with her head bowed upon her dressing-table she gave vent to her grief.
It seemed to her she never could stop crying or grow calm again, for as
often as she thought of the touching words, "I p'ays for you," there
came a fresh burst of sobs and tears, until at last nature was
exhausted, and with a low moan Daisy sank upon her knees and tried to
pray, the words which first sprang to her lips framing themselves into
thanks that somewhere in the world there was one who prayed for her and
loved her, too, even though the love might have for its object merely
dolls and candies and toys. And these the child should have in such
abundance, and Miss McDonald found herself longing for the morrow in
which to begin again the shopping she had thought was nearly ended.

It was in vain next day that her mother remonstrated against her going
out, pleading her white, haggard face and the rawness of the day. Daisy
was not to be detained at home, and before ten o'clock she was down on
Broadway, and the dolly with the "shash" and "pairesol" which she had
seen the day before under its glass case was hers for twenty-five
dollars, and the plainer bit of china, who was to be dollie's mother and
perform the parental duty of "panking her when she was naughty," was
also purchased, and the dishes and the table and stove and bedstead,
with ruffled sheets and pillow-cases and blue satin spread and the
washboard and clothes bars and tiny wringer, with divers others toys,
were bought with a disregard of expense which made Miss McDonald a
wonder to those who waited on her. Such a Christmas box was seldom sent
to a child as that which Daisy packed in her room that night, with her
mother looking on and wondering what Sunday-school was to be the
recipient of all those costly presents and suggesting that cheaper
articles would have answered just as well.

Everything the child had asked for was there except the picture. That
Daisy dared not send, lest it should look too much like thrusting
herself upon Guy's notice and wound Julia, his wife.

Daisy was strangely pitiful in her thoughts of Julia, who would in her
turn have pitied her for her delusion could she have known how sure she
was that but for the tardiness of that letter Guy would have chosen his
first love in preference to any other.

And it was well that each believed herself first in the affection of the
man to whom Daisy wanted so much to send something as a proof of her
unalterable love. They