Daisy's trust

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HE WAS PUSHED TOWARDS THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF.





Wittle Dot Series.



DAIS Ys Linu St.

By E.S. P.,

Author of
‘KATIE, THE FISHERMAN’S LITTLE DAUGHTER ;”

‘“‘Ivy’s ARMOUR,” ETC.



THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY:

s6 PaTgRNosTER Row, AND 65 St. Paut’s CHURCHYARD,
LONDON.





































































CHAP.

CONTENTS.

THE BROKEN KNIFE 7 . 5
WAITING FOR WILLIE , .
FRIEND OR I:NEMY ?

“T NEVER CAN Forcive HIM”

WHAT THE BELLS SAID TO TOM BURGESS

“ A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM ”

PAGE



DEG Sow Reo.



CHAPTER I.
fhe Broken Knife,

r.@ Ft was a chill October morn-
L do] ing and a thin mist was
clearing off the sea as
little Daisy Burton closed
the cottage door behind
~ her, and ran down the
rough-cut steps on to the
sands. She turned her
sunny golden head from side to side,
and an anxious look came into her
brown eyes, as she shaded them with
her hand for a moment, and gazed far
out towards the rapidly-clearing horizon.
The wind freshened as the fog lifted, and





6 Daisy's Trust.

moaned across the heaving waters, sure
token of a coming storm.

“Who be you looking for, Daisy, my
lass ?”

The child turned as this question was
put to her, and clasping her little hands
in front of her, looked up beseechingly
into the bronzed face of the tall fisher-
man.

‘Oh, Mr. Burgess, please do you know
where Willie is?”

“Willie! Why? ain't he at home?”

“No; and mother is waiting for him ;
she’s not well this morning, she’s got
one of her bad headaches, and she wants
him to go up to Coombe for her. Haven’t
you seen him at all?”

“No, my little woman; leastways not
since six o’clock this morning, when the
fishing boats were getting off. I re-
member now he was down on the shore
then, I can’t say if he went off with any
of them.”



The Broken Knife. 7

“ And was Jim there ?” Daisy asked,
anxiously.

“Yes, I saw them together, getting
the Lapwing ready for sea ; but I never
saw Willie go off in her.”

‘“‘T suppose he must have gone, if he’s
nowhere about. I wish he wasn’t so
much with Jim, he’s not a good boy.
Well, I must tell mother he’s off; she'll
be so sorry. I know she wanted him
particularly this morning. Good-bye,
Mr. Burgess;” and Daisy ran up the
steps, and into the little garden belonging
to their cottage.

“ Mother,” she cried, ‘ Willie has gone
off again with Jim over to the Saddle
Rocks.”

Daisy's mother, a thin tired-looking
woman, raised: her head, which was bent
over the wash-tub, and sighed as her
little daughter brought her this news.

“Oh! well it can’t be helped. When

his poor father was alive he was a good



8 Datsy’s Trust.

boy enough ; but he won’t mind me now,
somehow. He longs for the sea, and I
know I shan’t be able to keep him from
it. But I do wish he wasn’t so much
with Jim Weston, he’s not a nice com-
panion for him.”

After this speech Mrs. Burton resumed
her washing, and Daisy went out again
on to the beach. She was nearly as
fond of the sea as her brother, and she
often thought if she had been a little
boy instead of a little girl, she would
have been a sailor, and have gone over
to all those beautiful countries that
Uncle Jack visited, where you could
gather oranges and lemons from trees,
as you gather apples here.

She sat there for some time, thinking
over what her teacher had told her on
Sunday in school, about the terrible sin
of lying, and how that the Zar was shut
out of heaven as well as the drunkard.
She felt quite certain that her brother



The Broken Knife. 9

Willie did not always speak the truth;
and this thought made her feel very sad.
As she sat there watching the little
white-crested waves far out at sea, and
idly casting stones into the water, a lady
drew near, at the sight of whom Daisy
jumped up and made a curtsey, while a
happy smile lighted up the little brown
face.

“Good morning, Daisy,” said the
young lady, stopping short, at once ac-
knowledging the child’s recognition of
her teacher. “How is mother this
morning ?”

“She's not very well, teacher. Willie’s
gone off again with Jim, an’ I ’spect
that troubles her a good bit!”

“Ah! I’m sorry to hear that, I par-
ticularly wanted to speak to Willie this
morning.”

“Oh, teacher, has he been naughty
at school again?” asked Daisy, in an
anxious tone. She was very fond of



IO Daisy's Trust.

her brother; he was always good and
kind to her, and it made her little loving
heart ache to hear him always being
found fault with, by the different people
in the village. He was certainly a
troublesome boy, no one could deny
that; but he had a good heart deep
down beneath a rough exterior, which
no one but his little sister seemed able
to reach. Severity did him no good
whatever, it only hardened him, and:
made him more sullen and obstinate.
But unfortunately, his Sunday-school
teacher was very severe with him; she
never tried to win the boy with kindness,
but always held him upas a bad example
to the others, and frequently had a string
of complaints concerning Willie Burton’s
behaviour to bring before the superin-
tendent at the close of the school. And
his register at this time showed so many
B’s, that he had lost all heart, and
treated his lessons with indifference.



The Broken Kuife. be

' Willie never openly defied the rules
of the school; but learn the collect and
text he could not, or rather would not;
for he was not a stupid boy by any
means. He was a big lad of fifteen,
and he had often threatened to leave
Sunday-school altogether, and make use
of the Sunday as he thought best. And
but for Daisy’s pleading he would have
done so long ago, so for Zev sake he still
went twice every Sunday.

Daisy’s teacher—the vicar’s daughter
—always had a kind word for him, and
tried to excuse many a little fault that
was brought before her father; and
Willie knew this, and he loved and re-
spected her, never forgetting to touch
his. cap whenever they met. Once he
had ventured shyly to offer her a bunch
of cowslips, as she passed through the
field on her way to the pretty vicarage,
with its tasteful well-kept garden so full
of beautiful flowers, and the grateful



12 Daisy's Trust.

“Thank you, Willie! They are very
sweet,” the boy never forgot.

Miss Reynolds looked down upon the
little girl standing before her with up-
raised anxious eyes, and smiled rather
sadly, “ No, Daisy, Willie has not been
naughty at school this time; I am sorry
to say it is something rather worse than
that.”

“Qh please, don’t tell mother!” cried
the child, “she'll be so angry with him ;
and then he'll go right away, like he did
once before. Tell me, and I’ll wait here
till the boat comes in, and tell him to
come up to you ; may I, please, teacher?”

The little voice was very pleading,
and the vicar’s daughter hesitated for a
moment; then putting her hand into her
pocket, she took out a large horn-handled
knife containing four blades.

“Do you know to whom this knife
belongs, Daisy?” she said, holding it
out for her to look at.



The Broken Kutfe. 13

“Oh yes! that’s Jim’s knife!” replied
the child, scarcely glancing at it.

Miss Reynolds looked at it more
closely. ‘Then father was wrong, I’m
so glad,” she said to herself. As she
spoke the knife slipped through her
fingers on to the sand, and Daisy picked
it up, exclaiming as she did so:

“Oh no! Miss Reynolds, this isn’t
Jim’s knife, it’s Willie’s; I know it by
the broken blade: he broke it in the
woods that day getting up a big fern for
Mrs. Reynolds. Did you find it? he
just will be sorry to lose it, I know; he’s
always using it to cut up something or
other. Where did you find it, miss?
he'll be so glad to have it back.”

“Tt was found in Colonel Winyard’s
garden, Daisy; in the new plantation,
where I am grieved to say some young
trees have been shamefully cut about.
The colonel is exceedingly vexed about
it; but with his usual great kindness, he



14 Dazsy'’s Trust.

promises even now to forgive the one
who has done it, if he will come forward
at once, and make a clean breast of the
whole affair. You can tell your brother
this, dear. No, I must take the knife
back to Colonel Winyard. I cannot
leave it with you. If Willie likes to
come to me first, I shall be at home at
five o’clock ; and now I must go, poor
old Widow Clarkson will think I have
forgotten her. Good-bye, Daisy; you
had better go indoors, dear; the wind is
very keen, and I think a storm is gather-
ing, the sea roars so this morning.

‘You can ask the dear Lord to help
you, my child, in this new trouble: you
know He has said, ‘Call upon Me in
the day of trouble, and I will deliver
thee. Those ‘Z wz/s’ of our Father
are very, very precious. You know
what they mean, I am sure, Daisy;”
and with these words of comfort and
strength to her little Sunday scholar,



The Broken Knife. 15

Miss Reynolds made her way across
the sand and shingle in the direction of
the town.

Daisy, who could not find a word to
say in her sorrow, watched her kind
teacher until she was out of sight, then
she went slowly indoors.



wad



16

CHAPTER II.
Waiting for Willie.

parr an hour later, Daisy
f} went down to the beach
again. She could not rest
%, indoors, she was too un-



so once again she seated
herself on a little sand-
heap near the edge of the sea. With her
elbows on her knees and her chin in her
hands, she did not heed the cold wind
that was beginning to blow very roughly
among her sunny golden hair, and deepen
the rosy tinge on her brown cheeks. No,
she was too anxious to feel cold just
then.

“ How white the waves look now,”



Waiting for Willie 17

she said, straining her eyes far out at
sea. “Two hours ago they were quite
calm, and now they look like milk when
it boils; oh, I do wonder when Willie will
be in. I wonder if that’s Jim’s boat out
yonder? Ay, they will be tossed about
in this wind ; but sailor boys don’t mind
that, and maybe they'll land soon. Yes,
they’re getting nearer shore. I must
run down and meet Willie, and tell him
what Miss Reynolds told me. Oh, I
do wish it hadn’t been Willie’s knife
found at Colonel Winyard’s. I’m quite
sure he’d never do such a cruel thing as
cut up young trees; and yet if his own
knife was found lying there by them, it
seems as if he must have done it.”

The little fishing boat, with the two
boys in her, drew nearer and nearer to
land: the wind was blowing strongly from
the south-west, and they had hard work
to get in as it was dead against them ;

but at last the boat was beached not far
Cc 85



18 Daisy’s Trust.

from where Daisy had been sitting. She
jumped up at once, though for the
moment she felt shy of speaking to her
brother before Jim. Pulling the ends
of the blue knitted handkerchief she had
round her neck nervously from side to
side, she went up to the two boys as
they sprang laughing from the boat,
splashing through the surf as they
dragged it ashore, high up, safe from
the breakers.

“ Hallo! Daisy, what are you here for ?
spying as usual; you want to know too
much!” said Jim, roughly, as he pulled
half-a-dozen different kinds of fish tied
together with string from under the
seat of the boat, and threw them over
to Willie.

“There's your share, Bill,” he said ;
‘youll have a fine supper to-night, I
guess. Good-bye, I must run now, its
near dinner time. Don’t forget what I
told ye, Bill. Well, you ain’t seen or



Warting for Wille. 19

heard quite so much as you expected, I
lay!” he said to Daisy, as she put her
hand into Willie’s, and whispered that
she wanted to tell him something.
“What is it, Daisy? Is anything
wrong? You don’t look very bright.
Is it anything very dreadful?” he asked, ~
in a don’t-care-much-if-it-is kind of tone.
“Yes, Willie, it really is very dreadful.
Miss Reynolds has found your knife.”
The boy’s hand at once went into his
pocket, “.My knife? I lent it to Jim.
I haven’t lost it, I had it—why who’s—”
these unconnected words came out in
jerks, as Willie Burton stopped in his
walk and turned out both his pockets.
‘Were you out last night, Will? Any-
where near Colonel Winyard’s house ?”
“Ofcourse. Didn't I go that way to
Greys.”
“Oh, Willie!” was the little girl’s only
reply to this.
“ Whatever do you mean, child! Why



20 Daisy's Trust.

can’t you speak out?” said the boy,
impatiently. ‘Where did Miss Rey-
nolds find my knife?”

