"Did my love turn and go with the world?"
"No, I didn't do that."
"Then Jesus won't turn away neither," said the black woman.
"But I ought not to have felt so, Juanita."
"Maybe. My love is a little child. The good Lord shall 'stablish her and keep her from evil. Now she must not talk no more, but trust the Lord, and go to sleep."
"I can't sleep, Juanita—my leg aches so."
"That will be better. Is my love thirsty again?"
"Very thirsty! I wish I had some oranges."
"They would be good," said Juanita, bringing another glass of jelly and water for Daisy. And then she sat down and sang softly; hymns in French and English; sweet and low, and soothing in their simple and sometimes wild melody. They soothed Daisy. After a time, wearied and exhausted by all her long day of trial, she did forget pain in slumber. The eyelids closed, and Juanita's stealthy examination found that quiet soft breathing was really proving her fast asleep. The singing ceased; and for a while nothing was to be heard in the cottage but the low rush and rustle of the wind which had driven away the storm clouds, and the patter of a dislodged rain drop or two that were shaken from the leaves. Daisy's breathing was too soft to be heard, and Juanita almost held her own lest it should be too soon disturbed. But the pain of the hurt foot and ankle would not suffer a long sleep. Daisy waked up with a sigh.
"Are you there, Juanita?"