Agnes Giberne

“ Love to self always goes with love for money.
But he loved Daisy too, only it was with a lower and secondary sort of affection. He was proud of her, and he leant upon her in his dull home life. He never felt comfortable when she was away. He was a man with no friends, no occupation; with nothing to do except to take care of his money. He was past earning it now; so all the energies of his feeble old age were bent to the task of saving instead of getting. He grudged the spending of a single unnecessary penny.
It was money itself, not money's worth, which Isaac so loved. ”

“ He was angry also, and spoke to Daisy as he had not spoken for a long while. Daisy was firm, though grieved, and she told him that it would have to be. They had nothing to live upon, and the house and garden would bring in a nice sum of money.
Isaac seized upon this idea suddenly, as if it were quite new to him. "Bring in money! Why, it'll bring in lots," he said eagerly. "Lots of gold, Daisy!" and the old greedy glitter might be seen in his eyes.
"Father, are you going to love the gold again?" asked Daisy sorrowfully. "You can't love money and love God as well." ”

“ Meads," said Mary Davis slowly. "You hear what she's telling you. She thinks you'll be tired of her, and want her to die, because she can't slave for you any longer,—she that's your own little Daisy, the only child you've got. If she's taken, you'll have nobody left you then—not a soul in all the world to care for you. I wonder if you'd mind? You'd have your gold still—only your gold. Maybe that's all you want."
"Who says I've got gold?" asked the old man tremblingly, an expression of fear coming over his face. "I tell you, woman, I ain't got one penny to spare,—not one penny. ”

“ And later on he began sometimes to add, "It was God took the gold, wasn't it, Daisy?"
He was very feeble in mind, and very ignorant also. Daisy was often sorely disappointed to find how little he could understand, how rapidly the impression made upon him one hour would fade away the next. But Mr. Roper, to whom she one day confided her distress, warned her not to expect too much.
"Your father is like a child in many ways," he said, "only with less sense than a child, Daisy, and with no memory. It is of no use to attempt to teach him, as you would teach a man in full vigour. ”

“ Isaac glared round quite fiercely, as if he wanted very much to punish somebody for what had happened.
"It is nobody's fault," said Mrs. Roper. "It is nobody's fault, Mr. Meads. Daisy saw a man holding up a pitchfork, and, knowing the danger to him, she bravely rushed to stop him, and he and she were struck together. We hope she is not so much hurt as he is, but we cannot tell yet. It is a great trouble for you, Mr. Meads, but it comes from God's Hand, and you have to be thankful that it is not worse. Daisy might have been killed on the spot. ”

“ Simmons heartily. "Dear! dear! What a man he is! What ever made him take first to such ways?"
Mary Davis shook her head, unable to explain. She thought it was "nature."
"Nature has a deal to answer for, there's no doubt," said Mrs. Simmons shrewdly. "But it don't explain everything."
Then they stood looking at Daisy, and as they looked the pale eyelids were slowly lifted, and the dim eyes seemed to gaze at something.
"Miss Daisy," said Mary Davis gently, "Miss Daisy, my dear,—don't you know me?" ”

“ But I can tell you it don't mean that you are to live a life of self-indulgence and pleasure, and trust God to do for you what He has given you the power to do for yourself, just to save you a bit of trouble and thought."
"I'm sure it isn't much pleasure I ever have in my life," said Janet, almost in tears. "I'm always working and slaving for somebody."
"You wouldn't be one grain the happier for having no work," said Mrs. Simmons calmly. Then she suddenly put a direct question: "Your husband gets good wages, Mrs. Humphrey, and he brings them pretty near all to you, for you've told me so. ”

“ I am always praying for him. But he won't hear about religion, and he seems to care for nothing at all but just trying to save and lay by. And he is growing an old man now. It does seem so sad. But I try to do everything I can to please him, and perhaps some day things will be different. And you are married, Nursie. Your name used not to be Davis. Ought I to call you 'Mrs. Davis?' It does not sound natural."
"I shouldn't like to be anything but 'Nurse' to you, Miss Daisy," said Mary. "I've been married close upon four years." ”

