Down went the book, and the tears rushed into Daisy's eyes.
"Don't call me so," she cried,—"I am Daisy Randolph;—and I do want to keep his words!—and—I don't know how."
"What troubles my love?" said the woman, in low tones of a voice that was always sweet. "Do not she know what the words of the Lord be?"
"Yes,"—said Daisy, hardly able to make herself understood,—"but—"
"Then do 'em," said Juanita. "The way is straight. What he say, do."
"But suppose——" said Daisy.
"Suppose what? What do my love suppose?"
"Wouldn't it make it right, if it would do a great deal of good?"
This confused sentence Juanita pondered over.
"What does my love mean?"