The Baldwin Library University RmB wt ee < C Page 20. DAISY BY MARSHALL SAUNDERS Author of “Beautiful Joe” “A little child shall lead them’’ PHILADELPHIA CHARLES H. BANES 1420 Chestnut Street PUBLISHER'S NOTE This little stor ; by Miss Marshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful Joe,” appeared some years ago in Ringland, in the interests of a benevo- lent institution. It has seemed worthy of a wider publication, and hence it is brought out in its present dress. The infantile grace and quaint ways of the little child; her influence in shaping a somewhat warped life, with all its incidental lessons, and the final happy ending of it all, will give the little story, We are sure, a wide audience and a cordial reception. CONTENTS Chapter | A Baby's (Grace, Chapter II Sunshine and Shadow, Chapter II Almost Leost, Chapter I\) Leife’s Benediction, 39 Ag CHAPTER I A BABY’S GRACE op - t Xe yr WR: WZ ~@\ We N ra 3 \\ AK \ Zips (ONE evening, Mrs. [rummond, > the tired, careworn Woman who Ay / WW \ SS CPP é i presided over our boarding house, AS Py A W; glanced down the well-spread table, and in- YAN 7 Y/ iff A formed us that the next day we were to | e. a MM Re Robe rtson, a young bank clerk who had lately come have a new boarder from. Eingland to our prosperous Canadian , town. | knew the lad by reputation, and the next morning when he sauntered into the dining room, | looked at him carefully. Poor boy, his eye was heavy, and his step languid, In his foolish 9 10 DAISV endeavors to ‘‘see life,’ he was fast losing the purity of heart and mind with which he had quitted his far-away home, and it was making its mark upon him in a way not to be mistaken. e sat opposite me, and | could see that he was making a mere pretence of taking his breakfast. Presently, there was a_ remark from Mrs. rummond’s end of the table. The child was speaking—the child par excellence, for there was not another one in the house. She Was a curi- ous little creature—willful, disdainful, neglected by her mother, and suspicious of all other mortals. Petting she despised, and invariably showed symp- toms of displeasure if disturbed in her favorite occupation of playing with an ugly, yellow cat in dark corners of the house. ut the strangest DAISY II thing of all was her quietness. She never romped like other children, never prattled; indeed, she rarely spoke at all, so we were all attention as she pointed to young Robertson with her spoon, and said in a clear, babyish voice, “Pat's a berry fine-lookin’ boy, mamma.” Riverybody smiled, for the boy in question, though manly and stalwart in appearance, had a He blushed a_ little, and e e decidedly plain face. bent over his plate. Mes. )rummond took her hand from the coffee-urn long enough to lay it ‘ on Baisy’s head: “Hush, child, you must not talk at the table.” Ul emer dae hand Said the: child. ind displeased tone. “Then rapping on the table with her spoon, to call Robertson’s: attention, she asked, “Boy, what's your name?”’ 12 DAISY “Roland Robertson,” he replied, with an em- barrassed laugh. Baisy, intensely interested, and altogether re- gardiess of the boarders’ amused glances, said in a stage whisper, while she solemnly wagged her curly head, “Woland Wobertson, | love you.” ‘T'hen scrambling out of her high-chair, she ran down the long room, and peremptorily demanded a seat on his knee. +e started, looked annoyed, then sheepish, and finally took her up. |t did not suit his Einglish reserve to be made the cynosure of all eyes. [aisy sedately arranged her flounces, then watched him playing with his food. “Bon’t you like fwicasseed chicken?” she asked, gently. “Yes,” he said; “but | am not hungry.” “Some mornin’s | eat nuffin too,” she said, Ne DAISY 13 in a relieved way, ‘‘ more partickler when | have a glass of milk in de night. Woland? tenderly patting the hand around her waist, ‘‘did you have a dwink in de night?” Robertson's face became scarlet. She viewed him with the utmost solicitide. “["hen turning to a lady next her, who had finished her breakfast, and was indolently fanning herself, “Rive me dat fan, de poor darlin’ is hot.” oth on that occasion and many subsequent ones, Baisy amused us by the epithets she be- *y stowed upon her favorite. We found that she aa had not been an inattentive observer of the many Xi newly married couples that had sojourned at uy Vee ‘ Ny Mrs. )rummond’s. Y ee Robertson was fanned for several z Bye WS minutes—Baisy striking his face, 14 DAISY with. an extra now and then for his nose, in her awkward zeal, until | wondered at his patience. Suddenly, he pushed back his chair, said he had finished. his breakfast and that she had better get down. “This gave rise to a stroke of childish policy. @bhe ordered the table-maid to bring her hitherto neglected plate of porridge, and putting the spoon in Robertson’s hand insisted upon his feeding her. ‘He complied with a pretty good grace. Baisy kept up an unbroken scrutiny of his face, and presently dodging a spoonful of milk, laid a pink forefinger on his upper lip. _ “T'here was just the faintest ~ suspicion of a moustache there. ..