this purpose?  Are there no wretched homes which you can make happier, no aching hearts which a kind word would cheer?  Remember there is a blessing pronounced for even the cup of cold water, and how much greater shall be the reward of those who, forgetting themselves, seek the good of others and turn not away from the needy and the desolate.  See to it, then, you to whom God has given much.  See to it that you sit not down in idle ease, wasting upon yourself alone the goods designed for others, for to whom much is given of him much shall be required.”

Attracted, perhaps, by the deep black of Daisy’s attire, or the something about her which marked her as different from the mass of his hearers, the speaker had seemed to address the last of his remarks directly to her, and had the dead Tom risen from his grave and spoken with her face to face, she could hardly have been more affected than she was.  The resemblance was so striking and the voice so like her cousin’s that she felt as if she had received a message direct from him; or, if not from him, she surely had from God, whose almoner she henceforth would be.

That day was the beginning of a new life to her.  Thenceforth there must be no more repining; no more idle, listless days, no more wishing for something to do.  There was work all around her, and she found it and did it with a will—­first, from a sense of duty, and at last for the real pleasure it afforded her to carry joy and gladness to the homes where want and sorrow had sat so long.

Hearing that there were sickness and destitution among the miners in Peru, where her possessions were, she went early in November, and many a wretched heart rejoiced because of her, and many a lip blessed the beautiful lady whose coming among them was productive of so much good.  Better dwellings, better wages, a church, a schoolhouse followed in her footsteps, and then, when everything there seemed in good working order, there came over her a longing for her native country, and the next autumn found her in New York, where in a short space of time everybody knew of the beautiful Miss McDonald, who was a millionaire and who owned the fine house and grounds in the upper part of the city not far from the Park.

Here society claimed her again, and Daisy, who had no morbid fancies now, yielded in part to its claims and became, if not a belle, a favorite, whose praises were in every mouth.  But chiefly was she known and loved by the poor and the despised whom she daily visited, and to whom her presence was like the presence of an angel.

“You do look lovely and sing so sweet; I know there’s nothing nicer in heaven,” said a little piece of deformity to her one day as it lay dying in her arms.  “I’se goin’ to heaven, which I shouldn’t have done if you’se hadn’t gin me the nice bun and told me of Jesus.  I loves him now, and I’ll tell him how you bringed me to him.”

Such was the testimony of one dying child, and it was dearer to Daisy than all the words of flattery ever poured into her ear.  As she had brought that little child to God, so she would bring others, and she made her work among the children especially, finding there her best encouragement and greatest success.