"Praise the Lord!" echoed the black woman. "He do shew his glory to his people, before he come with the holy angels." "I don't see how anybody can be _ashamed_ of him," Daisy repeated, uttering the words as if they contained a simple impossibility. "My little lady not know the big world yet. There be ways, that the Lord know and that the people not know." "What do you mean, Juanita?" "My lady will find it," said the black woman folding her arms. "When all the world go one way, then folks not like to go another way and be looked at; they be ashamed of Christ's words then, and they only think they do not want to be looked at." A colour came all over Daisy's face--a suffusion of colour; and tears swam in her eyes. "I didn't like to be looked at, the other night!" she said, in a self-accusing tone. "Did my love turn and go with the world?" "No, I didn't do that." "Then Jesus won't turn away neither," said the black woman. "But I ought not to have felt so, Juanita." "Maybe. My love is a little child. The good Lord shall 'stablish her and keep her from evil. Now she must not talk no more, but trust the Lord, and go to sleep." "I can't sleep, Juanita--my leg aches so." "That will be better. Is my love thirsty again?" "Very thirsty! I wish I had some oranges." "They would be good," said Juanita, bringing another glass of jelly and water for Daisy. And then she sat down and sang softly; hymns in French and English; sweet and low, and soothing in their simple and sometimes wild melody. They soothed Daisy. After a time, wearied and exhausted by all her long day of trial, she did forget pain in slumber. The eyelids closed, and Juanita's stealthy examination found that quiet soft breathing was really proving her fast asleep. The singing ceased; and for a while nothing was to be heard in the cottage but the low rush and rustle of the wind which had driven away the storm clouds, and the patter of a dislodged rain drop or two that were shaken from the leaves. Daisy's breathing was too soft to be heard, and Juanita almost held her own lest it should be too soon disturbed. But the pain of the hurt foot and ankle would not suffer a long sleep. Daisy waked up with a sigh. "Are you there, Juanita?" "I am here." "What o'clock is it?" Juanita drew back the curtain of the window by Daisy's couch, that the moonlight might fall in and shew the face of the little clock. It was midnight. "It won't be morning in a great while, will it?" said Daisy. "Does my lady want morning?" "My foot hurts me dreadfully, Juanita--the pain shoots and jumps all up my leg. Couldn't you do something to it?" "My dear love, it will be better by and by--there is no help now for it, unless the Lord sends sleep. I s'pose it must ache. Can't Miss Daisy remember who sends the pain?"