“ Isaac obeyed in his half-childish way, but before finishing he stopped. "Yes, I made myself rich, sure enough," he said, with a momentary gleam of satisfaction. "I toiled, and I saved, and I did it all. But I didn't make myself poor. It was that wretched thief, Daisy—as deserves to be hung too."
"We needn't think about him," said Daisy. "He will be punished some day, one way or another. People always are, if they go on in wrong-doing. ”

“ He loved money for its own sake, with a real heart-devotion for the poor senseless gold which could give him no love in return. He loved money with that heart-love which a man can bestow upon one object only, everything and everybody else being secondary to it. There was a throne in Isaac Meads' heart, as there is a throne in the heart of every man, belonging by right to God Himself: and that throne, in the secret chamber of his being, was occupied by Money.
Mrs. Simmons had seemed doubtful whether he really cared for his daughter Daisy. ”

“ CHAPTER XV. SORRY AND GLAD.
"IT'S gone, Daisy, gone! It's all gone! I'm a poor man now. The gold's gone—gone—gone. I haven't anything left, Daisy."
They could do nothing to comfort old Isaac Meads for his loss, so at last they brought Daisy to him. It was now a month since the robbery, and the thief had not been discovered. No one had any hope that he would ever be discovered. Too good a start had been allowed him at the first. Isaac's treasure had utterly vanished.
He had been very ill since that evening, so ill that a great part of the month had been passed in unconsciousness or in delirium. ”

“ She don't have a go at her work, and get it done, and make things tidy; but she potters about, and she washes a little, and scrubs a little, and cooks a little, and don't finish off anything out of hand. Works like a slave, of course—folks of that sort mostly do,—and has nothing to show for it. I wonder she hasn't driven her husband to the bad long ago; for he never has a dinner fit to eat, nor a tidy corner to sit down in. And yet she isn't lazy, nor a gossip."
"It's a pity," Mary Davis said absently. "But, Mrs. Simmons, there was something you began to say about Miss Meads over the way." ”

“ Isaac looked uneasily at her.
"I think it is like that text," said Daisy, "'What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul, or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?' The bag of gold is 'the whole world' to you just now, father."
"What 'ud you have me do, Daisy?" asked Isaac, with a perplexed air, and Daisy's heart sprang.
"I'd have you give up the gold, father," she cried eagerly. "It isn't safe for you to keep. It shall be taken care of for you; and we shall have plenty of money coming in every quarter to keep us going ”

“ Though she had never before seen Isaac Meads in precisely this condition, she knew that a man completely overcome by passion is capable of almost any deed. Isaac Meads was old and feeble, yet the strength lent by rage might well make him temporarily more than a match for any ordinary woman. Mary thought of Betsy Simmons' strong frame longingly. ”

“ Janey came back and told me what had happened, and it gave me such a turn, I haven't felt right since."
Betsy Simmons' rather grim look softened. "Ah,—Poor little Miss Daisy," she said. "And poor Davis too, for the matter of that. Not a bit less one than the other, only the one seems to come nearer to us. Yes, it's an awful thing to have happened, and nobody can know yet if either of the two will get over it. The man suffers terribly, they say, and poor little Miss Daisy just lies still with shut eyes and don't know anybody. ”

“ Not as I'd mind about him; but Miss Daisy's sweet face comes up, and I can't say a word. Yes, I call her 'Miss Daisy' most commonly. She don't mind, and it seems to suit her better than 'Miss Meads.'"
Mary Davis murmured something about the old man being fond of his daughter.
"Couldn't say as to that," responded Mrs. Simmons. "He mighty fond of himself. Maybe he's fond of her too, after a sort,—but it's a queer sort. If you want to catch a sight of Miss Daisy, you'd best be at the school feast this afternoon. Lots of folks go. It is in the big meadow round near Farmer Grismond's. ”

“ Roper would have won his consent. Once yielded, he did not withdraw it, but he objected still, in his sullen silent fashion. Isaac Meads was a very silent, and oftentimes a very sullen man. He did not fly into violent passions, like some people, but he sulked and grumbled, and spent a great part of his life in a most uncomfortable fog, so far as his own temper was concerned. The worst of such a fog is that it does not only affect oneself, but touches those about one. So poor Daisy knew a great deal already about that particular kind of foggy atmosphere in a house. ”

