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 show 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?"
The child answered her with a curious smile. It was not
strange to the black woman; she read it, and knew it, and had
seen such before; to anybody that had not, how strange would
have seemed the lovingness that spread over all Daisy's
features, and brightened on her brow as much as on her lips.
It was not patient submission; it was the light of joyful
affection shining out over all Daisy's little pale face.
"Ay, it isn't hard with Jesus," said the black woman with a
satisfied face. "And the Lord is here now, — praise his name!"
"Juanita — I have been very happy to-day," said Daisy.
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