For Daisy's old friend had come to live at Mrs. Forster's; and this was the way it had been brought about.

The lady had wanted a laundress; and, thinking that Betty, who had once held that post in her father's family, might know of one, had begged the General to ask her.

No sooner had he put the question than Betty eagerly answered she should be only too glad of the place herself; for she was tired of her present position, and a countrywoman of her own was ready to take it off her hands, stock, fixtures, goodwill, and all. "For her heart was sore for the child," Betty said, and to be where she could see her every day, and to live once more with "Miss Gertrude," would be almost as much happiness as she could wish for; and then she would try to put Jack out with some gardener to learn his trade, for which he had always had a turn.

So the General, having talked the matter over with his wife, and mindful of the generous care and kindness shown to their Daisy by these poor people, not only told Betty she should come to live with them, but also put Jack under his own gardener, though there was really no need of any more hands about the place.

Thus did the "bread cast upon the waters" by this kind-hearted Irishwoman, come back to her, blessed sevenfold.

Nothing was told to Daisy of this arrangement till one afternoon, when the General had returned from the city, Mrs. Forster said to her, "I am going to speak to the new laundress and gardener's boy. Come with me, Daisy;" and half wondering, the little girl obeyed.

But her surprise soon changed into delight and gratitude when she saw who the new domestics were; for, in spite of all the pleasure she felt in her new way of life, Daisy's loving little heart often longed for the old friends who had been so good to her in her time of need, and she wanted not only to see them, but to share some of her many comforts with them.

So you may know how glad she was when her eye fell upon the two figures standing by the back door, and she knew that they had been brought to live in the same place with her.

With an excitement very unusual in her, she flew at Betty, and, throwing both arms about her neck, covered her broad, smiling face with warm kisses. Betty returned them with a will, holding her fast in both arms; and then, putting her from her and looking at her from head to foot, put on an air of strong approval, and spoke to the General in the words you have read at the beginning of this chapter.

"An' isn't it fit for a princess, she is?" she continued, quite unable to keep back her admiration and pleasure at the child's improved appearance. "Isn't it fit for a princess she is; and Saacyfuts or no Saacyfuts, isn't it a right her own folks would have to the name if they found her now? Sure I'd be saacy meself to have the ownin' of a child like that. An' her not a bit spoiled, but just as lovin' and free-like as when she had none but me an' Jack."

Then Daisy was told she might take Betty and Jack away and show them the neat little wash-house, shaded by a fine clump of trees, with its nice bleaching and drying ground beyond, its laundry on the first floor, and two small bedrooms above, where they were to sleep. Betty was enchanted, and expressed over and over again her satisfaction at the change in her life. It was far better, she thought, to stand at the wash-tub or ironing-table, breathing the sweet country air, with all its pleasant sights and sounds about her, than to do the same at her stall in the hot, dusty, crowded city.

As for Jack, when he saw the splendid garden, when Daisy had led them there, and knew it was to be his privilege to work among those lovely flowers, he could not contain himself, but shouted and shouted, turned somersault after somersault, till recalled to himself by Betty's reminder that he must "remember that Margaret—she begged her pardon,—Miss Daisy—was a little lady now, and he must mind his manners before her."

But Daisy was so like her old self, so free from any pride or haughtiness in her new position, that Jack found it hard to remember she was any other than the little waif whom he had pitied and petted for so long; and his "manners" were brought to his mind with much more force by the sight of the gray-haired old Scotch gardener under whom he was to work, and before whom his gambols ceased at once.

Meanwhile General and Mrs. Forster were talking on a very interesting subject, for Betty's words about Daisy's lost friends had given the lady a new idea.

"Frank," she said to her husband, "did you notice what Betty said about Daisy's friends?"

"Yes," he answered. "I hope she won't turn Daisy's head and make her vain with her praise and flattery."

"I'm not afraid," said his wife. "Daisy has a right to her name, the modest, unaffected little girl; and she has too much sense to be spoiled by what she looks upon only as the overflowing of Betty's affection. But don't you know that the Irish often say saacy when they mean proud?"

