The greater number of the children had collected near the lower part of the field, in the vicinity of a large cow-house, and some were running in and out of the cow-house. Mrs. Roper kept guard over them there; and several of her friends about this time said good-bye to her, and went home, expecting rain. Mrs. Roper, however, did not like to cut the children's pleasure short, and she hoped the threatening shower might keep off for an hour or two yet. At the upper end of the field, quite far away from the rest, several children were having a merry game among the trees, and somebody said to Mary, "That's Daisy Meads' class, over yonder." So Mary immediately made her way all across the meadow, and watched the game. She noticed at once a rather older girl with the little ones, slight and small in figure, and dressed in a plain stuff dress and brown bonnet. At first Mary took her for one of the older school children, till she heard her called, "Teacher, Teacher!" and till she saw that the little pale face within the brown bonnet was scarcely that of a child. It was a sweet face, delicate and small, with a smile which came and went like sunshine, and there was something round the mouth which told of long endurance of trouble. Mary Davis had found what she wanted. That was Daisy Meads; and she knew it. She could not interrupt the game: so she waited still. Presently some of the children began to flag, and Daisy Meads herself seemed to have had enough. She stood, with her back against a tree, near Mary Davis, her hand pressed against her side. "You're tired, Miss," Mary ventured to say; and Daisy, looking round, saw her for the first time. "Yes, I can't run any more. It gives me a 'stitch,'" said Daisy. "Are you one of the mothers? I don't seem to know you—and yet—" A puzzled expression came into her face, and she looked earnestly at Mary. "I'm only just come to Banks, and I haven't got any children," said Mary. "My husband's John Davis, and he's haymaking in the next field." "I thought I didn't exactly know you," said Daisy. "And yet—it is curious, but I seem to remember your face." "I shouldn't wonder but you do, Miss Daisy, seeing I've had you in my arms many a time." Daisy came nearer, looking earnestly still. "Then I do know you," she said. "I thought I did. And you are Nurse—my own dear Nursie." Daisy did not hesitate a moment, but threw her arms round Mary Davis, and kissed her warmly. No spectators were near except the little children; but she would probably have done the same in any case. "Dear good kind Nursie, you can't think how often I have longed to see you. Why did you never write? But I don't wonder, after the way things happened. Only I always knew you loved me still. I did feel so lonely after you went—and I do still," Daisy said sadly, speaking in a low quick voice. "Nursie, he is worse than ever. I can't do anything with him." "Only God can, Miss Daisy."