Marshall Saunders

“ Drummond looked up, hastily ran her eyes over Daisy’s shabby frock, then over Robertson’s handsome suit of clothes. “You have nothing fit to wear, child.”
Daisy’s face became the picture of despair. “The child looks very well as she is,” 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. ”

“ She 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 attentions, though her preference for Robertson was decidedly marked. Even Mrs. Drummond was changing. She often took Daisy on her lap now, and I had seen her brush away a tear when the child tried to smooth out her wrinkles with her tiny hand. ”

“ Daisy never retired earlier than any other person, so I watched her curiously to see what she 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, “I’m afraid you’re going to be a flirt.”
“What’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. ”

“ I went on curiously.
He looked about his handsome, but solitary drawing room. “I am going to England in the spring, to get her,” he said with a laugh. “I have tried living without her, and I can endure it no longer.” ”

“ Robertson resorted to artifice to prevent the recurrence of a scene. “Daisy,” he said, “my friend here, Mr. Danforth”—laying his hand on the shoulder of the youth nearest him—“is a great admirer of yellow cats. Do you suppose that Pompey could be persuaded to walk upstairs and say ‘How-do-you-do’ to him?”
“Oh yes, dear boy,” said the child, trotting downstairs to fulfill her favorite’s behest. When the sound of her footsteps died away, there was subdued laughter, and some one said, “Who is that pretty child, Robertson?” ”

“ I entered the dining room on the first stroke of the dinner bell. Mrs. Drummond had just preceded me. I could not help smiling at her dismayed face. Daisy, 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. ”

“ The church bells were ringing when we finished breakfast, and some one laughingly asked Daisy where she was going to attend service. “You are teasin’ me,” she said rebukingly; “you know I berry seldom go out.”
“Does 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. Daisy was watching him attentively. “Woland,” she said inquiringly, “Have you any work dis mornin’?” ”

“ The frightful tension in which the lad held himself gave way. Her little fingers slipped from his grasp, and he fell back, in a dead faint. It 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
IF we poor, short-sighted mortals had the planning of our lives, how strangely would they be laid out! ”