it is that anybody should try to hide himself from God."
She started a little and rose up, for her mother stood on the other side of the light now. Mrs. Randolph's voice was a note belonging to another chord.
"Daisy, it is your bedtime."
"Yes, mamma."
Mr. Randolph made no attempt to hinder his wife's arrangements this time. Daisy exchanged a very tender good-night with him and then went away. But she went away very happy. She thought she saw good days coming.
There were good days that followed that one, for a while. Daisy's readings and sweet companionship with her father were constant, and grew sweeter as he grew stronger. But the strengthening process was not rapid. About a fortnight had passed, when Mrs. Sandford one day made enquiry about it of her brother-in-law.
"Slow work—" said the doctor.
"He will get over it, won't he?"
"I hope he will."
"But cannot anything be done for him, Grant?"
"He is going to do the best thing. He is going to Europe."
"To Europe!—This winter?"
"Now, in a few weeks, or less."
"It will be good for your pet Daisy."
"Doubtfully—" said the doctor with a very complicated expression of face; but he was taking off his boot at the moment, and maybe it pinched him. "She will not go."
"Not go! Daisy! Does not her mother go?"
"Yes."
"And not Daisy? Why not Daisy?"
"She gives so much trouble—" said the doctor.
"Trouble!—I thought her parents were so fond of her."
"Mr. Randolph is unequal to any agitation28; and Mrs. Randolph regulates everything."
"But wouldn't it be good for Daisy?"
"I think so."
"Poor child! What will they do with her?"
"Send her to a Southern plantation29, under care of a governess, as I understand."
"It will half kill Daisy," said Mrs. Sandford.
"It takes a great deal to kill people," said the doctor.
"I do not know how to believe you," said the lady. "Is it all fixed30 and settled. Grant?"
"They leave Melbourne next week."
THE END.
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1
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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3
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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oversee
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| vt.监督，管理 | |
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5
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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6
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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7
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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8
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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9
waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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11
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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12
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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13
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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14
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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18
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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19
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
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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22
throbs
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| 体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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25
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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26
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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27
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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28
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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29
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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30
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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