All this while Daisy\'s days were divided. Silks and jewels and pictures and practising, in one part; in the other part, the old cripple Molly Skelton, and her basket of bread and fruit, and her reading in the Bible. For Daisy attended as regularly to the one as to the other set of interests, and more frequently; for the practising party met only three times a week, but Daisy went to Molly every day.

Molly was not sick now. Daisy\'s good offices in the material line were confined to supplying her with nice bread and butter and fruit and milk, with many varieties beside. But in that day or two of rheumatic pains, when Molly had been waited upon by the dainty little handmaiden who came in spotless frocks and trim little black shoes to make her fire and prepare her tea, Daisy\'s tenderness and care had completely won Molly\'s heart. She was a real angel in that poor house; no vision of one. Molly welcomed her so, looked at her so, and would perhaps have obeyed her as readily. But Daisy offered no words that required obedience, except those she read out of the Book; and Molly listened to them as if it had been the voice of an angel. She was learning to read herself; really learning: making advances every day that shewed diligent interest; and the interest was fed by those words she daily listened to out of the same book. Daisy had got a large-print Testament for her at Crum Elbow; and a new life had begun for the cripple. The rose-bush and the geranium flourished brilliantly, for the frosts had not come yet; and they were a good setting forth of how things were going in the house.

One lovely October afternoon, when air and sky were a breath and vision of delight, after a morning spent in dressing and practising, Daisy went to Molly. She went directly after luncheon. She had given Molly her lesson; and then Daisy sat with a sober little face, her finger between the leaves of the Bible, before beginning her accustomed reading. Molly eyed her wistfully.

"About the crowns and the white dresses," she suggested.

"Shall I read about those?" said Daisy. And Molly nodded. And with her little face exceedingly grave and humble, Daisy read the seventh chapter of the Revelation, and then the twenty-first chapter, and the twenty-second; and then she sat with her finger between the leaves as before, looking out of the window.

"Will they all be sealed?" said Molly, breaking the silence.

"Yes."

"What is that?"

"I don\'t know exactly. It will be a mark of all the people that love
Jesus."

"A mark in their foreheads?"

"Yes, it says so."

"What mark?"

"I don\'t know, Molly; it says, \'His name shall be in their foreheads.\'"
And Daisy\'s eyes became full of tears.

"How will that be?"

"I don\'t know, Molly; it don\'t tell. I suppose that everybody that looks at them will know in a minute that they belong to Jesus."

Daisy\'s hand went up and brushed across her eyes; and then did it again.

"Do they belong to him?" asked Molly.

"O yes! Here it is—don\'t you remember?—\'they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.\'"

"So they are white, then?" said Molly.

"Yes. And his mark is on them."

"I wish," said the cripple slowly and thoughtfully,—"I wish \'twas on me. I do!"

I do not think Daisy could speak at this. She shut her book and got up and looked at Molly, who had put her head down on her folded arms; and then she opened Molly\'s Testament and pressed her arm to make her look. Still Daisy did not speak; she had laid her finger under some of the words she had been reading; but when Molly raised her head she remembered the sense of them could not be taken by the poor woman\'s eyes. So Daisy read them, looking with great tenderness in the cripple\'s face—

"\'I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.\' That is what it says, Molly."

"Who says?"

"Why Jesus says it. He came and died to buy the life for us—and now he will give it to us, he says, if we want it."

"What life?" said Molly vaguely.

"Why that, Molly; that which you were wishing for. He will forgive us, and make us good, and set his mark upon us; and then we shall wear those robes that are made white in his blood, and be with him in heaven. And that is life."

"You and me?" said Molly.

"O yes! Molly—anybody. It says \'whosoever is athirst.\'"

"Where\'s the words?" said Molly.

Daisy shewed her; and Molly made a deep mark in the paper under them with her nail; so deep as to signify that she meant to have them for present study or future reference or both. Then, as Molly seemed to have said her say, Daisy said no more and went away.

It was still not late in the afternoon; and Daisy drove on, past the Melbourne gates, and turned the corner into the road which led to Crum Elbow. The air was as clear as October could have it; and soft, neither warm nor cold; and the roads were perfect; and here and there a few yellow and red maple leaves, and in many places a brown stubble field, told that autumn was come. It was as pleasant a day for drive as could possibly be; and yet Daisy\'s face was more intent upon her pony\'s ears than upon any other visible thing. She drove on towards Crum Elbow, but before she reached it she turned another corner, and drew up before Juanita\'s house.