““| fordet what you call dis,” she said, s moss—moss—— : “ Moustache,’ he replied, abruptly bringing the porridge feeding performance to a close, and DAISY 15 putting her on her tiny feet. She ran out of the room after him, pulling the napkin from her neck as she went. When | reached the hall, Robertson was taking down his hat from the rack, Baisy in close attendance. She was Just prefac- ing a remark with, «Woland, love,” when Mrs. [rummond came out of the dining room. “Daisy,” she said, peevishly, “you must say Mr. Robertson.” oe ow berry cross you are dis mornin’,”’ said the child, throwing a glance at her over her shoulder; then turning to Robertson, she went on to ask him whether he would soon .come back’ to see her. a ee “No,” he replied, his hand on. the door, | lunch in town; you won't see me till evening. The child’s face fell, and she turned silently away. | went out quickly, and overtook ‘him before ‘he 16 DAISY reached the corner of the street. “That child seems to have taken quite a fancy to you, | said quietly ; “T never before knew her to show so much interest in any one.’ “1 don’t know why she does,” he answered awkwardly, and with some impatience, “unless it is owing to my having spoken to her the other day. When | went to engage my room, she was sitting in a corner alone, and | gave her a picture | happened to have in my pocket.” He stopped suddenly. e det motutell ime thencron adel find out until long afterward, that the little, lonely side had del im of a decd Geter of he and that when he gave her the picture, he gave her a kiss with it. | made some trite remark about the softening and good influences a child can throw around DAISY 17 one—| did not intend to hint at all that he was in need of such influences; but so suspicious Was he in his dawning manhood, that he resented my remark, and relapsed into profound silence. A minute later, he left me, under the pretence of taking a short cut to the bank. | did not see him again until evening. entered the dining room on the first stroke of the dinner bell. Mrs. rummond had just preceded me. | could not help smiling at her dismayed face. Baisy, with excited, nervous movements, was dragging her high-chair from the head of the table, to a place near Robertson’s. That young man -has bewitched the child,”’ she said fretfully. “She slapped me just now, because | would not let her put on. her. best dress for him.” 18 DAISY While she was speaking Robertson entered the room. e was in_ better spirits than in the morning. Wen his eye fell on Baisy, sitting flushed with victory beside his plate, he smiled and pinched her cheek as he sat down. BJuring the progress of the meal he showed a certain amount of attention to the scrap of humanity at his side; and she, with no eyes for the other people» at the table, hung on his looks, and with a more practical interest in his welfare, watched every morsel of food that went into his mouth. Once she said impatiently to me, eV ou wed-haired man, you—don’ t you see dat Welend: wants some vege- tables? Pass some quick.” inner over, all scattered about the house. Baisy never retired earlier than any other per- son, so | watched her curiously to see what ‘she : DAISY 19 would do. Robertson had gone to his room. With a disappointed air she seated herself on the lowest step of the staircase. Some young men standing about the hall tried to tease her. “Baby dear,” said one of them mischievously, “Pin afraid you re going to be a flirt.”” uWhat's dat?’ she said, holding out inviting arms to the yellow cat that was sneaking about my boots. “A flirt is an animal with eyes all over its head, and an enormous mouth, and it goes about the world eating men,” explained another. Poor Baisy—she was yet at the stage of believing everything she heard. She shrugged her white shoulders, as she said, “Brefful!’