“In the new plantation in Colonel
Winyard’s grounds, at least his gardener
found it, and he says the trees have been
dreadfully cut up; and oh! Willie they
think you’ve done it.”

A dark look came over Willie’s face
at his sister's words. “Let them think
it then, if they like,” he muttered, angrily.

“Then you didn’t do it? I knew you
wouldn't,” said Daisy, joyfully. “Do go
at once and tell teacher, she'll be so
glad.”

“T shan’t go and tell anybody any-
thing. What have I to tell?” he éx-
claimed, excitedly, kicking up the loose
stones that came in his way with pas-
sionate vehemence.

Little Daisy’s heart sank as she heard
her brother’s words, and saw the angry
look in his eyes.



Waiting for Willie. 21

Nothing more was said, and in due time
home was reached. Dinner was ready
for them, and they sat down in silence,
Mrs. Burton vouchsafing no remark to
her truant boy who now caused her so
many heart-aches.

Willie had not much appetite, and
Daisy watched him anxiously as he again
for the third time, turned out his pockets
to make sure that it was Azs knife that
had been found near the injured trees.

“ll news flies apace;” and Mrs.
Burton had heard all about it from a
talkative neighbour, who dearly loved to
be the first with what she considered a
“spicey bit of news, whether good or
bad.” :

“A pretty penny you'll have to pay
for this, I expect,” exclaimed his mother,
as they rose from the table after a silent
and uncomfortable meal. ‘Or else be
locked up in default. I never thought
I should live to see the name of Burton



22 Daisy's Trust.

disgraced in this way. Oh dear! oh
dear! if your poor dear father did but
know it, I’m sure he could never rest in

his grave.”
“Wait till the name of Burton is dis-
graced!” exclaimed the boy, fiercely.

“Who says I’ve disgraced it, I should
like to know ;” and with these words of
angry defiance, he dashed past his mother
and ran out of the house.

Daisy dared not follow him, but she
did what was far better. She went at
once upstairs to her mother’s room, and
kneeling down by the bed, she folded
her little brown hands on the patchwork
quilt, and prayed very earnestly that
God would save Willie from the terrible
sin of lying, so that he might not be shut
out of heaven, but that he might be
brave and tell the truth about it, even if
he had done it. And she now almost
began to fear that he had cut the trees,
because he had been so angry about it



Warting for Willie. 23

and she knew he “hated” Colonel Win-
yard on account of his having once
punished him for being noisy outside the
schoolroom when a missionary lecture
was being given.

“Oh, dear Lord Jesus, do hear my
prayer for Willie; you do always hear
us, it says in my own Bible, ‘ Whatsoever
we ask in Thy name, Thou wilt give us.’
Give me this, please, dear Lord Jesus
Christ, and save my brother Willie from
telling a lie this time, and make him a
better boy to poor mother, for Jesus
Christ’s sake. Amen.”

Little Daisy rose from her knees much
comforted, and went downstairs to help
her mother clear away, and wash up the
dinner things, with a much lighter heart,
for she. felt quite certain now that Jesus
would help Willie. The words of her
Sunday-school hymn came into her head
as she went about her work with a cheer-
ful spirit, in spite of the trouble that was



24 Datsy’s Trust.

hanging over them, and causing her
mother to droop her head, and cry with
one of old, “ All these things are against
me.” .

But Daisy’s trust in her Saviour was
very real; and she knew that God would
send His Holy Spirit into her brother’s
heart in answer to her prayer. For had
not the vicar preached from those hope-
ful words of promise, “ If thou canst be-
lieve, all things are possible to him that be-
lieveth,”—only on last Sunday morning?

Daisy aid believe, so the promise was
sure to her, and the sweet childish voice
could be heard singing clearly the words
of the hymn, that Willie always called
“ Daisy’s favourite :”

“Simply trusting every day,
Trusting through a stormy way:
Even when my faith is small,
Trusting Jesus, that is all

Trusting as the moments fly,
Trusting as the days go by;



Watting for Wille. 25
Trusting Him whate’er befall,
Trusting Jesus, that is all.

Brightly doth His Spirit shine
Into this poor heart of mine:
While He leads I cannot fall;
Trusting Jesus, that is all.
Singing, if my way be clear;
Praying, if the path be drear:
If in danger, for Him call;
Trusting Jesus, that is all.

Trusting Him while life shall last,
Trusting Him till earth be. past,
Till within the jasper wall ;
‘Trusting Jesus, that is all.”

But even Daisy’s strong faith was to
be tried in a way she little expected, and
ere the night shadows closed in, that
grey October day, she had learned to
know the meaning of that verse in Isaiah
where it says, “ Who is among you that
feareth the Lord... that walketh in
darkness, and hath no light? Let him
trust in the name of the Lord, and stay
upon his God.”



26 Daisy's Trust.

It is easy enough to “trust and be
still” in the bright sunshine of prosperity,
when all things seem to happen just as
we would ourselves desire; but it is a
different thing altogether, to “ trust and
be still” in the dark and cloudy days of
adversity, when all things seem against
us, and we are called upon to “glorify
God in the fires.”

Daisy sat up later that night to keep
her mother company, and together they
listened to the stormy wind and rain
outside, thinking and talking of Willie,
who was still absent from his cottage
home when the village church clock
struck the hour of midnight.





27

CHAPTER III.
Friend or Enemy?

US" Willie rushed out or
the cottage, stung by his
mother’s words, he did
not go to the vicarage,
as Daisy wished him to
do, but straight away
down to the beach again.
The wind was very boisterous, and the
sea wild and rough. The first person
he saw there was Tom Burgess; and
smarting with indignation at his mother’s
remarks about disgracing the name of
Burton, he begged the man to let him
go with him.

Tom looked up astonished. “ Why,

lad, you’ve only just come in; you must



K a



28 Daisy's Trust.

be uncommon fond of the sea to want to
be off again so soon, an’ that good little
sister o’ yours has been so anxious about
yer coming back. The weather looks
dirty enough out yonder. You had best
bide at home a bit now, Will, and look
after your poor mother; she ain’t so
strong as she might be, if she hadn’t so
much worry and more help.”

The boy turned away as Tom Burgess
resumed his work of boat-cleaning,
making a hissing noise over the process,
such as usually accompanies the groom-
ing of a horse,—and, without a word,
walked slowly towards the path leading
up to the cliff. Coming down it, he saw
Jim, andin a moment the thought flashed
into his mind, “Ae must have thrown
my knife over into Colonel Winyard’s
grounds; he didn’t give it me _ back,
he has cut the trees with it, and wants
to throw suspicion on me. He said
once he’d pay me out for not going with



friend or Enemy ? 29

him that Sunday, and that was all through
Daisy preaching about it being wrong.
Why did I listen to her? But somehow
I couldn’t vex her, she’s the only one as
really cares for me.”

“Hallo, Bill! where are you off to,
mate?” was his friend’s greeting as
they ret in the middle of that high
narrow path.

“I’m off nowhere just now! How
did you manage to get my knife? An-
swer ine that question first, please ?”

“Your knife!” said jim, interroga-
tively. “I haven’t seen your knife.”

“That's a lie, and you know it!” ex-
claimed Willie, fiercely.

“Tf you want to fight you'd best get
on level ground. If I tripped you up,
Bill Burton, you'd find it rather awkward
just here, I’m thinking!” replied Jim,
calmly.

‘Who wants to fight? Tell me, what
did you do with my knife yesterday ?”



30 Daisy's Trust.

“Do with it? what d’ye mean?”

“Surely you’ve heard about the trees
being cut; speak out now, Jim, and
don’t begin bullying a fellow before you
hear what he’s got to say!” said Willie,
quieting down a little.

Artful Jim at once saw his opportunity,
and immediately ‘turned the tables on
his friend : “ Of course I’ve heard about
them, and so’s everybody else by now,
I reckon. What a pity you threw the
knife away. No one would have known
who had done the mischief, if it hadn't
been for that. Though you did owe the
colonel a grudge for getting you a hiding
once, no one would have thought that
a good boy who always goes to Sunday-
school would have gone to such lengths
as that. And now I see what it is, you
want to try and throw the blame upon
me: that’s very friendly of you, I must
say !”

Jim was evidently in a quarrelsome



Friend or Enemy? 31

mood. He had spent an hour or more
at “ The Old Schooner” that afternoon ;
and although he was only two year.
older. than Willie, he was very often far
from sober, as was too plainly the case
now.

“ How dare you accuse me of such a
thing ?” cried Willie, furiously. ‘“ You
know you borrowed my knife two days
ago, and you gave me back yours instead
of my own, NowI see why you did it;
You're a coward, Jim Weston !”

As these words left his lips, Willie
Burton felt his arms gripped firmly to-
gether behind, and in a few moments he
was pushed towards the edge of the cliff,
below which the angry waves were
dashing with a noise like thunder, and
sending up clouds of silver spray. It
was a giddy height to look down from ;
but Jim made him look by pressing
his hand with sheer force on the back of
his neck and bending his head over,



32 Dazisy’s Trust.

‘“ Now, my boy, apologise for calling
me by that very ugly name, or over
you go!”

Willie struggled violently to get back
on to the pati but it was no use. Jim
was bigger and stronger than he, and
excited almost to madness, and he held
him like a vice, pushing him nearer and
nearer to the edge.

“You'll be killed outright if you fall
over there, and dead men tell no tales,
you know. You'd best say you're sorry
for calling your friend such a name as
that, an’ a done with it.”

With a great wrench Will at length
freed his hands from Jim’s grasp, and
turning round upon him he cried,

“Tl never say I’m sorry for calling
you what you are. Leave go of me and -
begone.. Do you think I’m a coward
too, and afraid of your threats.”

As these words left Will's. lips, Jim

sprang upon him again, and the fight at



V9 7, ~ i 2
Friend or Enemy ¢ 23

length grew desperate and dangerous,
and words were soon changed to blows.
The grass grew slippery under their
feet, as they struggled together like two
gladiators in a Roman amphitheatre.
The bushy grass at the edge of the cliff
was very treacherous, though it looked
firm enough; but the chalky ground
beneath it was already beginning to
crumble away utder the weight so sud-
denly brought to bear upon it

One more heavy blow struck in blind
fury, a tearing crashing fall, one piercing
scream of agony and terror, and Jim
Weston stood on the top of the cliff in
alone !



the erey October twilight





CHAPTER IV.
“ F never can forgive him.”

“tue next thing Willie be-
came conscious of after
that terrible meeting with
jim Weston on the beach
cliff, was, that he was
lying upon his own bed
at home, and that Daisy
was sitting beside him with a very pale
and anxious little face. He felt very
stiff and sore when he tried to move, and
there were bandages on his head, and
on his right arm and leg. He felt some-
how as though he had been dead and
come to life again.

