“My love knows who carries the lambs in his bosom.”

Daisy’s tired face smoothed itself out at this.  She turned her eyes to the window with a placid look of rest in them.

“Jesus knows where the trouble is,” said the black woman.  “He knows all.  And he can help too.  Now I am going to get something to do Miss Daisy good.”

Before this could be done, there came a heavy clumping step up to the house and a knock at the door; and then a person entered whom Juanita did not know.  A hard-featured woman, in an old-fashioned black straw bonnet and faded old shawl drawn tight round her.  She came directly forward to Daisy’s couch.

“Well I declare if it ain’t true!  Tied by the heels, ain’t ye?”—­was her salutation.  Juanita looked, and saw that Daisy recognized the visiter; for she smiled at her, half pleasure, half assent to what she said.

“I heerd of it—­that is, I heerd you’d gone up to the mountain and broke something; I couldn’t find out what ’twas; and then Hephzibah she said she would go down to Melbourne Sunday.  I said to her, says I, ’Hephzibah, I wouldn’t go all that ways, child, for to do nothing; ’tain’t likely but that some part of the story’s true, if you and me can’t find out which;’ but Hephzibah she took her own head and went; and don’t you think, she came back a cryin’?”

“What was that for?” said Daisy, looking very much interested.

“Why she couldn’t find you, I guess; and she thought you was killed.  But you ain’t, be you?”

“Only my foot and ankle hurt,” said Daisy smiling; “and I am doing very well now.”

“And was you broke anywheres?”

“My ankle was broken.”

“I declare!  And you couldn’t be took home?”

“No.”

“So the folks said; only they said that young soldier had killed you.  I hope he got hurted himself?”

“Why Mrs. Harbonner, he did not do it.  It was an accident.  It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

“It wouldn’t ha’ happened if I had been there, I can tell you!” said Hephzibah’s mother.  “I don’t think much of a man if he ain’t up to taking care of a woman;—­and a child above all.  Now how long are you goin’ to be in this fix?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose I shall have to lie still for four or five weeks more, before my foot is well.”

“It’s tiresome, I guess, ain’t it?”

“Yes—­sometimes.”

“Well I used to think, if folks was good, things wouldn’t happen to ’em.  That’s what I thought.  That was my study of divinity.  And when everything on earth happened to me, I just concluded it was because I warn’t a bit too good to deserve it.  Now I’m beat—­to see you lie there.  I don’t see what is the use of being good, if it don’t get none.”

“O Mrs. Harbonner!” said Daisy—­“I am glad my foot was broken.”

“Well, I’m beat!” was all Mrs. Harbonner could say.  “You air, be you?”

“It hasn’t done me any harm at all; and it has done me a great deal of good.”