"Joanna — didn't the minister say this morning, that when we
are doing what Jesus tells us, He will help us through?"
"It's true," said Joanna, looking startled and troubled at the
pale little tear-stained face lifted to her; — "but I don't
just know as that minister said it this morning."
"Didn't he?"
"Why, it's true, Miss Daisy; for I've heard other ministers
say it; but that one this morning was preaching about
something else — don't you know?"
"Was he? Didn't he say that?"
"Why, no, Miss Daisy; he was preaching about how rich —"
"Oh, I know!" said Daisy — "I remember; yes, it wasn't then —
it was afterwards. Yes, he said it — I knew it —but it wasn't
in his sermon. Thank you, Joanna — that's all; I don't want
you any more."
"What ails her?" whispered Joanna, when June followed her out
with a light.
But June knew her business better than to tell her little
mistress's secrets; and her face showed no more of them than
it showed of her own. When she returned, Daisy was on her
knees, with her face hidden in her hands, at the foot of the
bed.
June stopped; and the little white figure there looked so
slight, the attitude of the bended head was so childlike and
pitiful, that the mulatto woman's face twinkled and twitched
in a way most unwonted to its usual stony lines.
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