"My foot hurts me dreadfully, Juanita the pain shoots and jumps all up my leg. Couldn't you do something to it?"
"My dear love, it will be better by and by there is no help now for it, unless the Lord sends sleep. I s'pose it must ache. Can't Miss Daisy remember who sends the pain?"
The child answered her with a curious smile. It was not strange to the black woman; she read it, and knew it, and had seen such before; to anybody that had not, how strange would have seemed the lovingness that spread over all Daisy's features, and brightened on her brow as much as on her lips. It was not patient submission; it was the light of joyful affection shining out over all Daisy's little pale face.
"Ay, it isn't hard with Jesus," said the black woman with a satisfied face. "And the Lord is here now, praise his name!"
"Juanita I have been very happy to-day," said Daisy.
"Ay? how has that been, my love?"
"Because I knew He was taking care of me. It seemed that Jesus was so near me all the time. Even all that dreadful ride."
"The Lord is good!" said the black woman, with strong expression. "But my love must not talk."
She began to sing again.
"Oh, what shall I do, my Saviour to praise,
So faithful and true, so plenteous in grace.
So good to deliver, so strong to redeem
The weakest believer that hangs upon him."