? and hugged her dingy cat a little closer. Presently they all laughed. She had thrown the cat to 20 DAISV the floor, and sprung to her - feet. Robertson was coming downstairs, very carefully dressed, a light ‘overcoat thrown. over. his arm. Evidently, it-was his intention to spend the evening with some of his friends. Baisy inquired wistfully whether he was going out, and-on his replying in the affirmative, she asked whether it was “work’? that was taking him—that term signifying to her something that could not be neglected. «No, Baisy,” he said, trying to escape her detaining hands, ce] am going to see-a play.” «MM oland,” she said beseechingly, ‘won't you stay an’ play wid me an’ Pompey?” pointing toward the yellow cat, that was glaring at him from under a hall chair. lt Was not a very inviting prospect. He’ DAISY 21 laughed, put her aside, saying, “Some~ other time, little girl,’’ and went toward the hall door. T’he child watched him, her little breast heaving, her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her dress. He was ' going to leave her, the only person in the house whom she cared for. The disappointment was too great, «Qh, Wy clend= | fought you would stay,” she said; in a choking voice. | hen dropping on the white fur rug at her feet, she burst into a perfect passion of tears. This was such an unprecedented proceeding on the part of the self-contained child, that a crowd of anxious: faces soon: surrounded her. eMWhatever: is the matter with the child?’ said her mother querulously, as she bent over: the pink, sobbing bundle. «She hasn't: cried since the day she fell downstairs, and nearly killed herself” 22 DAISY Robertson hurried back at the sound of the wiailing voice. “‘FJas she hurt herself?” he asked anxiously. fle looked astonished when we ex- plained the cause of her emotion. “‘B)on’t cry, Baisy,” he said, “| will stay with you to-morrow evening.” : | The child’s sobs redoubled. Fle hesitated, looked at his watch, then muttered “| suppose | would be a brute to leave her like this,” “Baisy,” | whispered in her curly locks, “he is going to stay with you.” A shriek of joy, and the child was on her feet, clinging to his hand with an enthusiasm that made him turn away with a half-foolish air. The next two hours were uninterrupted bliss for Baisy. She spent them in one of the parlors, leaning against Robertson’s knee, looking at photographs of the DAISY 23 Athenian Marbles. They were evidently Greek to her, but one glance at Robertson would smooth out her little, puzzled forehead. At ten o'clock her little head drooped and she soon fell fast asleep, so that he carried her upstairs, her face bordered by its curls resting confidingly on his shoulder. Nien he came down, | saw him glance irresolutely at the clock, as if uncertain whether to go out or not. | asked him whether he would like to come to my room. | had some curios which | had picked . up in my rambles about the world which | thought would be of interest to him. | @ome of them | told him were from (\thens, and bore some elation to the Mar- bles he had been examining. He thanked me very politely, but very stiffly, and said that at some future time he would like to see them. In 24 DAISY some way, he hardly knew why, he felt very sleepy this evening, and would go to bed at once. e went, and thoughts of his little companion went with him as he sunk to a_rest purer and sweeter than that which had been his during the weeks preceding. CHAPTER II SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 25 PY STOHE next day was Sunday. As came downstairs in the morn- ing | saw that Baisy was in her old place, on the lowest step of the staircase. My salutation she returned with reserve, but presently | heard a gay, « Mornin’, dear,” and turning around, saw that she was holding up her face to Robertson fora kiss. Before they entered the dining room, she made solicitous inquiries about his night's rest, fe laughed shortly. “| haven't slept so well for many a night,” he said. Her little face brightened, and they went together to the table. 27 28 _ DAISY The church bells were ringing when we finished breakfast, and» some one laughingly asked [aisy where he was going to attend service. “Vou are teasin’ me,” she said rebukingly; “‘you know | berry seldom go out.” —“Boes no one take you for walks?”’ asked Robertson. The child shook her head, and said that her mamma was always busy. The lad drew up: his stalwart: frame, stifled some kind of an indignant exclamation, and looked _ pityingly down at the pale, delicate figure of the child. Baisy was watching him attentively. ON eland oe she said ~ inquiringly, Hlave you any work dis: mornin’ ?’”” « No, Baisy.” “Then can’t you dive me a walk?” Her file Hande stele confidingly in his. Her DAISY 29 tone Was coaxing in the extreme. He laughed, and said: “Very well—go ask your mamma.” In delighted surprise, she scampered to her mother’s end of the table. « Mamma, may | go a-walkin’ wid Wie ri oMithter Wobertsen oe Mrs. [rummond looked up, hastily ran her eyes over [aisy’s shabby frock, then over Robertson’s fee deomeneuit of clothes. EN have nothing fit ‘to wear, child.” , Baisy’s face became. the. picture of despair. The child looks very well as she isa interposed Robertson dryly, as he walked toward them, “and it is -a warm day; she only wants a bonnet.”’ Daisy listened in delight, then when her mother’s consent was gained, seized [Robertson’s fingers and pressed them to her lips. Not long after | had taken my seat in church that morning, 4 tall young man with a ckild clinging to him, came walk. ing up the aisle to a seat in front ee vin RS of me. aS my surprise, ] saws. : Robertson and Baisy. He, fear, £& napped a little during the sermon. Not a SS word was lost on Baisy. She sat bolt upright, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes fixed on the clergyman. At the close of the service, we found ourselves near each other and walked home together. f\s we passed through the hot, sunny streets, Robertson, as if to apologize for being in church, said, “After We got outdoors this morning, Baisy insisted upon going to church, to see the clergyman ‘wing de bells.’ 30 DAISV 3t “The child is almost a heathen,” | answered, in a low voice; ce] wish her mother would send her to Sunday-school.”” Baisy’s sharp ears caught my remark. «ls dat where little chillens go Sunday afternoons, wid pretty books under dere arms?” i Nee? | replied ; “wouldn't you like to go too?” « May I, Woland2” eagerly, “| will be berry good.” He laughed, and said that they must ask her mamma_ to give the subject her consideration, Ror the rest of the day, Baisy followed Robertson about the house like a pet dog. Toward eVening, some of his friends came ‘in, and he shook himself free from her, and went up to his room with them. After a time, they all” 32 DAISY came trooping downstairs. [he sound of their merry voices floated to the room where | was sitting. But they were all hushed, when a baby- ish voice asked, “Are you going out, Woland?” Robertson résorted to artifice to prevent the recurrence of a scene. “Daisy,” he said, ‘‘my fe tee Me Denounce the shoulder of the youth nearest himn—‘‘is a great admirer of yellow cats. Bo you suppose that Pompey could be persuaded to walk upstairs and say ‘‘How-do-you-do” to him?” “@h yes, dear boy,” said the child, trotting dowestare to follll her favorites chest When the sound of her footsteps died away, there was ie) louie, end came one resently, she murmured a request that he would come beside her. The nurse made room for him by the pillow. , He knelt down, clenching one hand in the white counterpane with a vice-like grasp, and holding gently in the other the wasted fingers that Baisy stole feebly toward him. iW clone: dear boy,” she murmured, in a scarcely audible voice, “lve been werry ill.” His forehead contracted a little. Ne | know,” and his voice was very soft and tender and had the sound of tears in it. “But I'm better now. Mebbe ltl get up - . 299 In de mornin . 46 DAISY tHe looked at her. Flor one instant the rigid control in which he held himself almost gave way. But he recovered himself, and she went on feebly: “Will you carry me down to breakfus’?” "Then her eyes closed. She seemed to be slipping away. lis face became like marble. ‘The child was dying, and she did not know it. ‘He put his lips to her ear: “B)aisy,”” in an agonized voice, “this is a sad world; wouldn’t you like to go and leave it?” | T’he child lifted her heavy lids. “‘Leeave it,” she lisped. “Yes, and go to heaven,” he ejaculated in a desperate, broken voice, ‘‘where the lord Jesus our Saviour is. You will be very happy there. He will give you a white robe and a golden DAISY 47 harp, and you will have other little children to play with you; and there will be beautiful fields and flowers—’ «How werry nice,’ half sighed, half breathed the exhausted child. <\ sweet, almost seraphic smile, flitted over her little face. "['hen a doubt assailed her, With a last, supreme effort, she tried to raise herself, and look in his face. ‘re you comin’ too, Woland?” A look of blank despair met her loving glance. Surprised and bewildered, she shook off for an instant her coming lethargy. «Woland,” she said sharply, “1 sha’n’t go to heaven widout you.” T’hen she sank back on the pillow—her eyes closed. The frightful tension in which the lad held himself gave way. ler little fingers slipped 48 DAISY from his grasp, and he fell back in a dead faint. ly did not disturb the little one however, and in a little time he was himself again, and anxiously watching the