‘“T’ve been ill, haven’t I, Daisy ?” he
said in a low weak voice, as he laid his
thin white hand upon hers.





“TL never can forgive him!” 35

“Yes, Willie dear, very ill; but you're
much better now, aren't you?” she
replied, with a bright smile.

“Ah, I know all about it now; Jim
did it. He pushed me over the cliff.
Oh, it was cruel of him, it was a terrible
fall;” and the boy shuddered, and hid
his poor bruised face in the pillow.

“Don’t think about it, Willie. Shall
I read to you? And then maybe youll
forget it again for a while.”

“J shall sever forget it, I can feel
myself going over the edge even as [ lie
here, and I'll never forgive him. He’s
made a cripple of me for life, I believe ;
he’s a cowardly wretch, and I'll never,
never forgive him, if I live to be a hun-
dred, zever /” cried the boy, excitedly.

Daisy's little heart ached as she heard
these words from her injured brother.
She knew it was no good trying to talk
to him just then, so she opened her own
little Bible—her Sunday-school prize two



36 Daisy's Trust.

years ago—at random as it lay on her
knee, and began to read aloud some
verses. Singularly enough they were
from the eighteenth chapter of St. Mat-
thew, where. Peter asks Jesus, “ Lord,
how oft shall my brother sin against me,
and I forgive him? Till seven times?
Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee,
till seven times, but until seventy times
seven.” And then she went on to the
end of the chapter, where the king took
account of his servants: “So likewise
shall my heavenly Father do also unto
you, if ye from your hearts forgive not
every one his brother their trespasses.”
As she ceased reading, she looked up
as a shadow fell across the doorway of
that little inner chamber, and was de-
lighted to see Miss Reynolds standing
there. She jumped up at once, and ran
to welcome her kind teacher, and receive
from her hands a basket laden with good
things tor Willie’s benefit, which Miss



“LT never can forgive him!” 37

Reynolds told her to go and empty, while
she took Daisy’s seat at the sick boy’s
bedside.

“Are you feeling better to-day, Willie?”
she asked, as she laid her hand tenderly
upon his.

“Yes, miss, thank you!”

“Has Jim been to see you?”

“No, indeed; he knows better than
to come here; he'd far better keep away
from me!” he exclaimed, angrily, while
a faint flash of colour came into his thin
white cheeks, and quickly died away
again.

“Oh! Willie dear, I am so sorry to
hear you talk like that. I was hoping
that after the almost miraculous escape
you have had from a sudden and un-
prepared death, that you would have
felt just a little sorry for the boy whom
you have always called your friend. He
never intended to throw you over; you
might just as likely have caused him



38 Daisy's Trust.

to fall, you know, you fought just as
desperately as ke did, and now he is
almost heart-broken.

‘“‘T have seen Jim, and talked to him,
he is truly penitent; and have you no
pity for him in his despair, Willie ?
Supposing our dear Lord had had no
pity for us in our wicked and rebellious
state. We did not first love Him, you
know. He jrs¢ loved us, He died for
His exemzes, not His friends. ‘In His
love and in His pity He redeemed us;’
and won't you, Willie, for our dear Lord’s
sake try and forgive Jim?

“JT know he has behaved in a cowardly
and unkind way towards you at times;
but after your accident, he went at once
to Colonel Winyard’s, and told him all
about the trees, and how it was that
your knife came there. And the colonel,
according to his word, forgave him. He
had cut the trees out of spite to the
gardener; but at first he had no inten-



“TL never can forgiwe him!” 39

tion of getting you into trouble,—that
only entered his head when you spoke
to him about it on the cliff.

“Jim said he had borrowed your knife
two days before, as he had lost his own;
but when he cut the trees and dropped
the knife there, he had entirely forgotten
that it was yours. That is his story,
Willie, as he told it to me with bitter
tears of sorrow and remorse.”

Willie hid his face again, as the vicar’s
daughter ceased speaking. There was a
look in her eyes as she looked at him,
and talked in that low sweet voice of
hers, about the tender love of Jesus
towards rebellious sinners, that he could
not stand against somehow, and the
words Daisy had been reading were
ringing in his ears, that last verse par-
ticularly, “except ye from your heart.”
Oh, what hard words were those for him
to fulfil, and yet they were Christ’s own
words, and nothing more or less would



4G Daisy's Trust.

do. Could he forgive Jim, who had
caused him all that terrible pain and
sickness; no, he did not think he could
ever forgive him.

‘God bless you, my boy, and may He
help you to forgive Jim, even as He has
forgiven you.”

When Miss Reynolds had gone, Daisy
came back to her seat by her brother's
side.

“Tm so glad Jim didn’t mean to hurt
you, Willie. and that it was an accident,
aren’t you ?”

“JT don’t know. Why are you glad,
Daisy? He'd have been punished, sent
to prison perhaps, if he hadn’t told about
the trees at once; and then hed have
been out of your way, and couldn’t have
teased you any more!”

“Oh but, Willie, I don’t mind his
teasing half as much now as I used to
do; and ever since you've been so ill,
he’s been quite different. He has been



“ZT never can forgive him!” 41

to the door every day, to ask how you
were going on; and he’s never been once
to “The Old Schooner,” Tom Burgess
says, since the night they brought you
home. Isn't that good news, Willie
dear? You know in Sunday-school we
are often told that God sometimes lets
us suffer a great deal to make us patient
and good, and fit to go to heaven, Per-
haps that’s why He let yoz fall over the
cliff instead of Jim. God didn’t let you
die, Willie, and He is making you better ;
and now maybe if you'll see Jim, and say
you forgive him, he’ll be a better boy,
and not try and lead you wrong when
you are well again. Then poor mother
will get stronger and be happy again,
like she was when father was alive ; and
oh, that would be so nice. May Jim
come in and see you -next time he
comes ?” pleaded the little peacemaker,
and she laid her golden brown head
upon the pillow as she spoke, and



42 Daisy's Trust.

pressed her warm red lips against her
brother’s cheek in a loving kiss.

Poor Willie turned over with a smo-
thered groan at Daisy’s question, ‘‘ No,
no; not next time,” he murmured; “ I
can't see him yet, I’m a bad wicked boy,
I know, Daisy. If I had died when I
fell, I know I could never have gone to
live with God. Oh, it was good of Him
to spare me; and I was so awfully angry
when I met Jim. I should have died
full of sin. Daisy dear, you know more
of Jesus than I do, I wish you'd ask
Him to forgive me my wicked passion,
and make me a better boy.”

Daisy started up from her low seat,
her little face radiant with joy, and tak-
ing her brother’s hand in hers, she bent
over him, “ Willie dear, I’ve told dear
kind Jesus all about you long ago; I knew
He would do what I asked Him some
day, for He says in my own Bible,
‘Whatever we ask in His name delieving,



“IT never can forgive him!” 43

He will do for us, if it is His will.’ And I
know it is God’s will to make naughty
people good, and to forgive all who ask
Him to forgive them for Jesus Christ's
sake.”

After a little more earnest conversa-
tion with her brother, Daisy left him to
sleep, murmuring to himself as he closed
his eyes, the text he had repeated so
thoughtlessly the last Sunday he had
been to school: ‘The Lord is good, a
stronghold in.the day of trouble; and
He knoweth them that trust in Him.”







44

CHAPTER V.
What the Bells said to Fom Burgess,

S AISY went out, down to her
W\ favourite spot, close by
the waves. It wasacalm
December afternoon ; the
sun was setting like a
huge ball of fire on the
distant horizon, tinging
the heaving waters with
a flush of red lurid light.
The air, though still, was very keen;
but the glowing warmth in little Daisy’s
heart prevented her feeling cold.

Oh, how unspeakably happy she felt,
as she stood there in the winter twilight,
close to the water's edge, her little hands
clasped tightly together down in front of





What the Belts said. 45

her, and her sweet blue eyes raised to
the rosy cloud-flecked sky above, while
her lips moved in words of thanksgiving,
to the music of the surging sea, as it
rolled in its one long unbroken line of
white-crested wave at her feet, and re-
verberated its booming thunder for miles
along the rocky shore.

It was Christmas Eve, and the peace
that the angels proclaimed at Bethlehem,
more than eighteen hundred years ago,
seemed to have come right down into
Daisy's very soul as she thought about
Willie.

“Ts he really going to give up being
with bad boys like Jim, and not worry
mother any more, and go to church
properly on Sundays, and stay in doors
of an evening, like he used to do when
father was with us? Oh! how good
Jesus is to hear my prayer so soon.
Now, if Tom Burgess asks me if God
has done all I asked Him to do for me,



46 Daisy's Trust.

I can say Yes. I think I must go and
tell him;.I see him coming down the
cliff path.”

The tall fisherman came towards her
as she hesitated whether she should tell
him about the answer to her prayer or
not. “I’m sure I ought to, though,
_ cause he doesn’t believe much in prayer,
I know, and never reads the Bible, so
he can’t know anything about what Jesus
says He'll do if we only ask Him. Yes,
I must tell him.”

“Hallo! little lass! ain’t you cold,
standing there?” he said, coming up to
her with two large oranges in his hand.
“ Here, Daisy, my child, these are for
you; ain’t they fine fellows? Will you
have them?” and he laughed as he
tossed them up like balls for her to
catch.

Tom Burgess, as good-hearted a man
as any to be found among the class to
which he belonged, was a widower, with



What the Bells satd. 47

no child of his own, and he had taken a
great fancy to Daisy, and always tried
to get a talk with her when he could;
often going out of his way to meet her,
as was the case just then. Somehow
her sweet, simple, childish words of
loving faith and trust in a crucified and
risen Saviour reminded him of the days
of his childhood, and of a dear dead
mother who had tried to teach him to
believe in such things as Daisy believed
in. Was her teaching to be in vain?

“ How’s Will to-day, lassie ?”

“Much better, thank you, Mr. Burgess,”
replied the child, looking up into his
face with a bright smile.

“ Has Jim been in yet ?”

‘“No-o, not yet,” Daisy fidgeted her
feet one over the other in the soft sand,
and looked down as Tom questioned
her.

“ Does Will mean to see him after his
bad behaviour, d’ye know? He don't



48 Daisy's Trust.

deserve forgiveness. I know I’dsee him
far enough before /’¢ forgive him if |
was in Will’s place, an’ I'll tell him so
when I see him again, Jim deserves
hanging more than forgiveness, an’ even
that’d be too good for such a ne’er-do-
well as he is!” exclaimed the man,
_ growing angry in his indignation as he
saw the downcast eyes of his little friend
overflowing with tears. He thought she
was crying because of Willie’s sufferings ;
he little thought that his own hard words
against Jim had caused those tears to
rise so suddenly from the child’s over-
charged heart, but a moment before so
full of happiness, now so full of pain and
sorrow to think that Tom Burgess should
be as unwilling to forgive poor Jim as
Wiilie was.

‘Please, don’t tell Willie what you
just said about Jim Weston ?” she said
at length, raising her eyes to Tom’s with
an earnest appeal in their blue depths.



What the Bells said. 49

“Why not, Daisy ?”

