So Daisy told the wonderful story, and displayed the power and love and tenderness of the Lord with the affection of one who knew him her Lord, and almost with the zeal of an eye-witness of his work.  It was almost to Daisy so; it seemed to her that she had beheld and heard the things she was telling over; for faith is the substance of things not seen; and the grief of the sisters, and their joy, and the love and tenderness of the Lord Jesus, were all to her not less real than they were to the actors in that far distant drama.  Molly heard her throughout, with open mouth and marvelling eyes.

Neither of them had changed her position, and indeed Daisy had scarce finished talking, when she heard herself hailed from the road.  She started.  Preston was there on horseback, calling to her.  Daisy got up and took up her trowel.

“Good bye,” she said, with a little sigh for the lost vision which Preston’s voice had interrupted—­“I’ll come again, I hope.”  And she ran out at the gate.

“It is time for you to go home, Daisy.  I thought you did not know how late it is.”

Daisy mounted into her pony chaise silently.

“Have I interrupted something very agreeable?”

“You would not have thought it so,” said Daisy diplomatically.

“What were you doing, down there in the dirt?”

“Preston, if you please, I cannot talk to you nicely while you are so high and I am so low.”

Preston was certainly at some height above Daisy, being mounted up in his saddle on a pretty high horse, while the pony chaise was hung very near the ground.  He had been beside her; but at her last words he laughed and set off at a good pace in advance, leaving the chaise to come along in Loupe’s manner.  Daisy drove contentedly home through the afternoon sunlight, which laid bands of brightness across her road all the way home.  They seemed bands of joy to Daisy.

Preston had gallopped ahead and was at the door ready to meet her.  “What kept you so long at that dismal place?” he asked as he handed her out of the chaise.

“You were back very soon from the Fish place, I think,” said Daisy.

“Yes—­Alexander was not at home; there was no use in my staying.  But what were you doing all that while, Daisy?”

“It was not so very long,” said Daisy.  “I did not think it was a long time.  You must have deceived yourself.”

“But do you not mean to tell me what you were about?  What could you do, at such a place?”

Daisy stood on the piazza, in all the light of the afternoon sunbeams, looking and feeling puzzled.  How much was it worth while to try to tell Preston of her thoughts and wishes?

“What was the attraction, Daisy? only tell me that.  Dirt and ignorance and rudeness and disorder—­and you contented to be in the midst of it!  Down in the dirt!  What was the attraction?”

“She is very unhappy, Preston.”