coming of the end. CHAPTER IV LIFE’S BENEDICTION 49 t ‘ | we poor, short-sighted mortals had the plan- ning of our lives, how strangely would they be laid out! | had imagined that the child was going to die, in order that her influence over the life that had become so strangely mixed up with hers might live. It had not occurred to me that the lad, thrown into a state of desperation and feeling himself branded as her murderer, might be tempted to some rash act. Thank heaven, he was not put to it. The child did not die, but lived to be a further blessing to him. When he waked from his swoon, We were able to whisper in his ear that she had fallen into a quiet sleep that possibly there had been a mistake made. He staggered to his feet, @ S48 51 52 DAISY and sat by the sleeping child for a while, with a look of one who has received a reprieve from death, then went to his room and shut himself in, From that hour he was a different crea- ture. The heavy stamp of affliction had been laid upon him. He was a man now, in the best sense of the word, Bay by day, Baisy steadily improved ; Robert: son was constantly with her, and until she was able to run about on her own small feet, he carried her everywhere in his strong arms. Sometimes he would walk up and down the halls for hours: ata time, listening. to her childish confidences and telling her stories with the utmost patience and gentleness. And his devotion did not cease when her strength returned, ler solitary life was at an end. Half his leisure DAISY — 53 time he spent with her. This had the inevitable effect of lessening his intercourse with his former boon companions. T’hey had claimed a monop- oly of his time. Now he got in with another set—these jolly, good fellows, who kept him out in the daytime, playing out-door games, and sending him home so exhausted that: he wanted no further excitement for the night, but a book, a comfortable seat, and Baisy’s good-night kiss, The child was proving a guardian angel to him, and not only to him, but to all the house. An astonishing change had come over her since her illness. | he was always gentle now, never sullen, and cheerful sometimes to gayety. The boarders had all taken to petting her—she was a link to bind them together and make them less selfish—and she seemed to appreciate their atten- 54 DAISY tions, though her preference for Robertson was decidedly marked, Ewen Mrs. rummond was changing. She often took Baisy on her lap now, and | had seen her- brush away a tear when the child tried to smooth out her wrinkles with her tiny hand, lt was .late in the summer when Baisy re- covered from the fever. All through the autumn, Robertson gave her walks and drives, bought her picture-books and toys to amuse herself with during his absence, and with a sense of grati- tude far beyond her years, her little heart seemed - running over with love toward him. Before the autumn closed my business con- nections took me away, and for several years | was a stranger to Fairfax. One winter day, when the air was thick with snowflakes, | came DAISV 55 back, My first thoughts were of the rum. monds and Roland Robertson. @trange to say, he was one of the first men | met, le knew me at once, gave me a hearty greeting, and: insisted upon my going along with him to his house. There was no need to ask him how he was dly prosperity, his face, the happy, upright. man, PE OSRelity ’ Reames Bald getting on. His surroundings showed wor @ @ G @ e @ fle looked grave when | spoke of the [rum- monds. [oor Mrs. rummond—she has: been dead for two years. She was utterly worn out.” “And Baisy ?” He stroked a heavy moustache. His object, | think, was to conceal a smile. “She is in Bingland at. school, er holidays she spends g iy Pp with my people.” Pp a A N AL “And do they like her? ”’ “A E te ae > Aide nA y Ze ” | 2% 2 47 Se “|mmensely. She has WANS atown | to be a ssai# NC very -NY\ 4 beautiful TERN SW girl, both in disposition \n Oe? looks,” Si ie Then opening his coat, he “drew | from an inner pocket a picture—the head of a lovely We \ young girl. ‘| scarcely recognized the delicate child _ of old. “And does she keep up her A” devotion to you?” “She docs.” le gave me ade- ay cidedly amused glance; carefully replaced aN next the photograph two or three pressed * white field daisies that had fallen out, and put it back in his pocket. “And what is to become of her?” | went on curiously. He looked about his handsome, but solitary 56 DAISY 57 drawing room. el am going to Bingland in the spring, to get her,’ he said with a laugh. cc] have tried living without her, and | can endure it no longer.” The Bind. Fh 6 84 |