Juanita’s first business was to take off the stocking; this could only be done by cutting it down.  When it was removed, a very sorrowful-looking little foot was seen.  Juanita covered it up lightly, and then turned her attention again to Daisy’s pale face.

“What can I give my little lady?”

“I am Daisy Randolph.”

“What may I do for Miss Daisy? to give her some comfort.”

“Juanita,—­I wish you would pray for me again.”

“What does Miss Daisy want of the Lord?”

“My foot hurts me very much, and I want to be patient.  And, Juanita, I want to thank him too.”

“What for, Miss Daisy?”

“Because—­I love him; and he has made me so happy.”

“Praise the Lord!” came with a most glad outburst from Juanita’s lips; but then she knelt down, and so uttered her warm petitions for help needed and so her deep thanksgiving for help rendered, that Daisy was greatly overcome and poured out her tears as the prayer went on.  When it was ended, Juanita went about her room for a little while, making certain arrangements that she foresaw would be necessary; then came and sat down.  All this while the storm had been furious; the lightning hardly ceased, or the thunder, and both were near; but the two inmates of the little cottage seemed hardly to be conscious what was going on outside its walls.  There was a slight lessening now of the storm’s fury.

“Has it gone well with my little lady then, since she gave Juanita the rose branch?”

This was the new opening of conversation.  Daisy hesitated a little what to answer; not for want of confidence, for there was something about the fine old woman that had won her completely.

“I don’t know”—­she said at length, slowly.  “It has been very hard to do right, Juanita.”

“But has my little lady kept her Lord’s words?”

“Yes, Juanita, I did; but I don’t know whether I should, if it hadn’t been for what you said.”

“And did she meet the trouble too?”

Juanita saw that she had, for a flush rose on Daisy’s poor pale cheeks, and her face was strangely grave.  She did not answer the question either; only as the flash passed away she looked placidly up and said,

“I am not in trouble now, Juanita.”

“Bless the Lord!” was the utterance of Juanita’s heart.  “The Lord knows how to deliver out of trouble, Miss Daisy.”

“Yes,” said Daisy.  “O!”—­she exclaimed suddenly, with a new light breaking all over her face—­but then she stopped.

“What is it, my love?”

“Nothing—­only I am so glad now that my foot is hurt.”

Juanita’s thanksgiving rose to her lips again, but this time she only whispered it; turning away, perhaps to hide the moisture which had sprung to her eyes.  For she understood more of the case than Daisy’s few words would have told most people.