It was not the first visit she had made here since going home; though Daisy had in truth not come often nor stayed long. All the more glad were Juanita and she to see each other now. Daisy took off her flat and sat down on the old chintz couch, with a face of content. Yet it was grave content; not joyous at all. So Juanita\'s keen eyes saw, through all the talking which went on. Daisy and she had a great deal to say to each other; and among other things the story of Molly came in and was enlarged upon; though Daisy left most of her own doings to be guessed at. She did not tell them more than she could well help. However, talk went on a good while, and still when it paused Daisy\'s face looked thoughtful and careful. So Juanita saw.

"Is my love quite well?"

"O yes, Juanita. I am quite well. I think I am getting strong, a little."

Juanita\'s thanksgiving was earnest. Daisy looked very sober.

"Juanita, I have been wanting to talk to you."

Now they had been talking a good deal; but this, the black woman saw, was not what Daisy meant.

"What is it, my love?"

"I don\'t know, Juanita. I think I am puzzled."

The fine face of Mrs. Benoit looked gravely attentive, and a little anxiously watchful of Daisy\'s.

"The best way will be to tell you. Juanita, they are—I mean, we are—playing pictures at home."

"What is that, Miss Daisy?"

"Why, they take pictures—pictures in books, you know—and dress up people like the people in the pictures, and make them stand so or sit so, and look so, as the people in the pictures do; and so they make a picture of living people."

"Yes, Miss Daisy."

"They are playing pictures at home. I mean, we are. Mamma is going to give a great party next week; and the pictures are to be all made and shewn at the party. There are twelve pictures; and they will be part of the entertainment. There is to be a gauze stretched over the door of the library, and the pictures are to be seen behind the gauze."

"And does Miss Daisy like the play?" the black woman inquired, not lightly.

"Yes, Juanita—I like some things about it. It is very amusing. There are some things I do not like."

"Did Miss Daisy wish to talk to me about those things she not like?"

"I don\'t, know, Juanita—no, I think not. Not about those things. But I do not exactly know about myself."

"What Miss Daisy not know about herself?"

"I do not know exactly—whether it is right."

"Whether what be right, my love?"

Daisy was silent at first, and looked puzzled.

"Juanita—I mean—I don\'t know whether I am right."

"Will my love tell what she mean?"

"It is hard, Juanita. But—I don\'t think I am quite right. I want you to tell me what to do."

Daisy\'s little face looked perplexed and wise. And sorry.

"What troubles my love?"

"I do not know how it was, Juanita—I did not care at all about it at first; and then I began to care about it a little—and now—"

"What does my love care about?"

"About being dressed, Juanita; and wearing mamma\'s jewels, and looking like a picture."

"Will Miss Daisy tell Juanita better what she mean?"

"Why, you know, Juanita," said the child wistfully, "they dress up the people to look like the pictures; and they have put me in some very pretty pictures; and in one I am to be beautifully dressed to look like Queen Esther—with mamma\'s jewels all over me. And there is another little girl who would like to have that part,—and I do not want to give it to her."

Juanita sat silent, looking grave and anxious. Her lips moved, but she said nothing that could be heard.

"And Juanita," the child went on—"I think, somehow, I like to look better than other people,—and to have handsomer dresses than other people,—in the pictures, you know."

Still Juanita was silent.

"Is it right, Juanita?"

"Miss Daisy pardon me. Who Miss Daisy think be so pleased to see her in the beautiful dress in the picture?"

"Juanita—it was not that I meant. I was not thinking so much of that.
Mamma would like it, I suppose, and papa;—but I like it myself."

Juanita was silent again.

"Is it right, Juanita?"

"Why do Miss Daisy think it not right?"

Daisy looked undecided and perplexed.

"Juanita—I wasn\'t quite sure."

"Miss Daisy like to play in these pictures?"

"Yes, Juanita—and I like—Juanita, I like it!"

"And another little girl, Miss Daisy say, like it too?"

"Yes, I think they all do. But there is a little girl that wants to take my part."

"And who Miss Daisy want to please?"

Daisy hesitated, and her eyes reddened; she sat a minute still; then looked up very wistfully.

"Juanita, I think I want to please myself."

"Jesus please not himself"—said the black woman.

Daisy made no answer to that. She bent over and hid her little head in Mrs. Benoit\'s lap. And tears undoubtedly came, though they were quiet tears. The black woman\'s hand went tenderly over the little round head.

"And he say to his lambs—\'Follow me.\'"

"Juanita"—Daisy spoke without raising her head—"I want to please him most."

"How Miss Daisy think she do that?"

Daisy\'s tears now, for some reason, came evidently, and abundantly. She wept more freely in Juanita\'s lap than she would have done before father or mother. The black woman let her alone, and there was silent counsel-taking between Daisy and her tears for some time.

"Speak to me, Juanita"—she said at last.

"What my love want me to say?"

"It has been all wrong, hasn\'t it, Juanita? O have I, Juanita?"

"What, my love?"

"I know I have," said Daisy. "I knew it was not right before."

There was yet aga............