"Oh, yes. I have often noticed it in people of Betty's class," answered the General; "but what has that to do with Daisy's friends?"

"Is it not possible that their name is Proudfoot or Proudfit, and that 'Saacyfut' is Betty's way of calling it?"

The General laughed heartily.

"Hardly, I think," he said; "and yet—I do not know. It may be. But it never struck me. It took a woman's wit to think of that."

"We will ask Daisy when she comes," said Mrs. Forster. "If Proudfoot was their name, she must remember it when she hears it spoken, I think. She can hardly have forgotten it so entirely that she would not recognize it. And then, if it should be so, it will be a help to find her friends." Mrs. Forster spoke the last words more slowly.

"Yes," said her husband, giving words to the thought which had made her half unwilling to utter them; "and if found, we must give up our Daisy."

"But we must not seek them the less for that," she said, "or I shall feel as if we had found some lovely jewel that we were striving to hide from the rightful owner. I know what terrible longings must fill her mother's heart;" and a tear dropped from Mrs. Forster's eye on her baby's face, as she clasped it more tenderly than ever in her arms.

"Daisy," said the General that evening, as the little girl stood by his knee, "did you ever hear the name of Proudfoot?"

Daisy started, drew a quick, gasping breath, and suddenly threw herself into his arms.

"That is it!" she cried, in a rapid, excited manner, "that is it! That is my name, that is what they called papa and mamma. I never heard it since; but I know it now. I am Daisy Proudfoot, I am, I am!"

It was some time before the child's excitement could be calmed; but there was no farther knowledge to be gained from her. Proudfoot was her name, of that she was quite sure; and the recollection of it at this late hour seemed to fill her with a kind of tremulous happiness; but still she could not tell where she belonged.

Betty too, when she was asked if Proudfoot was the name of Daisy's mother, answered,—

"Sure, an' it was, ma'am. Didn't I say so all along, only she was always gainsayin' it?"[A]

The matter was settled; and General Forster, loath as he was to part with Daisy, feeling that he must leave no stone unturned to trace her friends, again put advertisements in the papers, saying, that if any family of the name of Proudfoot had had a child supposed to be lost at sea, they might hear of her at such and such a place.

Daisy was not told of this; she was contented and happy in her new home and among her new friends, and it was not thought best to disturb her mind with fresh hopes of finding those who might never come to claim her.

But although she was still called Daisy Forster by all in Glenwood, it was a satisfaction to herself and to the kind friends who had taken her up and cared for her, to know the name which rightly belonged to her.

However, days and weeks and months went by, and still no one came to seek the Daisy blossom which had been transplanted to such pleasant soil. And there it grew and flourished, and did its Master's work; proving how much even such a simple floweret can do by its own modest example and teaching to win others to honor Him.

It was surprising to see how much her schoolmates thought of her opinion; how they profited by the simple lesson she had taught them, and tried to break themselves of the foolish and sinful habit into which nearly all of them had fallen, of using sacred names and things in such a heedless, unthinking manner.

It was not only the very little girls, but the older ones also, and even Miss Collins herself, who learned from our Daisy to set a watch upon their lips, and to remember whose ear was ever present, hearing each thoughtless word which dishonored Him or that which especially belonged to Him.

Perhaps they gave more heed to Daisy's words than they would have done to those of any other one of their number. There was such a half-mystery about her, and their thoughts were so tender towards her, that they checked their heedless speech for her sake at first; then, as they learned to think more about it, for a better and higher reason, till at last the bad habit was broken up; and if, by chance, such a word as "mercy," "heavens," "good Lord," or the like, came from the lips of any child, the surprised and reproving looks of her companions told her of her fault, and punished her sufficiently.

And the good influence spread far and wide. Since the little ones were so careful, their parents and older friends felt that they, too, must take heed lest they offended in this way; and so it came to pass that among the families of Glenwood God's name and word came to be held in such true reverence and honor as had never been before.

And so nearly a year passed by, and brought the Daisy and her sister-flowerets to another spring.

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