Daisy's eyes were full of tears, but a smile broke over her face. "Yes," she said, "God can, and that is my comfort. I am always praying for him. But he won't hear about religion, and he seems to care for nothing at all but just trying to save and lay by. And he is growing an old man now. It does seem so sad. But I try to do everything I can to please him, and perhaps some day things will be different. And you are married, Nursie. Your name used not to be Davis. Ought I to call you 'Mrs. Davis?' It does not sound natural." "I shouldn't like to be anything but 'Nurse' to you, Miss Daisy," said Mary. "I've been married close upon four years." "That was three years after you left us. Yes, I was only a little thing, nine years old then, but I remember all perfectly, and the comfort that you were to poor mother." "And she died, Miss Daisy? But I don't need to ask. I knew she couldn't last long." "Only a few weeks after you left us," said Daisy, her face growing sorrowful. "It was very hard to bear the loss of both together. And the time has seemed so long and slow since. I can't believe sometimes that I am only sixteen. I feel so old and grave." "You are not well, Miss Daisy," said Mary anxiously. "Yes, I think I am well, only old," said Daisy, lifting her soft child-like face. "I seem to have lived such a very long time. But tell me about your husband, Nursie. Is he good and kind?" "He's kind, Miss Daisy, commonly. If only it wasn't for the—" Mary did not finish her sentence, but Daisy understood. How many a poor wife has to say the same. A good husband, a kind husband, an affectionate husband—a man who would be all these, if only it wasn't for the drink! Daisy looked her sympathy, and would have expressed it in words, but a sudden interruption came. A flash of brilliant lightning shone in their faces, and a heavy crash of thunder followed. A general rush of children might be seen in the distance, towards the cow-house, encouraged by Mrs. Roper; and the little ones of Daisy's class made a like rush to the shelter of the tall elm trees, some of them screaming. But Daisy sprang after them. "Stop, all of you," she cried. "You must not go under the trees. Children, do as you are told. Come to me." Terrified as they were, they obeyed her, and a frightened cluster drew round the girlish figure. A second flash and crash came, and some of them wailed piteously. "Now listen to me," said Daisy Meads steadily. "You mustn't, any of you, go near a single tree. It is very very dangerous to do so in a storm. If the lightning strikes anywhere it always strikes something tall. If a tree were struck, and you were standing at the bottom, you might be killed. There is another flash. But you need not mind the noise of the thunder, for thunder never hurts anybody." The peal was so loud that Daisy had to pause. Mary Davis looked wonderingly at her, as she stood, pale and quiet, among the clinging children.