Daisy in the Field Part 27

"Are they in need of care?" I asked.

" 'Pon my word, I don't know. Perhaps it would be nearer right to say, take care of myself; for if the war should come the way of Vicksburg, and Yankee arms have a little success, there might be the mischief to pay at Vincennes. On reflection, I don't see how I could take care of myself, either. Then you do not bid me go?" he asked again.

"You remember our words one day about insignificant lives?"

"Yes!" he cried eagerly; "and I have been longing ever since to ask you to explain more fully what interested me so much. I never could get a chance. I a.s.sure you, I have felt to the bottom of my heart what it is to have one's existence really worth nothing, to anybody. How may it be better? My life has to do with nothing but insignificant things."

"But you must define insignificance," I said.

"Is it needful?"

"I think so. What makes things insignificant? Not their being small, - or common?"

"What then, Miss Randolph?"

"Small things, and common things, are often to the last degree important, you know, Mr. Marshall."

"Yes; but however small and common, I cannot feel that I am important, in any degree," he said, half laughing.

"We were talking of lives, and things."

"Yes. Excuse me. Well?"

"I think I see the crowns of two hats, down below, which belong to some people that we know."

"Is it they?" he exclaimed; - "and I wish they were farther off. Finish what you were going to say, Miss Daisy! Do not leave me in ignorance now, after bringing me so far."

"I can only tell you what I think," I said.

"And that is precisely what I want to hear," he answered earnestly.

"You will not agree to it, though, and I do not know that you will even understand me. Mr. Marshall, I think that nothing is insignificant which is done for G.o.d; and that everything which is not done for Him, directly or indirectly, is insignificant or worse."

"I do _not_ understand -" he said thoughtfully. "In what sense can a thing be 'done for G.o.d?' Unless it is building a church or founding a hospital."

"Very few churches have been built for G.o.d," I said. "At least I think so."

"Why, the old monks -" Mr. Marshall began. But just then our missing companions came up, and he stopped. They had been lured aside from the way by the sight of some game. We had no more private talk; but Hugh Marshall was sober and thoughtful all the rest of the day.

He sought such talks with me now whenever he could; and seemed to enter into them like a man, with an earnest purpose to know the truth and to do his work in the world if he could find it.

I grew, in a way, very fond of him. He was gentle, well-bred, happy-tempered, extremely careful of my welfare and pleasure, and regardful of my opinions, which I suppose flattered my vanity; well-read and sensible; and it seemed to me that he grew more agreeable every day.

The accounts from the seat of war in America were not very stirring just then; nothing great was done or expected; and the question of our young men's return to take part in what was going on, was suffered for a time to fall out of sight.

Meanwhile we left Lucerne and went to Geneva. There was more society, in a quiet way; and there was a fresh harvest of pleasure to be reaped by me and for me in the domains of nature.

CHAPTER XI.

A VICTORY

"Daisy, - you are very happy!" my father said one day when I was sitting with him. We were looking out upon the lake, which our windows commanded; but I found papa's look had come back from the window to me.

"You are very happy!" he said.

"Yes, papa, - pretty happy."

"Pretty happy?" said he, putting his hand under my chin and turning my face again round to him, and then kissing me.

"Pretty _and_ happy, you mean."

"No, papa," I said laughing; - "I don't mean that."

"It is true, though," said he. "There was a bit of a smile upon your mouth just now - before I spoke; - what were you thinking of?"

"Papa, it is so glorious, - the lake and its sh.o.r.es in this sunlight."

"That was all?"

"No, not quite all, papa."

"I thought not. What was the rest of it, Daisy?"

"Papa, I was thinking with joy, that I belong to the wonderful One who made all that; and so, that the riches of his power and glory are in a certain sense mine; - just as everything good in you is mine, papa."

He folded me in his arms and kissed me again, very fondly.

"There is not much good in me, Daisy."

"Yes, papa, - for me."

"But there is a great deal in you, - for somebody."

"For you, papa."

"n.o.body else, Daisy?"

He was holding me close in his arms and looking down into my face. I believe the colour must have come into my cheeks.

"Ah, I thought so!" he said. "Even so soon, Daisy, you are leaving me for somebody else."

"Papa!" I exclaimed, hiding my face in his neck, - "I will never leave you, till you say so."

"Till I say so? I will not be over selfish, my dear child. I do not mean that."

"Who is it to be, Daisy?" my mother's voice said behind us.

I started up in absolute terror. What had I said? and what did she mean? I looked at her, speechless.

"Well?" she said laughing, "what is the matter? You need not turn white about it. Is your father the only one to be in your confidence? I will withdraw then."