“ She stood, with her back against a tree, near Mary Davis, her hand pressed against her side.
"You're tired, Miss," Mary ventured to say; and Daisy, looking round, saw her for the first time.
"Yes, I can't run any more. It gives me a 'stitch,'" said Daisy. "Are you one of the mothers? I don't seem to know you—and yet—"
A puzzled expression came into her face, and she looked earnestly at Mary.
"I'm only just come to Banks, and I haven't got any children," said Mary. "My husband's John Davis, and he's haymaking in the next field." ”

“ Mary would have to join her husband then, and everything would rest upon Daisy. She looked too small and frail for the coming burden.
"But it will be all right," Daisy said often to Mary. "It will be all right, Nursie. God will take care of us. If only father loved God, I should not mind about anything else."
Friends had been very kind in helping Daisy and her father through their time of trouble. Gifts of food and of money also had come in repeatedly, some known to Daisy, some known only to her faithful nurse. ”

“ School don't teach them to be useful and thoughtful and tidy in their own homes. School don't teach them scrubbing and washing, and dusting and cooking. Only a mother can teach them all that, or somebody in a mother's place. And mind you, it won't come by nature. Bees gather honey by nature, but girls don't scour and darn by nature."
"Well, I'm sure I never thought about teaching Janey such things," said Janet. "I thought it would all come by-and-by. And she hasn't got much time yet, what with schooling and all. She don't mind nursing the baby for me, when she's in." ”

“ One day she was sitting with old Isaac in the parlour, Mary Davis having gone out from Old Meadow for half a day's charing, as she had frequently done of late. Isaac seemed unusually awake and clearheaded this afternoon, and in consequence unusually disposed to lament over his lost gold. Daisy bore for some time with his sorrowful murmurs, and then she drew her chair closer to him, and took one of his aged hands between her own, and said,—
"Father, do you mean to go on always being so unhappy about the money?" ”

“ It is very very dangerous to do so in a storm. If the lightning strikes anywhere it always strikes something tall. If a tree were struck, and you were standing at the bottom, you might be killed. There is another flash. But you need not mind the noise of the thunder, for thunder never hurts anybody."
The peal was so loud that Daisy had to pause. Mary Davis looked wonderingly at her, as she stood, pale and quiet, among the clinging children. ”

“ Now how much of them wages have gone this year into the Savings Bank?"
"There don't seem much to spare," faltered Janet. "The children are always wanting something new,—and food costs such a lot."
"Then I'd make the children wait a bit longer, and I'd have food that costs less," said Mrs. Simmons gravely. "I tell you, Mrs. Humphrey, it's a sin and a shame to go on month after month, spending every penny you get, and never making provision for the changes that's sure to come sooner or later. It's a sin and a shame. You don't suppose you and your husband will keep health for ever, do you? ”

“ Bennet. "Why, you're ever so much better to-day."
Daisy smiled a little; not as if she were quite sure that he meant what he said. Mary Davis presently followed the doctor, as he left the room, and while opening the front door she asked anxiously: "Will Miss Daisy soon be up again, please, sir?"
"Can't say. Can't say at all," responded Mr. Bennet hastily. "There's no knowing. It has been a terrible shock to the nervous system altogether, and the head is a good deal affected,—no doubt about that. She's a delicate little creature. May pass off soon, or may not. How is your husband going on? ”

“ Roper quietly. "It would not be honest to send Daisy to the hospital, even if you love her so little as to want to get rid of the poor child in such a way. You see what I mean,—it would not be honest. Now tell me, who will you have to nurse Daisy?"
"It's an awful expense," Isaac said mournfully, and tears actually ran down his furrowed cheeks.
"The expense need not be heavy," said Mrs. Roper. "There is a nice woman, Mary Davis, the wife of the man who has been struck. She has gone with him to the hospital,—poor fellow,—but she will have to leave him there. ”