“Because it is not right to say such
things; and besides, very likely now
Willie wz? forgive Jim. He didn’t
throw him over the cliff on purpose,
and he’s very very sorry that Willie was
so much hurt; and—and, I’ve been
asking Jesus to make Willie not so
naughty to mother, for a long time, and
Jesus always hears our prayers, you
know, Mr. Burgess; and to-day he
seemed to think that perhaps he might
forgive Jim, an’ so, please, don’t tell him
not to! It says in my Bible that if we
don’t forgive each other, God won't for-
give us. So when you see Will you
won’t say Jim deserves hanging, will
you?” and little Daisy laid her hands
on the fisherman’s arin, and looked up
through her tears for his answer.

“Why, he’s teased you enough, Daisy.
I should have thought you would have
felt it rather a relief to know that he

x 85



50 Daisy’s Trust.

was safely shut up in prison for a time!”
said the man, with a smile, as he took
the two little hands into both his own,
and looked down into the little face he
loved so well.

“He hasn't teased me once since
Willie’s illness; and he ‘carried the
~washing-basket up to the Vicarage, and
wouldn’t even let me help him; and
he’s tried so often to see Willie, but
mother’s so angry with him she won't
even let him come into the garden. And
the other day, when I went out the back
way to tell him that Willie was better,
because I knew he’d be so glad to know,
I found him leaning down on the fence,
‘crying; and when I asked him what he
was crying for he said because he was
so miserable, and no one would give
him a kind word or be friends with him.
So I told him [d be his friend if he
liked ; and then, instead of saying any-
‘thing, he only cried more than- ever;



What the Bells said. 51

but I think I made him a little happier,
for he looked up and said, ‘I thank you,
Daisy; I do want some one to speak
to; and then he went away, and I
haven’t seen him since. I want to give
him this hymn to read out of my book
when he comes again. I copied it for
him ;” and freeing her hands from the
fisherman’s warm grasp, she drew from
her pocket a piece of crumpled paper, and
handed it to Tom. He spread it open,
and read the following verses, written
out in large round uneven letters :—

“One there is above all others
Well deserves the name of Friend,
His is love beyond a brother’s,
Costly, free, and knows no end:
They who once His kindness prove,
Find it everlasting love.

When He lived on earth abaséd,
Friend of sinners was His name;
Now above all glory raiséd,
He rejoices in the same ;



52 Daisy's Trust.

Still He calls them brethren, friends,
And to all our wants attends.

Could we bear from one another,
What He daily bears from us?

Yet this glorious Friend and Brother
Loves us though we treat Him thus:

Though for good we render ill,

He accounts us brethren still.

O for grace our hearts to soften!
Teach us, Lord, at length to love:
We alas! forget too often
What a Friend we have above;
But when home our souls are brought,
We shall love Thee as we ought.”

The fisherman folded up the paper,
after reading the hymn twice over, and
gave it back to Daisy without a word.

“JT must go now; good-bye, Mr.
Burgess ; Willie will be waiting for his
tea ;” and the little girl ran off, leaving
the man standing there by the cold-
looking sea in the dusk of the winter
day, alone, with these two lines of that
beautiful hymn ringing in his ears :—



What the Bells said. 53

“Though for good we render ill,
He accounts us brethren still.”

“P'raps, after all, 7 might do some-
thing to soothe poor Jim’s remorse, and
comfort that dear child. At any rate
[ll try,” said he to himself, as he strode
across the sands on his way home.

The bells rang out a joyous peal from
the old church tower. Ding dong, ding
dong, ding dong, ding dong!

Tom Burgess stood still to listen
almost involuntarily. He had often.
heard those bells before, and never been
particularly struck by their tones; but
now they seemed to speak to him with
an almost human voice. Yes, he could
fancy he heard the very words they
spoke :—

“ Come-back-to- Him,—W ho-died-for-
you. Come-back-to-Him,—Who-died-
for-you |”

“ May J go back to him, after neglect-
ing such a Friend all these years?” he



54 Daisy's Trust.

asked himself, as he entered the door of
his cottage home with bowed head and
a full heart.

Little Daisy’s words, the beautiful
hymn she had given him to read, and
the voice of the bells, breaking out on
the still frosty air, had stirred his
feelings, and caused him considerable
‘pain and uneasiness.

That night Tom Burgess took the
Bible, for more than twenty years an
unopened book, from the box where it
had so long lain hidden, and seated on
the side of his bed, he read through the
story, the old old story, of a Saviour’s
birth, death, and resurrection. And as
the first grey streaks of morning dawned
on that Christmas Day, and the sun
rose slowly in the eastern sky, heralding
another anniversary of that Saviour’s
birth on earth, Tom Burgess felt that
“peace which passeth all understanding ”
stealing over his sin-burdened soul as he



What the Bells satd. 55

turned his'eyes to that manger-bed at
Bethlehem, and from thence to the
King of kings who has promised for-
giveness through His own most precious
blood to all who come to Him.





56

CHAPTER VI.
“A hittle Child shall Lead them,”

puLuie, who do you think was
at church this morning?”
said Daisy, as she took off
)* her hat and shook back her
sunny hair.

“Lots of people, I should
think, as it’s Christmas Day!” was the
somewhat laconic reply.

“Of course!” laughed Daisy ; “there
were lots of people there; but I didn't
know them. I mean somebody we both
know. Do guess, Willie.”

The boy looked up at the pretty eager
face of his little sister, and smiled from
his chair near the fire, for he was in the
sitting-room to-day, and very thankful





A Little Child shall Lead them! 57

he felt to be out of bed again. “ Per-
haps it was Jim!” he said, in a low
voice, as he twisted a piece of bright-
berried holly about in his thin fingers.

“Yes, Jim was one, and there was
another with him; they sat together,
close to mother and me.”

“T can’t think of any other likely to
go to church that I know, Daisy,” he
said, leaning back wearily, for he was
still very weak, poor boy.

“Then Ill tell you; it was Tom
Burgess !”

“Tom Burgess at church with Jim?
Well, wonders will never cease. Why,
Tom never speaks to Jim!” said Willie,
rousing up into something like interest
at this news.

~“ But he did to-day; and oh, Willie,
the sermon was so lovely! all about
Jesus coming to bring peace on earth.
Wasn't it good of Him to leave heaven
and come down here on purpose to die



58 Daisy’s Trust.

for us, so that we might go to heaven
when we die? Isn't it beautiful to think
we've got Jesus now for ever and ever
and ever?” and the little face grew
quite radiant as the child sat herself
down on a low stool at Willie’s feet.

“Will you do something for me, Daisy,
now, at once, ‘cause there isn’t much
‘time to do it in?’ said Willie, hurriedly,
while the red blood mounted to his fore-
head.

“Yes, dear brother! what is it ?” she
said, jumping up and standing before
him.

“ T can’t write, or I would have done;
my arm is still useless. Come close,
and I'll tell you what I want you to do.
You know where Jim lives ?”

“Qh yes,” she said, leaning down
to listen.

‘Well, I want you to run up to North
Street; and—and—ask Jim to come
over to dinner with us, and Tom Burgess



A Little Child shall Lead them! 59

too! Mother knows all about it, dear.
Don’t look so startled. We've got the
turkey Colonel Winyard sent, besides
sausages and bacon, and the plum
pudding from the Vicarage. There'll
be plenty for them both.”

“Oh, Willie, Willie, do you really
mean it?” said Daisy, and then quite
overcome with conflicting emotions, she
burst into tears, much to Willie’s as-
tonishment; but the few words he whis-
pered to her as he kissed the little
face back into smiles soon banished
them; and Daisy ran down the road
singing to herself her favourite hymn,
as happy a little girl as could be found
all the world over.

e * * #

What a happy Christmas Day that
was to Daisy, as she looked round at
that little party seated near the fire
after the dinner-cloth had been removed.
Tom Burgess had not dined with the



60 ; Daisy's Trust.

Burtons, having previously promisea
his company to some friends in the
town. But somehow that day the jokes
and songs that accompanied the dinner,
held in a small back room at ‘‘ The Old
Schooner,” seemed to jar against those
new feelings that had arisen in his heart
during that Christmas Eve vigil, and he
was glad enough to absent himself as
soon as he could with politeness under
the plea of the Burtons’ invitation to tea,
which he had gladly accepted from Daisy
that morning.

Jim Weston had been very silent all
through the dinner, and had eaten far
less than he was wont to eat on such
festive occasions, much to the concern
of his hostess, who, at last, overcome by
the influence of her little daughter, had
put aside all thought of revenge against
the poor orphan lad, and showed the
real kindness of her heart by welcoming
him with a right motherly kiss of for-



A Little Child shall Lead them / 61

giveness. This, together with Will’s
warm handshake, left-handed though it
was, and the words—

“It’s all right, Jim, old fellow! We
were both in the wrong, and God has
been very good to me all this time,”’—
quite upset poor Jim, and he could
scarcely swallow a morsel of dinner for
that troublesome lump that would stick
in his throat all the time, until it dis-
solved in an outburst of tears as Daisy
went up to him and placed a beautiful
Christmas card on the table before him,
containing these words:

“ Thou shalt call His name Jesus; for
He shall save His people from their sins.”

All this tender loving-kindness from
those whom he had injured so sorely was
too much for Jim; and his overcharged
heart at length found its natural relief
in sobs and tears, and the promises he
made to those true friends that day were
never broken.



62 Daisy's Trust.

That very evening he signed the
pledge in the little Mission Room at the
top of North Street; and when the con-
cluding prayer was said, his responses
were most fervent. He really did want
to be a better boy, and the vicar's hearty
handshake and encouraging pat on the
‘back at the close of the meeting helped
him very much in nis good resolution.

“Jf Mrs. Burton and Daisy and Will
can be so kind and forgiving, what must
God’s forgiveness be!” he said to him-
self, as he walked back to his lonely
lodging that cold starlight Christmas
night, with a little new Bible in his hand,
Miss Reynolds’ gift to all new comers
at the Mission Room that night.

Little more remains to be told. Before
another Christmas came round, Jim was
far away, serving Queen and country in-
a foreign land: and very comforting
were the letters Daisy and Will received
from time to time, telling how the young



A Little Child shall Lead them! 63

soldier was striving amidst many and
great trials to show himself a true servant
of the King of kings!

Tom Burgess and little Daisy con-
tinued. greater friends than ever; and
now it was the big fisherman’s de-
light to listen to his child-teacher while
she read to him the words of life from
her own Sunday-school Bible, as he
mended his nets down by the murmuring
sea.

Willie eventually recovered from the
serious injuries he had sustained in his
fall from the cliff, and lived to be a com-
fort and support to his widowed mother
and little sister Daisy, whose loving trust
in her Saviour was still so plainly to be
seen by all who came in contact with
her.

“Ts anything too hard for the Lord!”
was one of her favourite texts.

Surely our Lord’s words are to be
believed. “ God is nota man that He



64 Daisy's Trust.

should lie, nor the Son of man that He
should repent; hath He said, and shall
He not do it? or, hath He spoken, and
shall He not make it good?” .
Oh, what little trust we have in a
Saviour’s precious promises, how “ slow.
of heart we are to, believe!” Little
. Daisy’s trust was simple, true, and con-
fiding ; and if ours were but the same,
we might say as she did:
“Trust, if a cloud of worries
Darken thy path each day,
One at a time they meet thee,
Trust, and they pass away.
Trust, in each hour of darkness,
Light will appear ere long;
Then oh! the joy of singing
Faith’s Hallelujah song.”



