Both she and Juanita obeyed orders and did not talk much; nevertheless Juanita sang hymns a great deal, and that was delightful to Daisy.  She found Juanita knew one hymn in particular that she loved exceedingly; it was the one that had been sung in the little church the day she had heard Mr. Dinwiddie preach; it fell in with the course of Daisy’s thoughts; and several times in the day she had Juanita sing it over.  Daisy’s eyes always filled when she heard it; nevertheless Juanita could not resist her pleading wish.

  “O the Lamb! the loving Lamb!—­
   The Lamb on Calvary. 
   The Lamb that was slain, but lives again,
   To intercede for me.”

“I am so happy, Juanita,” Daisy said after one of these times.  “I am so happy!”

“What makes it so, my love?”

“O because that is true—­because he lives up there to take care of me.”

“Bless the Lord!” said the black woman.

Towards evening of that day, Juanita had left the room to make her fire and attend to some other things, when Daisy heard her own name hailed softly from the window.  She turned her head, and there was Preston’s bright face.

“My poor, poor little Daisy!”

“How do you do, Preston?” said Daisy, looking as clear as a moonbeam.

“There you are a prisoner!”

“It is a very nice prison.”

“Don’t, my dear Daisy!  I’ll believe you in anything else, you know; but in this I am unable.  Tied by your foot for six weeks, perhaps!  I should like to shoot Capt.  Drummond.”

“It was not Capt.  Drummond’s fault.”

“Is it bad, Daisy?”

“My foot?  It has been pretty bad.”

“Poor Daisy!  And that was all because you would not sing.”

“Because I would not sing, Preston!”

“Yes, that is the cause of all the trouble that has been in the house.  Now, Daisy, you’ll give it up?”

“Give what up?”

“Give up your nonsense, and sing.”

“That?” said Daisy, and a slight flush came into the pale cheeks.

“Aunt Felicia wants you to sing it, and she will make you do it, when you get well.”

Daisy made no answer.

“Don’t you see, my dear Daisy, it is foolish not to do as other people do?”

“I don’t see what my broken ankle has to do with what you are saying, Preston.”

“Daisy, what will become of you all these six weeks?  We cannot go a fishing, nor have any fun.”

“You can.”

“What will you do?”

“I guess I can have books and read, by and by.  I will ask Dr. Sandford.”

“Suppose I bring some books, and read to you?”

“O Preston! how nice.”

“Well, I’ll do it then.  What shall I bring?”

“I wish you could bring something that would tell about these things.”

“These things?  What is that?”

“It is a trilobite.  Capt.  Drummond got it the other day.  It was a fish once, and now it is a stone; and I would like very much to know about it.”