"The aching will not be so bad by and by," said the woman, her kindly face all working with emotion.
She stood there by Daisy's couch and prayed. No bathing nor breakfast could so soothe and refresh Daisy as that prayer. While she listened and joined in it, the feeling of yesterday came all back again; that wonderful feeling that the Lord Jesus loves even the little ones that love him; that he will not let a hair of their heads be hurt; that he is near, and keeps them, and is bringing them to himself by everything that he lets happen to them. Greatly refreshed and comforted, Daisy lay quiet looking out of the open window, while Juanita was busy about, making a fire and filling her kettle for breakfast. She had promised Daisy a cup of tea and a piece of toast; and Daisy was very fond of a cup of tea and did not ordinarily get it; but Mrs. Benoit said it would be good for her now. The fire was made in a little out-shed, back of the cottage where it would do nobody any harm, even in hot weather. Daisy was so quieted and comforted, though her leg was still aching, that she was able to look out and take some pleasure in the sparkling morning light which glittered on the leaves of the trees and on the blades of grass; and to hearken to the birds which were singing in high feather all around the cottage. The robins especially were very busy whistling about in and under the trees; and a kildeer quite near from time to time sung its soft sweet song; so soft and tender, it seemed every time to say in Daisy's ears—"What if I am sick and in pain and weary? Jesus sends it—and he knows—and he is my dear Saviour." It brought the tears into Daisy's eyes at length; the song of the kildeer came so close home into her heart.
Juanita had gone to make the tea. While the kettle had been coming to a boil, she had put her little cottage into the nicest of order; and even filled a glass with some roses and set it on the little table. For, as she said to Daisy, they would have company enough that day, and must be in trim. She had gone now to make the tea, and Daisy lay contentedly looking out of the window, when she heard the swift tread of horses' feet again. Could her father be back from Melbourne already? Daisy could not raise herself up to look. She heard the feet stop in the road before the cottage; then listened for somebody's step coming up to it. She heard the step, but it was none of Mr. Randolph's; it was brisk and firm and measured. She guessed it was somebody's step whose feet had been trained.
Juanita came to open the door at the knock, and Daisy heard her saying something about the doctor's orders, and keeping quiet, and no excitement. Daisy could not stand that.
"O Capt. Drummond—come in! come in!" she cried. And in came the
Captain. He looked wonderfully sober at his poor little playfellow. But
Daisy looked all smiles at him.
"Is your furlough over? Are you going, Capt. Drummond?"
"I am off, Daisy."
"I am so glad you came to see me!" she said, putting out her little hand to him. The Captain took it and held it and seemed almost unable to speak.
"Daisy, I would have run the risk of being cashiered, rather than not have done it."
"What is that?"