LONDON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, MIDDLE STREET, E.G.

















































































































































































































































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AS
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al il al al Ne i


The Baldwin Library

University
MD we:
Florida



Mell Prvered
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acd
Near eee em ae

SFE


HE WAS PUSHED TOWARDS THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF.


Wittle Dot Series.



DAIS Ys Linu St.

By E.S. P.,

Author of
‘KATIE, THE FISHERMAN’S LITTLE DAUGHTER ;”

‘“‘Ivy’s ARMOUR,” ETC.



THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY:

s6 PaTgRNosTER Row, AND 65 St. Paut’s CHURCHYARD,
LONDON.


































































CHAP.

CONTENTS.

THE BROKEN KNIFE 7 . 5
WAITING FOR WILLIE , .
FRIEND OR I:NEMY ?

“T NEVER CAN Forcive HIM”

WHAT THE BELLS SAID TO TOM BURGESS

“ A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM ”

PAGE
DEG Sow Reo.



CHAPTER I.
fhe Broken Knife,

r.@ Ft was a chill October morn-
L do] ing and a thin mist was
clearing off the sea as
little Daisy Burton closed
the cottage door behind
~ her, and ran down the
rough-cut steps on to the
sands. She turned her
sunny golden head from side to side,
and an anxious look came into her
brown eyes, as she shaded them with
her hand for a moment, and gazed far
out towards the rapidly-clearing horizon.
The wind freshened as the fog lifted, and


6 Daisy's Trust.

moaned across the heaving waters, sure
token of a coming storm.

“Who be you looking for, Daisy, my
lass ?”

The child turned as this question was
put to her, and clasping her little hands
in front of her, looked up beseechingly
into the bronzed face of the tall fisher-
man.

‘Oh, Mr. Burgess, please do you know
where Willie is?”

“Willie! Why? ain't he at home?”

“No; and mother is waiting for him ;
she’s not well this morning, she’s got
one of her bad headaches, and she wants
him to go up to Coombe for her. Haven’t
you seen him at all?”

“No, my little woman; leastways not
since six o’clock this morning, when the
fishing boats were getting off. I re-
member now he was down on the shore
then, I can’t say if he went off with any
of them.”
The Broken Knife. 7

“ And was Jim there ?” Daisy asked,
anxiously.

“Yes, I saw them together, getting
the Lapwing ready for sea ; but I never
saw Willie go off in her.”

‘“‘T suppose he must have gone, if he’s
nowhere about. I wish he wasn’t so
much with Jim, he’s not a good boy.
Well, I must tell mother he’s off; she'll
be so sorry. I know she wanted him
particularly this morning. Good-bye,
Mr. Burgess;” and Daisy ran up the
steps, and into the little garden belonging
to their cottage.

“ Mother,” she cried, ‘ Willie has gone
off again with Jim over to the Saddle
Rocks.”

Daisy's mother, a thin tired-looking
woman, raised: her head, which was bent
over the wash-tub, and sighed as her
little daughter brought her this news.

“Oh! well it can’t be helped. When

his poor father was alive he was a good
8 Datsy’s Trust.

boy enough ; but he won’t mind me now,
somehow. He longs for the sea, and I
know I shan’t be able to keep him from
it. But I do wish he wasn’t so much
with Jim Weston, he’s not a nice com-
panion for him.”

After this speech Mrs. Burton resumed
her washing, and Daisy went out again
on to the beach. She was nearly as
fond of the sea as her brother, and she
often thought if she had been a little
boy instead of a little girl, she would
have been a sailor, and have gone over
to all those beautiful countries that
Uncle Jack visited, where you could
gather oranges and lemons from trees,
as you gather apples here.

She sat there for some time, thinking
over what her teacher had told her on
Sunday in school, about the terrible sin
of lying, and how that the Zar was shut
out of heaven as well as the drunkard.
She felt quite certain that her brother
The Broken Knife. 9

Willie did not always speak the truth;
and this thought made her feel very sad.
As she sat there watching the little
white-crested waves far out at sea, and
idly casting stones into the water, a lady
drew near, at the sight of whom Daisy
jumped up and made a curtsey, while a
happy smile lighted up the little brown
face.

“Good morning, Daisy,” said the
young lady, stopping short, at once ac-
knowledging the child’s recognition of
her teacher. “How is mother this
morning ?”

“She's not very well, teacher. Willie’s
gone off again with Jim, an’ I ’spect
that troubles her a good bit!”

“Ah! I’m sorry to hear that, I par-
ticularly wanted to speak to Willie this
morning.”

“Oh, teacher, has he been naughty
at school again?” asked Daisy, in an
anxious tone. She was very fond of
IO Daisy's Trust.

her brother; he was always good and
kind to her, and it made her little loving
heart ache to hear him always being
found fault with, by the different people
in the village. He was certainly a
troublesome boy, no one could deny
that; but he had a good heart deep
down beneath a rough exterior, which
no one but his little sister seemed able
to reach. Severity did him no good
whatever, it only hardened him, and:
made him more sullen and obstinate.
But unfortunately, his Sunday-school
teacher was very severe with him; she
never tried to win the boy with kindness,
but always held him upas a bad example
to the others, and frequently had a string
of complaints concerning Willie Burton’s
behaviour to bring before the superin-
tendent at the close of the school. And
his register at this time showed so many
B’s, that he had lost all heart, and
treated his lessons with indifference.
The Broken Kuife. be

' Willie never openly defied the rules
of the school; but learn the collect and
text he could not, or rather would not;
for he was not a stupid boy by any
means. He was a big lad of fifteen,
and he had often threatened to leave
Sunday-school altogether, and make use
of the Sunday as he thought best. And
but for Daisy’s pleading he would have
done so long ago, so for Zev sake he still
went twice every Sunday.

Daisy’s teacher—the vicar’s daughter
—always had a kind word for him, and
tried to excuse many a little fault that
was brought before her father; and
Willie knew this, and he loved and re-
spected her, never forgetting to touch
his. cap whenever they met. Once he
had ventured shyly to offer her a bunch
of cowslips, as she passed through the
field on her way to the pretty vicarage,
with its tasteful well-kept garden so full
of beautiful flowers, and the grateful
12 Daisy's Trust.

“Thank you, Willie! They are very
sweet,” the boy never forgot.

Miss Reynolds looked down upon the
little girl standing before her with up-
raised anxious eyes, and smiled rather
sadly, “ No, Daisy, Willie has not been
naughty at school this time; I am sorry
to say it is something rather worse than
that.”

“Qh please, don’t tell mother!” cried
the child, “she'll be so angry with him ;
and then he'll go right away, like he did
once before. Tell me, and I’ll wait here
till the boat comes in, and tell him to
come up to you ; may I, please, teacher?”

The little voice was very pleading,
and the vicar’s daughter hesitated for a
moment; then putting her hand into her
pocket, she took out a large horn-handled
knife containing four blades.

“Do you know to whom this knife
belongs, Daisy?” she said, holding it
out for her to look at.
The Broken Kutfe. 13

“Oh yes! that’s Jim’s knife!” replied
the child, scarcely glancing at it.

Miss Reynolds looked at it more
closely. ‘Then father was wrong, I’m
so glad,” she said to herself. As she
spoke the knife slipped through her
fingers on to the sand, and Daisy picked
it up, exclaiming as she did so:

“Oh no! Miss Reynolds, this isn’t
Jim’s knife, it’s Willie’s; I know it by
the broken blade: he broke it in the
woods that day getting up a big fern for
Mrs. Reynolds. Did you find it? he
just will be sorry to lose it, I know; he’s
always using it to cut up something or
other. Where did you find it, miss?
he'll be so glad to have it back.”

“Tt was found in Colonel Winyard’s
garden, Daisy; in the new plantation,
where I am grieved to say some young
trees have been shamefully cut about.
The colonel is exceedingly vexed about
it; but with his usual great kindness, he
14 Dazsy'’s Trust.

promises even now to forgive the one
who has done it, if he will come forward
at once, and make a clean breast of the
whole affair. You can tell your brother
this, dear. No, I must take the knife
back to Colonel Winyard. I cannot
leave it with you. If Willie likes to
come to me first, I shall be at home at
five o’clock ; and now I must go, poor
old Widow Clarkson will think I have
forgotten her. Good-bye, Daisy; you
had better go indoors, dear; the wind is
very keen, and I think a storm is gather-
ing, the sea roars so this morning.

‘You can ask the dear Lord to help
you, my child, in this new trouble: you
know He has said, ‘Call upon Me in
the day of trouble, and I will deliver
thee. Those ‘Z wz/s’ of our Father
are very, very precious. You know
what they mean, I am sure, Daisy;”
and with these words of comfort and
strength to her little Sunday scholar,
The Broken Knife. 15

Miss Reynolds made her way across
the sand and shingle in the direction of
the town.

Daisy, who could not find a word to
say in her sorrow, watched her kind
teacher until she was out of sight, then
she went slowly indoors.



wad
16

CHAPTER II.
Waiting for Willie.

parr an hour later, Daisy
f} went down to the beach
again. She could not rest
%, indoors, she was too un-



so once again she seated
herself on a little sand-
heap near the edge of the sea. With her
elbows on her knees and her chin in her
hands, she did not heed the cold wind
that was beginning to blow very roughly
among her sunny golden hair, and deepen
the rosy tinge on her brown cheeks. No,
she was too anxious to feel cold just
then.

“ How white the waves look now,”
Waiting for Willie 17

she said, straining her eyes far out at
sea. “Two hours ago they were quite
calm, and now they look like milk when
it boils; oh, I do wonder when Willie will
be in. I wonder if that’s Jim’s boat out
yonder? Ay, they will be tossed about
in this wind ; but sailor boys don’t mind
that, and maybe they'll land soon. Yes,
they’re getting nearer shore. I must
run down and meet Willie, and tell him
what Miss Reynolds told me. Oh, I
do wish it hadn’t been Willie’s knife
found at Colonel Winyard’s. I’m quite
sure he’d never do such a cruel thing as
cut up young trees; and yet if his own
knife was found lying there by them, it
seems as if he must have done it.”

The little fishing boat, with the two
boys in her, drew nearer and nearer to
land: the wind was blowing strongly from
the south-west, and they had hard work
to get in as it was dead against them ;

but at last the boat was beached not far
Cc 85
18 Daisy’s Trust.

from where Daisy had been sitting. She
jumped up at once, though for the
moment she felt shy of speaking to her
brother before Jim. Pulling the ends
of the blue knitted handkerchief she had
round her neck nervously from side to
side, she went up to the two boys as
they sprang laughing from the boat,
splashing through the surf as they
dragged it ashore, high up, safe from
the breakers.

“ Hallo! Daisy, what are you here for ?
spying as usual; you want to know too
much!” said Jim, roughly, as he pulled
half-a-dozen different kinds of fish tied
together with string from under the
seat of the boat, and threw them over
to Willie.

