“Daisy,” said her mother, “what is your door fast for?”

“Mamma—­I wanted it fast for a few minutes.”

“Did you lock it last night or this morning?”

“Last night—­I thought—­I meant to have opened it.”

“Both your doors?”

“Yes, mamma.”

“All night locked!  Now, Daisy, I forbid you ever to turn the key in your door again, night or day.”

“O mamma!—­I want it shut sometimes.”

“Hush.  Go and let June dress you.”

June was vexed enough with herself to have inflicted some punishment on her awkward tongue and head, when she saw that Daisy was for some reason or other deeply grieved.  The tears gathered and fell, quietly, all through the process of dressing; and a sort of sob heaved from the child’s breast now and then, without words and most involuntary.  Juanita’s cottage was a palace to Melbourne House, if peace made the furniture.  But June did not know what to say; so she was silent too.

When June was gone Daisy went to her beloved window, and stood there.  She did not like to kneel, because her mother might come in, or even June, while she was doing so.  She stood at the sweet open window, and prayed that the Lord would take care of her, and help her to pray however she could.  And then the thought of those words came to Daisy:—­“Thou, therefore, endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.”  She remembered very well how Captain Drummond had described the way a good soldier takes things—­hard and disagreeable things as well as others.  It is part of his business to endure them; he expects them, and minds them not at all in comparison with the service in which he is engaged.  And a soldier of Jesus Christ has only to obey him, and take willingly whatever comes in the line of his service.  What matter?  The only thing was to obey orders, and do the work she was set upon.  Hardships did not seem much like hardships when she thought of them in this way.  And then it occurred to Daisy, that if she could not fasten her doors, she had better just kneel down as usual with them open.  She could not do without praying; and if she must be in traded upon, why it was a little hardship that she had better not mind.  And when she had thought that, Daisy kneeled down; and she never had any more trouble about it.  She did fancy, even that first morning, that she heard the lock of her door turn; but she did not move to see, and hearing nothing more she soon forgot it.  Nobody wore such a bright and fresh face at the breakfast-table as Daisy; such a glad and uncareful face; and Mrs. Randolph seeing it, was reassured; though she had just seen her little daughter at her prayers, on her knees, by the window.  She looked so happy now, that the lady was inclined to hope her religion was a childish folly, which would pass away and be forgotten in time.