Betty sighed and shook her head mournfully as she answered,—

"I've always looked to give her up, sir, if them Saacyfuts, or whatever their name'll be, turned up, and if it was for her good, sorra a word would they hear out of me, though I won't say but it would go hard with me and Jack. But ye'll not be tellin' me ye've been findin' her friends since last night, sir?"

"Not the people she belongs to, certainly, Betty; but I have found those who will be friends to her, and provide for her, if you will consent. She should go to school and be well taught: do you not think so?"

"Indade, an' there's none knows that better nor meself, sir. An' is it yerself that's the friend ye're spakin' of?" and Betty gave a searching look into the gentleman's face.

He smiled. "Yes," he said: "I would like to put her to school and take care of her. She seems a sweet child, and a good one. And you see, Betty, I have it in my power to do more to find her friends than you are able to do, and we may trace them yet. If we never find them, I will promise to provide for her as long as it may be necessary. Are you willing?"

Betty again stared into the face of her questioner as if she would look him through.

"I'm sinsible of your kindness, sir," she answered; "but ye see I'm in a way risponsible for the child, not to say that she is as dear to me as me own flesh and blood, and I'd say 'yis,' and thank ye kindly, but—ye'll excuse me plain spakin'—ye're a stranger to me, and I couldn't be partin' wid Margaret widout I was certified as to yer karacter. For if I didn't think she'd be brought up right, niver a foot should she stir to go wid ye. I seen Miss Gertrude Allston a walkin' wid ye once last summer, sir, jist after I set up me stand here, but she niver heeded me wid her swate face. But I used to be laundress in her mother's house afore I was married, and a swate child was Miss Gertrude and a good as ye're sayin' of Margaret, and she'll niver go far wrong, I'll answer for it. So, if ye'll jist bring me a line from her and she says ye're all right, I'll not say ye nay."

General Forster laughed heartily, not one whit offended at Betty's "plain spakin'."

"Miss Gertrude Allston, as you call her, will give me all the lines you want, Betty; and she thought me right enough to marry me. She is my wife,—Mrs. Forster."

"An' is it so, sir?" said Betty, dropping the rosy-cheeked apple she was polishing, and gazing at the gentleman with a mixture of curiosity and admiration that was droll to see. "Well, but ye're in luck; and if it's Miss Gertrude that has the managin' of ye, that's karacter enough of itself, an' I'll say take the child an' my blessin' on all of yees. But when she gets among yer fine folks, ye'll not let her be forgettin' the woman what cared for her when there was none else to do it: will ye, sir? An' ye'll be lettin' me see her once in a while?"

There is no need to say that this was readily promised, and the General went on to tell Betty what plans he and his wife had for Daisy. She was to be taken for a while to his home, where Mrs. Forster would provide her with proper clothing; and then send her to Miss Collins' boarding-school to be taught and trained in a way to satisfy her friends if they should ever find her, or that she might one day be able to earn her own living, if it should be needful.

"An' I'm glad she should have the bringin' up of a lady which is what I couldn't give her," said Betty, with another sigh, for it went to her heart to part with her darling; "but ye'll not be able to make her more of a lady nor she is now; no, not if ye dress her in gould and jewels, an' silks an' satins. Niver a rough word nor way has she with her, if she has been with me and Jack more nor two year, nor ye couldn't find a purtier behaved child in all the land."

An hour or two later, Betty, having found a friend to "mind" her stall for her, guided General Forster to the tiny house in the suburbs of the city where she lived with Daisy and Jack.

The two children were out in the little garden gathering the flowers which were to be tied up in bouquets for Daisy's afternoon sale; and great was their surprise, when the sound of the gate-latch causing them to look up, they saw Betty coming home at this unusual hour of the day, and the gentleman with her. Their business was soon told; but although Daisy flushed and smiled with astonishment and delight when she heard what the "gentleman who looked so like papa" meant to do for her, the little face soon shadowed over again, and she shook her head gently but firmly when she was asked if she would go.

"An' why for no, dear?" asked Betty. "Sure ye'd niver be for throwin' away a chance the likes of that, not to spake of it's bein' ongrateful to the gintleman's kindness, an' he no more nor less than the husband of Miss Gertrude."

But Daisy shook her head again; and then first begging the gentleman's pardon, as a polite little girl should do, stepped up to her faithful friend, and putting her arms about her neck whispered something in her ear.

The tears she had before with trouble kept back now started to Betty's eyes.

"Och, an' is it that, honey?" she said in her broadest brogue, "an' ye'll not let that be thrubblin' yer dear heart. What a tinder, grateful little sowl it is! Ye see, sir," she went on, turning to the General, while she smoothed with her loving hand the little head which lay upon her breast, "ye see, sir, it's just as I tellt ye. She's a lady, every inch of her, an' has feelin's that's jist oncommon. An' there's a matter of back rint jew, it's more'n a year, though me landlord he's as good as gould, an' a bill at the poticary's, an' little scores at the baker's an' grocers what I niver got paid off yet, not since the child was sick an' I couldn't rightly make things go; an' she says she won't be lavin' us now that she can turn a penny wid her posies an' help along."

