palace to Melbourne House, if peace made the
furniture. But June did not know what to say; so she was silent too.

When June was gone Daisy went to her beloved window, and stood there.
She did not like to kneel, because her mother might come in, or even
June, while she was doing so. She stood at the sweet open window, and
prayed that the Lord would take care of her, and help her to pray
however she could. And then the thought of those words came to
Daisy:--"Thou, therefore, endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus
Christ." She remembered very well how Captain Drummond had described the
way a good soldier takes things--hard and disagreeable things as well as
others. It is part of his business to endure them; he expects them, and
minds them not at all in comparison with the service in which he is
engaged. And a soldier of Jesus Christ has only to obey him, and take
willingly whatever comes in the line of his service. What matter? The
only thing was to obey orders, and do the work she was set upon.
Hardships did not seem much like hardships when she thought of them in
this way. And then it occurred to Daisy, that if she _could_ not fasten
her doors, she had better just kneel down as usual with them open. She
could not do without praying; and if she must be in traded upon, why it
was a little hardship that she had better not mind. And when she had
thought that, Daisy kneeled down; and she never had any more trouble
about it. She did fancy, even that first morning, that she heard the
lock of her door turn; but she did not move to see, and hearing nothing
more she soon forgot it. Nobody wore such a bright and fresh face at the
breakfast-table as Daisy; such a glad and uncareful face; and Mrs.
Randolph seeing it, was reassured; though she had just seen her little
daughter at her prayers, on her knees, by the window. She looked so
happy now, that the lady was inclined to hope her religion was a
childish folly, which would pass away and be forgotten in time.

But for the present Daisy was a soldier; and meditating much on a
service which she had to perform. That very day, if you had been
there, and worn an invisible cap, you might have gone into her room
and seen what she was about. On the ottoman aforesaid Daisy's
writing-desk was placed; and before it on a cricket sat Daisy, with
a face, O how grave and busy! A very weight of care of some sort
seemed to lie under her childish little brow. She was opening her
desk and look