“There's your share, Bill,” he said ;
‘youll have a fine supper to-night, I
guess. Good-bye, I must run now, its
near dinner time. Don’t forget what I
told ye, Bill. Well, you ain’t seen or
Warting for Wille. 19

heard quite so much as you expected, I
lay!” he said to Daisy, as she put her
hand into Willie’s, and whispered that
she wanted to tell him something.
“What is it, Daisy? Is anything
wrong? You don’t look very bright.
Is it anything very dreadful?” he asked, ~
in a don’t-care-much-if-it-is kind of tone.
“Yes, Willie, it really is very dreadful.
Miss Reynolds has found your knife.”
The boy’s hand at once went into his
pocket, “.My knife? I lent it to Jim.
I haven’t lost it, I had it—why who’s—”
these unconnected words came out in
jerks, as Willie Burton stopped in his
walk and turned out both his pockets.
‘Were you out last night, Will? Any-
where near Colonel Winyard’s house ?”
“Ofcourse. Didn't I go that way to
Greys.”
“Oh, Willie!” was the little girl’s only
reply to this.
“ Whatever do you mean, child! Why
20 Daisy's Trust.

can’t you speak out?” said the boy,
impatiently. ‘Where did Miss Rey-
nolds find my knife?”

“In the new plantation in Colonel
Winyard’s grounds, at least his gardener
found it, and he says the trees have been
dreadfully cut up; and oh! Willie they
think you’ve done it.”

A dark look came over Willie’s face
at his sister's words. “Let them think
it then, if they like,” he muttered, angrily.

“Then you didn’t do it? I knew you
wouldn't,” said Daisy, joyfully. “Do go
at once and tell teacher, she'll be so
glad.”

“T shan’t go and tell anybody any-
thing. What have I to tell?” he éx-
claimed, excitedly, kicking up the loose
stones that came in his way with pas-
sionate vehemence.

Little Daisy’s heart sank as she heard
her brother’s words, and saw the angry
look in his eyes.
Waiting for Willie. 21

Nothing more was said, and in due time
home was reached. Dinner was ready
for them, and they sat down in silence,
Mrs. Burton vouchsafing no remark to
her truant boy who now caused her so
many heart-aches.

Willie had not much appetite, and
Daisy watched him anxiously as he again
for the third time, turned out his pockets
to make sure that it was Azs knife that
had been found near the injured trees.

“ll news flies apace;” and Mrs.
Burton had heard all about it from a
talkative neighbour, who dearly loved to
be the first with what she considered a
“spicey bit of news, whether good or
bad.” :

“A pretty penny you'll have to pay
for this, I expect,” exclaimed his mother,
as they rose from the table after a silent
and uncomfortable meal. ‘Or else be
locked up in default. I never thought
I should live to see the name of Burton
22 Daisy's Trust.

disgraced in this way. Oh dear! oh
dear! if your poor dear father did but
know it, I’m sure he could never rest in

his grave.”
“Wait till the name of Burton is dis-
graced!” exclaimed the boy, fiercely.

“Who says I’ve disgraced it, I should
like to know ;” and with these words of
angry defiance, he dashed past his mother
and ran out of the house.

Daisy dared not follow him, but she
did what was far better. She went at
once upstairs to her mother’s room, and
kneeling down by the bed, she folded
her little brown hands on the patchwork
quilt, and prayed very earnestly that
God would save Willie from the terrible
sin of lying, so that he might not be shut
out of heaven, but that he might be
brave and tell the truth about it, even if
he had done it. And she now almost
began to fear that he had cut the trees,
because he had been so angry about it
Warting for Willie. 23

and she knew he “hated” Colonel Win-
yard on account of his having once
punished him for being noisy outside the
schoolroom when a missionary lecture
was being given.

“Oh, dear Lord Jesus, do hear my
prayer for Willie; you do always hear
us, it says in my own Bible, ‘ Whatsoever
we ask in Thy name, Thou wilt give us.’
Give me this, please, dear Lord Jesus
Christ, and save my brother Willie from
telling a lie this time, and make him a
better boy to poor mother, for Jesus
Christ’s sake. Amen.”

Little Daisy rose from her knees much
comforted, and went downstairs to help
her mother clear away, and wash up the
dinner things, with a much lighter heart,
for she. felt quite certain now that Jesus
would help Willie. The words of her
Sunday-school hymn came into her head
as she went about her work with a cheer-
ful spirit, in spite of the trouble that was
24 Datsy’s Trust.

hanging over them, and causing her
mother to droop her head, and cry with
one of old, “ All these things are against
me.” .

But Daisy’s trust in her Saviour was
very real; and she knew that God would
send His Holy Spirit into her brother’s
heart in answer to her prayer. For had
not the vicar preached from those hope-
ful words of promise, “ If thou canst be-
lieve, all things are possible to him that be-
lieveth,”—only on last Sunday morning?

Daisy aid believe, so the promise was
sure to her, and the sweet childish voice
could be heard singing clearly the words
of the hymn, that Willie always called
“ Daisy’s favourite :”

“Simply trusting every day,
Trusting through a stormy way:
Even when my faith is small,
Trusting Jesus, that is all

Trusting as the moments fly,
Trusting as the days go by;
Watting for Wille. 25
Trusting Him whate’er befall,
Trusting Jesus, that is all.

Brightly doth His Spirit shine
Into this poor heart of mine:
While He leads I cannot fall;
Trusting Jesus, that is all.
Singing, if my way be clear;
Praying, if the path be drear:
If in danger, for Him call;
Trusting Jesus, that is all.

Trusting Him while life shall last,
Trusting Him till earth be. past,
Till within the jasper wall ;
‘Trusting Jesus, that is all.”

But even Daisy’s strong faith was to
be tried in a way she little expected, and
ere the night shadows closed in, that
grey October day, she had learned to
know the meaning of that verse in Isaiah
where it says, “ Who is among you that
feareth the Lord... that walketh in
darkness, and hath no light? Let him
trust in the name of the Lord, and stay
upon his God.”
26 Daisy's Trust.

It is easy enough to “trust and be
still” in the bright sunshine of prosperity,
when all things seem to happen just as
we would ourselves desire; but it is a
different thing altogether, to “ trust and
be still” in the dark and cloudy days of
adversity, when all things seem against
us, and we are called upon to “glorify
God in the fires.”

Daisy sat up later that night to keep
her mother company, and together they
listened to the stormy wind and rain
outside, thinking and talking of Willie,
who was still absent from his cottage
home when the village church clock
struck the hour of midnight.


27

CHAPTER III.
Friend or Enemy?

US" Willie rushed out or
the cottage, stung by his
mother’s words, he did
not go to the vicarage,
as Daisy wished him to
do, but straight away
down to the beach again.
The wind was very boisterous, and the
sea wild and rough. The first person
he saw there was Tom Burgess; and
smarting with indignation at his mother’s
remarks about disgracing the name of
Burton, he begged the man to let him
go with him.

Tom looked up astonished. “ Why,

lad, you’ve only just come in; you must



K a
28 Daisy's Trust.

be uncommon fond of the sea to want to
be off again so soon, an’ that good little
sister o’ yours has been so anxious about
yer coming back. The weather looks
dirty enough out yonder. You had best
bide at home a bit now, Will, and look
after your poor mother; she ain’t so
strong as she might be, if she hadn’t so
much worry and more help.”

The boy turned away as Tom Burgess
resumed his work of boat-cleaning,
making a hissing noise over the process,
such as usually accompanies the groom-
ing of a horse,—and, without a word,
walked slowly towards the path leading
up to the cliff. Coming down it, he saw
Jim, andin a moment the thought flashed
into his mind, “Ae must have thrown
my knife over into Colonel Winyard’s
grounds; he didn’t give it me _ back,
he has cut the trees with it, and wants
to throw suspicion on me. He said
once he’d pay me out for not going with
friend or Enemy ? 29

him that Sunday, and that was all through
Daisy preaching about it being wrong.
Why did I listen to her? But somehow
I couldn’t vex her, she’s the only one as
really cares for me.”

“Hallo, Bill! where are you off to,
mate?” was his friend’s greeting as
they ret in the middle of that high
narrow path.

“I’m off nowhere just now! How
did you manage to get my knife? An-
swer ine that question first, please ?”

“Your knife!” said jim, interroga-
tively. “I haven’t seen your knife.”

“That's a lie, and you know it!” ex-
claimed Willie, fiercely.

“Tf you want to fight you'd best get
on level ground. If I tripped you up,
Bill Burton, you'd find it rather awkward
just here, I’m thinking!” replied Jim,
calmly.

‘Who wants to fight? Tell me, what
did you do with my knife yesterday ?”
30 Daisy's Trust.

“Do with it? what d’ye mean?”

“Surely you’ve heard about the trees
being cut; speak out now, Jim, and
don’t begin bullying a fellow before you
hear what he’s got to say!” said Willie,
quieting down a little.

Artful Jim at once saw his opportunity,
and immediately ‘turned the tables on
his friend : “ Of course I’ve heard about
them, and so’s everybody else by now,
I reckon. What a pity you threw the
knife away. No one would have known
who had done the mischief, if it hadn't
been for that. Though you did owe the
colonel a grudge for getting you a hiding
once, no one would have thought that
a good boy who always goes to Sunday-
school would have gone to such lengths
as that. And now I see what it is, you
want to try and throw the blame upon
me: that’s very friendly of you, I must
say !”

Jim was evidently in a quarrelsome
Friend or Enemy? 31

mood. He had spent an hour or more
at “ The Old Schooner” that afternoon ;
and although he was only two year.
older. than Willie, he was very often far
from sober, as was too plainly the case
now.

“ How dare you accuse me of such a
thing ?” cried Willie, furiously. ‘“ You
know you borrowed my knife two days
ago, and you gave me back yours instead
of my own, NowI see why you did it;
You're a coward, Jim Weston !”

As these words left his lips, Willie
Burton felt his arms gripped firmly to-
gether behind, and in a few moments he
was pushed towards the edge of the cliff,
below which the angry waves were
dashing with a noise like thunder, and
sending up clouds of silver spray. It
was a giddy height to look down from ;
but Jim made him look by pressing
his hand with sheer force on the back of
his neck and bending his head over,
32 Dazisy’s Trust.

‘“ Now, my boy, apologise for calling
me by that very ugly name, or over
you go!”

Willie struggled violently to get back
on to the pati but it was no use. Jim
was bigger and stronger than he, and
excited almost to madness, and he held
him like a vice, pushing him nearer and
nearer to the edge.

“You'll be killed outright if you fall
over there, and dead men tell no tales,
you know. You'd best say you're sorry
for calling your friend such a name as
that, an’ a done with it.”

With a great wrench Will at length
freed his hands from Jim’s grasp, and
turning round upon him he cried,

“Tl never say I’m sorry for calling
you what you are. Leave go of me and -
begone.. Do you think I’m a coward
too, and afraid of your threats.”

As these words left Will's. lips, Jim

sprang upon him again, and the fight at
V9 7, ~ i 2
Friend or Enemy ¢ 23

length grew desperate and dangerous,
and words were soon changed to blows.
The grass grew slippery under their
feet, as they struggled together like two
gladiators in a Roman amphitheatre.
The bushy grass at the edge of the cliff
was very treacherous, though it looked
firm enough; but the chalky ground
beneath it was already beginning to
crumble away utder the weight so sud-
denly brought to bear upon it

One more heavy blow struck in blind
fury, a tearing crashing fall, one piercing
scream of agony and terror, and Jim
Weston stood on the top of the cliff in
alone !



the erey October twilight


CHAPTER IV.
“ F never can forgive him.”

“tue next thing Willie be-
came conscious of after
that terrible meeting with
jim Weston on the beach
cliff, was, that he was
lying upon his own bed
at home, and that Daisy
was sitting beside him with a very pale
and anxious little face. He felt very
stiff and sore when he tried to move, and
there were bandages on his head, and
on his right arm and leg. He felt some-
how as though he had been dead and
come to life again.

