It was
midnight.
"It won't be morning in a great while, will it?" said Daisy.
"Does my lady want morning?"
"My foot hurts me dreadfully, Juanita--the pain shoots and jumps all up
my leg. Couldn't you do something to it?"
"My dear love, it will be better by and by--there is no help now for it,
unless the Lord sends sleep. I s'pose it must ache. Can't Miss Daisy
remember who sends the pain?"
The child answered her with a curious smile. It was not strange to the
black woman; she read it and knew it and had seen such before; to
anybody that had not, how strange would have seemed the lovingness that
spread over all Daisy's features and brightened on her brow as much as
on her lips. It was not patient submission; it was the light of joyful
affection shining out over all Daisy's little pale face.
"Ay, it isn't hard with Jesus," said the black woman with a satisfied
face. "And the Lord is here now,--praise his name!"
"Juanita--I have been very happy to-day," said Daisy.
"Ay? how has that been, my love?"
"Because I knew he was taking care of me. It seemed that Jesus was so
near me all the time.
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