DAISY'S MISSION.

Otago Witness, Issue 2674, 14 June 1905, Page 73

DAISY'S MISSION.

(Written for Dot's Little Polk.) By Jessica.

Her proper name was Margaret — Margaret Harvey, — but they called her ' Daisy," and the name just suited her. Rather a fragile, little girl she was, with fair, golden curls and stairy, blue eyes, the idol 01 her mother's heart and the sunshine of her father's life.

There had been two other little children in the pictureque New Zealand homestead on Riverside Station — a. bormie, winsome girlie and a manly boy,— but the Heavenly Gardener ''had need of these flowerets gay," and hod culled the &weet blossoms for His garden above. And ncv that those two little lives had no more need of their earthly care the parents of little Daisy turned to her, their one remaining treasure, and lavished on her al! their earthly love and care. She was the very light of their lives with her coaxing, childish, ways and merry, ringing laughter, flitting about the house, or in garden and fields, like a bright sunbeam.

Sweet, little Daisy, only five summers old, picture of happy childhood, with childhood's bewitching unconscious grace and sweetness and innocence, brightening earth's gloom with meriy laughter and innocent pi attic Sweet, little messenger from a brighter, better world, sent to gladden earth-weary lieaits for a little while. Bloom on, fair, tender Llostora, shedding forth thy sweetness and purity to those that love thee. Smile on, little sunbeam; this world is a brighter, happier place for thy presence 111 it — hearts are mad.c lighter and lives are fairer and more blessed by thy sweet companionship. '

And you, fond, doting parents, guard tenderly and carefully the little life committed for a time to thy keeping. For know that He who gave it thee may one day requne it from thy hands as pure and sinless ps when He gave it.

Ufc wa? a beautiful summer day. The sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky, the birds sang their sweetest songs in the leafy tiees, the garden- at Riverside was gay with summer flowers, and little Daisy Harvey, in blue frock and white ssilor hat, was out in the bright sunshine plucking the gay blossoms, her=elf the fairest flower of all.

Daisy was making a nosegay for mamma, for she had a headache, and could not come out with her little daughter to gather the pretty flowers. But the little maiden soon weaned of the brilliant blossoms. She knew where some other flowers were growing,, away down by the river — little white flowers — daisies they were called. Mamma had said she loved them because they bore the same name as her own wee girl. She would go an^gather some and make a pretty chain for mamma, and give her a nice surprise.

No one noticed the little figure m the pale blue dress as v sped down through the oichard, through a «ide gate, and on down the green slope towards the river, and Daisy was soon busily engaged plucking the white flowers fiorn amongst the green grass by the side of the river and 111 the shaJe ot thp pretty green bush. Her little childi«h he rt was happy and gay, and piesently she commenced singing a sweet old song which her mother ha-J. early taught her.

Above the murmur of the river, above the twitterings of the birds, the sweet childish tieble rang out on the fragrant summer air "Home, home , sweet, ■sweet horne — There's no place like home; there's no place like home."

The river flowed by the side of the road, and the voice and woich reached the eais of a weary cyclist, who v/as resting in the welcome shade. He was a tall man, broiusd and bearded. His face was handsome, but somewhat cold and haid in its expression — a face on which sorrow and disappointment and lolly had left unmistakable marks. "Home, horn?; sweet, sweet home." The childish voice rang out v.ith sweet persistency, unconsciously awakening lonar-sup-preated fethngs within the heart of tho listener Uiider the trees, bringing to life unspeaki'ole longings for the old home among the pretty hnls of Derbyshire, and foi the friends whom he had forsaken m bitter arpjer and disappointment so KUlls' yesrs before. Ail the pai-t ro^e before his mental vision lik3 a fleeting panorama — the pa3t with all its miavailmg regret, its Pin, its disappointments, and its bitterness. Long, long years ho had "waudored 111 a far country, fac from the home of his childhood, fai from the presence of a loving, watching mother and the b v olhvi with whom he had quariehed for hawuf, v. on tho affections of the girl he loved And now, after those vsars of silence, the voic-o of til!" sweet, innocent child had awakened unconquerable dc=ire= v ltlim him to gaze oace more 011 the faces of ln~ kT.d.ed. Tiuly, hi all tho wide, wule world tlieie «,b •■no "place like homo" His mind was rnsde up he wou'cl <-t, 1 t foi llouic l.y the next steomei — there was oa« leaving hi a couple of d.iv = ,— a.irl =urrly there would be left 111 the old r>l<u,c on: to whom he could say "JTorKi\ c."