Drawing the child to him, General Forster whispered to her in his turn, promising that the "back rint" and other "scores" should be paid off without delay if she would but come with him; and Daisy, feeling herself nearer home and friends than she had ever done since the dreadful day of the shipwreck, when she was parted from "mamma," put her hand trustingly in his to be led where he would.

But the parting went hard. Daisy could not leave those who had been so kind, and shared their little all with her, without many a bitter tear. Betty kissed her and clung to her and called down all heaven's blessings on her head; and Jack hung over the gate, uttering frantic howls as he watched the sobbing child led away by her new protector. Not one thought gave Jack to his fourteen years; not one to the "fellers from beyant the lot," who, drawn by his cries, came flocking to see what ailed him who was all their terror and admiration: their admiration, because he was bigger, stronger, braver than any other boy of his age among their crew; their terror, because of late he allowed no bad word to be used in his presence, banishing all who offended in that way from their games, choosing as his favorites and chief companions those who were most careful not to take God's name in vain. So cursing and swearing had come to be much less frequent than of old among the lanes and lots lying around the humble house where the little Daisy had bloomed and grown during the last two years, dropping upon the path which God had chosen for her good seed of which she knew not herself.

Betty went back to her stand with a heavy heart, knowing that when she went home that night she should miss the sweet little face which had brightened and cheered her after many a hard day's work; but she was half-consoled for her own loss when she saw Daisy coming down the street holding General Forster's hand. For the General's first care had been to take the little girl to a place where children's clothes could be had ready-made; and where he had her fitted out, as Betty said, "as nice as a new pin and as became the little lady she was by right."

But Daisy was as much a lady in the coarse but clean calico frock and patched shoes she had worn yesterday, as she was now in the nice clothes provided for her by General Forster; for it was the sweet manners and pretty ways she had never lost which made her so, and the new garments covered as warm and loving a little heart as the old ones had done. And so Betty found, and knew that pride would have no place there, when, as she reached the stand, Daisy drew her hand from the gentleman's, and running behind the stall as she had many a time done when she was eager to show Betty what a good afternoon's sale she had made with her flowers, threw her arms about her neck and kissed her again and again as lovingly as she had done when she had no other friend in the world.

Gentle Mrs. Forster gave Daisy a warm welcome to her new home; and the manner in which the child fell at once into the ways and habits of those about her plainly showed that they were not new to her, but that she had at some time been well accustomed to a different life than that she had led for the last two years.

She had ways of her own, too, that were very charming: a pretty, dainty grace in her behavior and speech; a thoughtfulness and care for others, surprising in any child of her age,—for Daisy could not be more than eight years old,—and particularly so for one who had had little teaching for some time. It was easy to see that Daisy had received careful training at one time, and that the lessons then learned had taken deep root and were not yet forgotten in spite of the long separation from her home and friends.

It had been intended, as General Forster told Betty, to send the little girl to boarding-school at Miss Collins'; but she soon grew so closely to the hearts of her new friends that they felt as if they could not bear to part with her; and it was at last settled that her home was to be with them for the present, at least, and that she should only go to Miss Collins for the morning, as most of the other little girls in Glenwood did.

Mrs. Forster could not bear to send from her this loving child, whose greatest happiness seemed to be in making others happy, and she grew every day more and more interesting as the familiar objects and customs about her called up past recollections of the home and parents she had lost. She would watch the General for hours at a time, as he sat reading or writing, or follow him with wistful eyes as he mounted his horse and rode down the broad avenue "just like papa;" would hang over the lesser Daisy as she lay sleeping, "'cause she looks just as our baby at home used to," and delighted to wait upon her and Mrs. Forster in a dainty, neat-handed manner, which showed that such loving service came quite naturally to her.

She never called the infant "baby," as the rest of the family did. With her it was always "little Daisy." She seemed to love the pretty name, either given to herself or another; and all the variety of choice flowers with which General Forster's garden was filled could not win her chief affection from her old favorite daisies, "'cause mamma loved them so and named me after them."

But though she remembered so much, the child could not recall the name of her parents, or where they had lived. Their name "was not what Betty called it," she was sure; but none the less had it passed from her mind.

"Francine," the French bonne, used to call mamma "Madame," and herself "Mademoiselle Marguerite;" but when she was asked what other people used to call mamma and papa, the little face grew clouded and pained with the effort to remember; and when name after name was mentioned to her, she shook her head at each one.

The General tried by every means in his power to discover the friends who must still be mourning the loss of their sweet little daisy blossom, but all in vain; and as week after week went by, he and his wife decided that they could not send her forth from their own roof unless her relations came to claim her. She was an added ray of light where all had been brightness and sunshine before,—a lovely, precious little flower, lending new fragrance and beauty to the home where she blossomed.