‘“T’ve been ill, haven’t I, Daisy ?” he
said in a low weak voice, as he laid his
thin white hand upon hers.


“TL never can forgive him!” 35

“Yes, Willie dear, very ill; but you're
much better now, aren't you?” she
replied, with a bright smile.

“Ah, I know all about it now; Jim
did it. He pushed me over the cliff.
Oh, it was cruel of him, it was a terrible
fall;” and the boy shuddered, and hid
his poor bruised face in the pillow.

“Don’t think about it, Willie. Shall
I read to you? And then maybe youll
forget it again for a while.”

“J shall sever forget it, I can feel
myself going over the edge even as [ lie
here, and I'll never forgive him. He’s
made a cripple of me for life, I believe ;
he’s a cowardly wretch, and I'll never,
never forgive him, if I live to be a hun-
dred, zever /” cried the boy, excitedly.

Daisy's little heart ached as she heard
these words from her injured brother.
She knew it was no good trying to talk
to him just then, so she opened her own
little Bible—her Sunday-school prize two
36 Daisy's Trust.

years ago—at random as it lay on her
knee, and began to read aloud some
verses. Singularly enough they were
from the eighteenth chapter of St. Mat-
thew, where. Peter asks Jesus, “ Lord,
how oft shall my brother sin against me,
and I forgive him? Till seven times?
Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee,
till seven times, but until seventy times
seven.” And then she went on to the
end of the chapter, where the king took
account of his servants: “So likewise
shall my heavenly Father do also unto
you, if ye from your hearts forgive not
every one his brother their trespasses.”
As she ceased reading, she looked up
as a shadow fell across the doorway of
that little inner chamber, and was de-
lighted to see Miss Reynolds standing
there. She jumped up at once, and ran
to welcome her kind teacher, and receive
from her hands a basket laden with good
things tor Willie’s benefit, which Miss
“LT never can forgive him!” 37

Reynolds told her to go and empty, while
she took Daisy’s seat at the sick boy’s
bedside.

“Are you feeling better to-day, Willie?”
she asked, as she laid her hand tenderly
upon his.

“Yes, miss, thank you!”

“Has Jim been to see you?”

“No, indeed; he knows better than
to come here; he'd far better keep away
from me!” he exclaimed, angrily, while
a faint flash of colour came into his thin
white cheeks, and quickly died away
again.

“Oh! Willie dear, I am so sorry to
hear you talk like that. I was hoping
that after the almost miraculous escape
you have had from a sudden and un-
prepared death, that you would have
felt just a little sorry for the boy whom
you have always called your friend. He
never intended to throw you over; you
might just as likely have caused him
38 Daisy's Trust.

to fall, you know, you fought just as
desperately as ke did, and now he is
almost heart-broken.

‘“‘T have seen Jim, and talked to him,
he is truly penitent; and have you no
pity for him in his despair, Willie ?
Supposing our dear Lord had had no
pity for us in our wicked and rebellious
state. We did not first love Him, you
know. He jrs¢ loved us, He died for
His exemzes, not His friends. ‘In His
love and in His pity He redeemed us;’
and won't you, Willie, for our dear Lord’s
sake try and forgive Jim?

“JT know he has behaved in a cowardly
and unkind way towards you at times;
but after your accident, he went at once
to Colonel Winyard’s, and told him all
about the trees, and how it was that
your knife came there. And the colonel,
according to his word, forgave him. He
had cut the trees out of spite to the
gardener; but at first he had no inten-
“TL never can forgiwe him!” 39

tion of getting you into trouble,—that
only entered his head when you spoke
to him about it on the cliff.

“Jim said he had borrowed your knife
two days before, as he had lost his own;
but when he cut the trees and dropped
the knife there, he had entirely forgotten
that it was yours. That is his story,
Willie, as he told it to me with bitter
tears of sorrow and remorse.”

Willie hid his face again, as the vicar’s
daughter ceased speaking. There was a
look in her eyes as she looked at him,
and talked in that low sweet voice of
hers, about the tender love of Jesus
towards rebellious sinners, that he could
not stand against somehow, and the
words Daisy had been reading were
ringing in his ears, that last verse par-
ticularly, “except ye from your heart.”
Oh, what hard words were those for him
to fulfil, and yet they were Christ’s own
words, and nothing more or less would
4G Daisy's Trust.

do. Could he forgive Jim, who had
caused him all that terrible pain and
sickness; no, he did not think he could
ever forgive him.

‘God bless you, my boy, and may He
help you to forgive Jim, even as He has
forgiven you.”

When Miss Reynolds had gone, Daisy
came back to her seat by her brother's
side.

“Tm so glad Jim didn’t mean to hurt
you, Willie. and that it was an accident,
aren’t you ?”

“JT don’t know. Why are you glad,
Daisy? He'd have been punished, sent
to prison perhaps, if he hadn’t told about
the trees at once; and then hed have
been out of your way, and couldn’t have
teased you any more!”

“Oh but, Willie, I don’t mind his
teasing half as much now as I used to
do; and ever since you've been so ill,
he’s been quite different. He has been
“ZT never can forgive him!” 41

to the door every day, to ask how you
were going on; and he’s never been once
to “The Old Schooner,” Tom Burgess
says, since the night they brought you
home. Isn't that good news, Willie
dear? You know in Sunday-school we
are often told that God sometimes lets
us suffer a great deal to make us patient
and good, and fit to go to heaven, Per-
haps that’s why He let yoz fall over the
cliff instead of Jim. God didn’t let you
die, Willie, and He is making you better ;
and now maybe if you'll see Jim, and say
you forgive him, he’ll be a better boy,
and not try and lead you wrong when
you are well again. Then poor mother
will get stronger and be happy again,
like she was when father was alive ; and
oh, that would be so nice. May Jim
come in and see you -next time he
comes ?” pleaded the little peacemaker,
and she laid her golden brown head
upon the pillow as she spoke, and
42 Daisy's Trust.

pressed her warm red lips against her
brother’s cheek in a loving kiss.

Poor Willie turned over with a smo-
thered groan at Daisy’s question, ‘‘ No,
no; not next time,” he murmured; “ I
can't see him yet, I’m a bad wicked boy,
I know, Daisy. If I had died when I
fell, I know I could never have gone to
live with God. Oh, it was good of Him
to spare me; and I was so awfully angry
when I met Jim. I should have died
full of sin. Daisy dear, you know more
of Jesus than I do, I wish you'd ask
Him to forgive me my wicked passion,
and make me a better boy.”

Daisy started up from her low seat,
her little face radiant with joy, and tak-
ing her brother’s hand in hers, she bent
over him, “ Willie dear, I’ve told dear
kind Jesus all about you long ago; I knew
He would do what I asked Him some
day, for He says in my own Bible,
‘Whatever we ask in His name delieving,
“IT never can forgive him!” 43

He will do for us, if it is His will.’ And I
know it is God’s will to make naughty
people good, and to forgive all who ask
Him to forgive them for Jesus Christ's
sake.”

After a little more earnest conversa-
tion with her brother, Daisy left him to
sleep, murmuring to himself as he closed
his eyes, the text he had repeated so
thoughtlessly the last Sunday he had
been to school: ‘The Lord is good, a
stronghold in.the day of trouble; and
He knoweth them that trust in Him.”




44

CHAPTER V.
What the Bells said to Fom Burgess,

S AISY went out, down to her
W\ favourite spot, close by
the waves. It wasacalm
December afternoon ; the
sun was setting like a
huge ball of fire on the
distant horizon, tinging
the heaving waters with
a flush of red lurid light.
The air, though still, was very keen;
but the glowing warmth in little Daisy’s
heart prevented her feeling cold.

Oh, how unspeakably happy she felt,
as she stood there in the winter twilight,
close to the water's edge, her little hands
clasped tightly together down in front of


What the Belts said. 45

her, and her sweet blue eyes raised to
the rosy cloud-flecked sky above, while
her lips moved in words of thanksgiving,
to the music of the surging sea, as it
rolled in its one long unbroken line of
white-crested wave at her feet, and re-
verberated its booming thunder for miles
along the rocky shore.

It was Christmas Eve, and the peace
that the angels proclaimed at Bethlehem,
more than eighteen hundred years ago,
seemed to have come right down into
Daisy's very soul as she thought about
Willie.

“Ts he really going to give up being
with bad boys like Jim, and not worry
mother any more, and go to church
properly on Sundays, and stay in doors
of an evening, like he used to do when
father was with us? Oh! how good
Jesus is to hear my prayer so soon.
Now, if Tom Burgess asks me if God
has done all I asked Him to do for me,
46 Daisy's Trust.

I can say Yes. I think I must go and
tell him;.I see him coming down the
cliff path.”

The tall fisherman came towards her
as she hesitated whether she should tell
him about the answer to her prayer or
not. “I’m sure I ought to, though,
_ cause he doesn’t believe much in prayer,
I know, and never reads the Bible, so
he can’t know anything about what Jesus
says He'll do if we only ask Him. Yes,
I must tell him.”

“Hallo! little lass! ain’t you cold,
standing there?” he said, coming up to
her with two large oranges in his hand.
“ Here, Daisy, my child, these are for
you; ain’t they fine fellows? Will you
have them?” and he laughed as he
tossed them up like balls for her to
catch.

Tom Burgess, as good-hearted a man
as any to be found among the class to
which he belonged, was a widower, with
What the Bells satd. 47

no child of his own, and he had taken a
great fancy to Daisy, and always tried
to get a talk with her when he could;
often going out of his way to meet her,
as was the case just then. Somehow
her sweet, simple, childish words of
loving faith and trust in a crucified and
risen Saviour reminded him of the days
of his childhood, and of a dear dead
mother who had tried to teach him to
believe in such things as Daisy believed
in. Was her teaching to be in vain?

“ How’s Will to-day, lassie ?”

“Much better, thank you, Mr. Burgess,”
replied the child, looking up into his
face with a bright smile.

“ Has Jim been in yet ?”

‘“No-o, not yet,” Daisy fidgeted her
feet one over the other in the soft sand,
and looked down as Tom questioned
her.

“ Does Will mean to see him after his
bad behaviour, d’ye know? He don't
48 Daisy's Trust.

deserve forgiveness. I know I’dsee him
far enough before /’¢ forgive him if |
was in Will’s place, an’ I'll tell him so
when I see him again, Jim deserves
hanging more than forgiveness, an’ even
that’d be too good for such a ne’er-do-
well as he is!” exclaimed the man,
_ growing angry in his indignation as he
saw the downcast eyes of his little friend
overflowing with tears. He thought she
was crying because of Willie’s sufferings ;
he little thought that his own hard words
against Jim had caused those tears to
rise so suddenly from the child’s over-
charged heart, but a moment before so
full of happiness, now so full of pain and
sorrow to think that Tom Burgess should
be as unwilling to forgive poor Jim as
Wiilie was.

‘Please, don’t tell Willie what you
just said about Jim Weston ?” she said
at length, raising her eyes to Tom’s with
an earnest appeal in their blue depths.
What the Bells said. 49

“Why not, Daisy ?”

