“Then do ’em,” said Juanita.  “The way is straight.  What he say, do.”

“But suppose——­” said Daisy.

“Suppose what?  What do my love suppose?”

“Wouldn’t it make it right, if it would do a great deal of good?”

This confused sentence Juanita pondered over.

“What does my love mean?”

“If it would do a great deal of good—­wouldn’t that make it right to do something?”

“Right to do something that the Lord say not do?”

“Yes.”

“If you love Jesus, you not talk so,” said Juanita sorrowfully.  But that made Daisy give way altogether.

“O I do love him!—­I do love him!” she cried;—­“but I don’t know what to do.”  And tears came in a torrent.  Juanita was watchful and thoughtful.  When Daisy had very soon checked herself, she said in the same low, gentle way in which she had before spoken, “What do the Lord say—­to do that some good thing,—­or to keep his words?”

“To keep his words.”

“Then keep ’em—­and the Lord will do the good thing himself; that same or another.  He can do what he please; and he tell you, only keep his words.  He want you to shew you love him—­and he tell you how.”

Daisy sat quite still to let the tears pass away and the struggle in her heart grow calm; then when she could safely she looked up.  She met Juanita’s eye.  It was fixed on her.

“Is the way straight now?” she asked.  Daisy nodded, with a little bit of a smile on her poor little lips.

“But there is trouble in the way?” said Juanita.

“Yes,” said Daisy, and the old woman saw the eyes redden again.

“Has the little one a good friend at home to help?”

Daisy shook her head.

“Then let Jesus help.  My little lady keep the Lord’s words, and the sweet Lord Jesus will keep her.”  And rising to her feet and clasping her hands, where she stood, Juanita poured forth a prayer.  It was for her little visiter.  It was full of love.  It was full of confidence too; and of such clear simplicity as if, like Stephen, she had seen the heavens open.  But the loving strength of it won Daisy’s heart; and when the prayer was finished she came close to the old woman and threw her arms round her as she stood, and wept with her face hid in Juanita’s dress.  Yet the prayer had comforted her too, greatly.  And though Daisy was very shy of intimacies with strangers, she liked to feel Juanita’s hand on her shoulder; and after the paroxysm of tears was past, she still stood quietly by her, without attempting to increase the distance between them; till she saw Sam coming down the lane with the pony.

“Good bye,” said Daisy, “there’s the boy.”

“My lady will come to see old Juanita again?”

“I am Daisy Randolph.  I’ll come,”—­said the child, looking lovingly up.  Then she went down the slope to Sam.

“The blacksmith couldn’t shoe him, Miss Daisy—­he hadn’t a shoe to fit.  He took off the old shoe—­so Miss Daisy please not drive him hard home.”