“Because it is not right to say such
things; and besides, very likely now
Willie wz? forgive Jim. He didn’t
throw him over the cliff on purpose,
and he’s very very sorry that Willie was
so much hurt; and—and, I’ve been
asking Jesus to make Willie not so
naughty to mother, for a long time, and
Jesus always hears our prayers, you
know, Mr. Burgess; and to-day he
seemed to think that perhaps he might
forgive Jim, an’ so, please, don’t tell him
not to! It says in my Bible that if we
don’t forgive each other, God won't for-
give us. So when you see Will you
won’t say Jim deserves hanging, will
you?” and little Daisy laid her hands
on the fisherman’s arin, and looked up
through her tears for his answer.

“Why, he’s teased you enough, Daisy.
I should have thought you would have
felt it rather a relief to know that he

x 85
50 Daisy’s Trust.

was safely shut up in prison for a time!”
said the man, with a smile, as he took
the two little hands into both his own,
and looked down into the little face he
loved so well.

“He hasn't teased me once since
Willie’s illness; and he ‘carried the
~washing-basket up to the Vicarage, and
wouldn’t even let me help him; and
he’s tried so often to see Willie, but
mother’s so angry with him she won't
even let him come into the garden. And
the other day, when I went out the back
way to tell him that Willie was better,
because I knew he’d be so glad to know,
I found him leaning down on the fence,
‘crying; and when I asked him what he
was crying for he said because he was
so miserable, and no one would give
him a kind word or be friends with him.
So I told him [d be his friend if he
liked ; and then, instead of saying any-
‘thing, he only cried more than- ever;
What the Bells said. 51

but I think I made him a little happier,
for he looked up and said, ‘I thank you,
Daisy; I do want some one to speak
to; and then he went away, and I
haven’t seen him since. I want to give
him this hymn to read out of my book
when he comes again. I copied it for
him ;” and freeing her hands from the
fisherman’s warm grasp, she drew from
her pocket a piece of crumpled paper, and
handed it to Tom. He spread it open,
and read the following verses, written
out in large round uneven letters :—

“One there is above all others
Well deserves the name of Friend,
His is love beyond a brother’s,
Costly, free, and knows no end:
They who once His kindness prove,
Find it everlasting love.

When He lived on earth abaséd,
Friend of sinners was His name;
Now above all glory raiséd,
He rejoices in the same ;
52 Daisy's Trust.

Still He calls them brethren, friends,
And to all our wants attends.

Could we bear from one another,
What He daily bears from us?

Yet this glorious Friend and Brother
Loves us though we treat Him thus:

Though for good we render ill,

He accounts us brethren still.

O for grace our hearts to soften!
Teach us, Lord, at length to love:
We alas! forget too often
What a Friend we have above;
But when home our souls are brought,
We shall love Thee as we ought.”

The fisherman folded up the paper,
after reading the hymn twice over, and
gave it back to Daisy without a word.

“JT must go now; good-bye, Mr.
Burgess ; Willie will be waiting for his
tea ;” and the little girl ran off, leaving
the man standing there by the cold-
looking sea in the dusk of the winter
day, alone, with these two lines of that
beautiful hymn ringing in his ears :—
What the Bells said. 53

“Though for good we render ill,
He accounts us brethren still.”

“P'raps, after all, 7 might do some-
thing to soothe poor Jim’s remorse, and
comfort that dear child. At any rate
[ll try,” said he to himself, as he strode
across the sands on his way home.

The bells rang out a joyous peal from
the old church tower. Ding dong, ding
dong, ding dong, ding dong!

Tom Burgess stood still to listen
almost involuntarily. He had often.
heard those bells before, and never been
particularly struck by their tones; but
now they seemed to speak to him with
an almost human voice. Yes, he could
fancy he heard the very words they
spoke :—

“ Come-back-to- Him,—W ho-died-for-
you. Come-back-to-Him,—Who-died-
for-you |”

“ May J go back to him, after neglect-
ing such a Friend all these years?” he
54 Daisy's Trust.

asked himself, as he entered the door of
his cottage home with bowed head and
a full heart.

Little Daisy’s words, the beautiful
hymn she had given him to read, and
the voice of the bells, breaking out on
the still frosty air, had stirred his
feelings, and caused him considerable
‘pain and uneasiness.

That night Tom Burgess took the
Bible, for more than twenty years an
unopened book, from the box where it
had so long lain hidden, and seated on
the side of his bed, he read through the
story, the old old story, of a Saviour’s
birth, death, and resurrection. And as
the first grey streaks of morning dawned
on that Christmas Day, and the sun
rose slowly in the eastern sky, heralding
another anniversary of that Saviour’s
birth on earth, Tom Burgess felt that
“peace which passeth all understanding ”
stealing over his sin-burdened soul as he
What the Bells satd. 55

turned his'eyes to that manger-bed at
Bethlehem, and from thence to the
King of kings who has promised for-
giveness through His own most precious
blood to all who come to Him.


56

CHAPTER VI.
“A hittle Child shall Lead them,”

puLuie, who do you think was
at church this morning?”
said Daisy, as she took off
)* her hat and shook back her
sunny hair.

“Lots of people, I should
think, as it’s Christmas Day!” was the
somewhat laconic reply.

“Of course!” laughed Daisy ; “there
were lots of people there; but I didn't
know them. I mean somebody we both
know. Do guess, Willie.”

The boy looked up at the pretty eager
face of his little sister, and smiled from
his chair near the fire, for he was in the
sitting-room to-day, and very thankful


A Little Child shall Lead them! 57

he felt to be out of bed again. “ Per-
haps it was Jim!” he said, in a low
voice, as he twisted a piece of bright-
berried holly about in his thin fingers.

“Yes, Jim was one, and there was
another with him; they sat together,
close to mother and me.”

“T can’t think of any other likely to
go to church that I know, Daisy,” he
said, leaning back wearily, for he was
still very weak, poor boy.

“Then Ill tell you; it was Tom
Burgess !”

“Tom Burgess at church with Jim?
Well, wonders will never cease. Why,
Tom never speaks to Jim!” said Willie,
rousing up into something like interest
at this news.

~“ But he did to-day; and oh, Willie,
the sermon was so lovely! all about
Jesus coming to bring peace on earth.
Wasn't it good of Him to leave heaven
and come down here on purpose to die
58 Daisy’s Trust.

for us, so that we might go to heaven
when we die? Isn't it beautiful to think
we've got Jesus now for ever and ever
and ever?” and the little face grew
quite radiant as the child sat herself
down on a low stool at Willie’s feet.

“Will you do something for me, Daisy,
now, at once, ‘cause there isn’t much
‘time to do it in?’ said Willie, hurriedly,
while the red blood mounted to his fore-
head.

“Yes, dear brother! what is it ?” she
said, jumping up and standing before
him.

“ T can’t write, or I would have done;
my arm is still useless. Come close,
and I'll tell you what I want you to do.
You know where Jim lives ?”

“Qh yes,” she said, leaning down
to listen.

‘Well, I want you to run up to North
Street; and—and—ask Jim to come
over to dinner with us, and Tom Burgess
A Little Child shall Lead them! 59

too! Mother knows all about it, dear.
Don’t look so startled. We've got the
turkey Colonel Winyard sent, besides
sausages and bacon, and the plum
pudding from the Vicarage. There'll
be plenty for them both.”

“Oh, Willie, Willie, do you really
mean it?” said Daisy, and then quite
overcome with conflicting emotions, she
burst into tears, much to Willie’s as-
tonishment; but the few words he whis-
pered to her as he kissed the little
face back into smiles soon banished
them; and Daisy ran down the road
singing to herself her favourite hymn,
as happy a little girl as could be found
all the world over.

e * * #

What a happy Christmas Day that
was to Daisy, as she looked round at
that little party seated near the fire
after the dinner-cloth had been removed.
Tom Burgess had not dined with the
60 ; Daisy's Trust.

Burtons, having previously promisea
his company to some friends in the
town. But somehow that day the jokes
and songs that accompanied the dinner,
held in a small back room at ‘‘ The Old
Schooner,” seemed to jar against those
new feelings that had arisen in his heart
during that Christmas Eve vigil, and he
was glad enough to absent himself as
soon as he could with politeness under
the plea of the Burtons’ invitation to tea,
which he had gladly accepted from Daisy
that morning.

Jim Weston had been very silent all
through the dinner, and had eaten far
less than he was wont to eat on such
festive occasions, much to the concern
of his hostess, who, at last, overcome by
the influence of her little daughter, had
put aside all thought of revenge against
the poor orphan lad, and showed the
real kindness of her heart by welcoming
him with a right motherly kiss of for-
A Little Child shall Lead them / 61

giveness. This, together with Will’s
warm handshake, left-handed though it
was, and the words—

“It’s all right, Jim, old fellow! We
were both in the wrong, and God has
been very good to me all this time,”’—
quite upset poor Jim, and he could
scarcely swallow a morsel of dinner for
that troublesome lump that would stick
in his throat all the time, until it dis-
solved in an outburst of tears as Daisy
went up to him and placed a beautiful
Christmas card on the table before him,
containing these words:

“ Thou shalt call His name Jesus; for
He shall save His people from their sins.”

All this tender loving-kindness from
those whom he had injured so sorely was
too much for Jim; and his overcharged
heart at length found its natural relief
in sobs and tears, and the promises he
made to those true friends that day were
never broken.
62 Daisy's Trust.

That very evening he signed the
pledge in the little Mission Room at the
top of North Street; and when the con-
cluding prayer was said, his responses
were most fervent. He really did want
to be a better boy, and the vicar's hearty
handshake and encouraging pat on the
‘back at the close of the meeting helped
him very much in nis good resolution.

“Jf Mrs. Burton and Daisy and Will
can be so kind and forgiving, what must
God’s forgiveness be!” he said to him-
self, as he walked back to his lonely
lodging that cold starlight Christmas
night, with a little new Bible in his hand,
Miss Reynolds’ gift to all new comers
at the Mission Room that night.

Little more remains to be told. Before
another Christmas came round, Jim was
far away, serving Queen and country in-
a foreign land: and very comforting
were the letters Daisy and Will received
from time to time, telling how the young
A Little Child shall Lead them! 63

soldier was striving amidst many and
great trials to show himself a true servant
of the King of kings!

Tom Burgess and little Daisy con-
tinued. greater friends than ever; and
now it was the big fisherman’s de-
light to listen to his child-teacher while
she read to him the words of life from
her own Sunday-school Bible, as he
mended his nets down by the murmuring
sea.

Willie eventually recovered from the
serious injuries he had sustained in his
fall from the cliff, and lived to be a com-
fort and support to his widowed mother
and little sister Daisy, whose loving trust
in her Saviour was still so plainly to be
seen by all who came in contact with
her.

“Ts anything too hard for the Lord!”
was one of her favourite texts.

Surely our Lord’s words are to be
believed. “ God is nota man that He
64 Daisy's Trust.

should lie, nor the Son of man that He
should repent; hath He said, and shall
He not do it? or, hath He spoken, and
shall He not make it good?” .
Oh, what little trust we have in a
Saviour’s precious promises, how “ slow.
of heart we are to, believe!” Little
. Daisy’s trust was simple, true, and con-
fiding ; and if ours were but the same,
we might say as she did:
“Trust, if a cloud of worries
Darken thy path each day,
One at a time they meet thee,
Trust, and they pass away.
Trust, in each hour of darkness,
Light will appear ere long;
Then oh! the joy of singing
Faith’s Hallelujah song.”



LONDON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, MIDDLE STREET, E.G.














































































































































































































































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