But, first, he would gaze for a few moments on her who had been his messenger of hope. Noiselessly he thrust aside the branches, and looked across to the other side of the river. Theie, on the green grass, sat little Daisy, a heap of daisies in her lap, her little fingers working bu=ily with them, her sweet rosebud lips wreathed in unconscious smiles, while the sunlight played hide-and-seek among her golden curls. Sweet picture of pure innocence; fairest ever portrayed liy an artist's brush. For a few brief moments Edward Lawton looked on the little maiden, then fumed to leave the spot with the memory of the sweet, innocent, dimpled face imprinted on his heart for ever. Daisy's chain was almost finished. She must huriy to mamma, or she would be anxious. Just a few more daisies to put on, and then What was that splash in the water? A fish? Daisy must see it. The small, eager feet run to the water's edge ; she bends eagerly forward, and then How did it happen 9 One piercing scream of childish terror, two little hands outstretched imploringly, and the little blue-robed figure disappears beneath the gleaming waters.

BuL helo is at hand; someone has heard that rry of terror. A tall, manly figure rushes swiftly through the trees from the road, and Edward Lawton plunges into the river to lescue the drowning child. A few moments' haid swimming against the current and he reaches her just as she is disappearing the second time. Soon they are both safely on the bank, and with long, rapid strides the )iaan cairies his dripping unconscious burden towards the homestead, and surrenders it to those who, alarmed at the child's absence, have been searching for her.

Two days later Edward Lawton is on the blue sea, bound for the land of his birth. Some day, maybe, he will return to the peaceful shores of New Zealand and to Riverside Station, where he will ever receive a warm welcome as Daisy's rescuer. But at present a still, small voice is calling to him from across the restless ocean, and he dare not disregaid it.

Daisy wa>s ill. The sudden immersion in the water had been too much for" her frail constitution. The little dimpled face was hot and flushed ; the little rosebud lips were dry and parched, and could barely frame the one word "Water." Her breath came in short, quick gasps. Moaning and suffering, she tossed from side to side, her small, restless hands plucking at the white coverlet.

Oh l her throat wae so sore, and her head was so heavy and ached, so. Was there no relief for the little sufferer? The doctors did what they could, but looked grave. There was an unseen shadowy presence hovering round, and Daisy's suffeiing and pain would soon be at an end for evermore. Hush 1 Speak gently; tread softly. Daisy is sleeping the last, long, long sleep which knows no earthly wakening. How beautiful fhe looks in her chaste loveliness- — fo still, so peaceful. Stroke back the pretty golden curls from the pure, white brow. Close the starry blue eyes that on earth shall smile no more. Kiss the sweet, rosebud lips, the lips that "t-okc no word of guile. Fold the soft white hands — dear, little, clmging hands, that were wont to gather earth's fairest flowers. Henceforth they shall pluck the choicest blooms in the gardens of Paradise. Sweet, wee blossom; &o pure, so innocent. Reaper Death never garnered so fair and lovely a flower for the Heavenly Gardener. Earth is drearier for thy departure, sweet, gentle spirit; but surely heaven is a fairer placs for thy presence in it. Hu-h yoiii -wild weeping, dear, son-omng parents. Your darling is safe now. Angels in robes of purest white guard her every footstep in the spintland. Sorrow will never reach her, Sin cannot harm her. She will never know what it is to suffer earth's sorrows, to battle with earth's difficulties and sin. Her feet will never wander from the path of righteousness. She is safe — safe for ever and ever.

A winter's night among the hills and dales of pretty Derbyshne. The snow lay thick on the ground. The pale moon looked down from her starry dome on a beautiful white and sparkling glistening world.

Lights shone from the windows of the Lawtons' farmhouse as it nestled amid the trees. Within lay a mother — a mother who for years had watched and waited and prayed for the return of a son who was a wanderer. But now her days on earth were numbered, and still he had not returned. She was passing peacefully away, but still she listened for the wanderer's footsteps. He is coming; he is coming ; but, eh ! will he be in time ? Yes ; see, ho is making his way tluough the snow up the old familiar road — making straight for the old hou.e.

The mother's last earthly desire is gratified : her prodigal ha.s received her blessing and forgiveness ere she departs.

Tn a few more days her soul ha.s passed "'beyond the smiling and the weeping" to the land in which loneliness and partings and tears have no part.

Thsie i« s new grave in the old churchyard, bsside which a strong man often kneels in deep repentance for a wayward past. Several years have run their course. The rambling old homestead at Riveiside is once more gay with meriy, childish voices. Other little lives have been given in place of those whom God took into H:s own keeping. And scaice half a mile from the homestead there stands a picttv cottage with lovely creepers clustering up the walls and sweet flowers blooming in the garden 111 front. This is the home of Mr Harvey's overseer and right-hand man on the station — Edward Lawton — and his r.weei-fuxed wife, for when jEdward returned Home he found the woman he loved waiting for him. And here also gay, laughtei-loving childien make noi-y tumult and meiry chptter. In the cemetery on the hillside, in sight of tho winding river and within pou.id of the feathered songbters in the beautiful fragrant bush, the grass has grown green, and the pure white daisies have blossomed for many sum Kiets oxer the s>iave of little Daisy. A 'simple white marble uro^s, bearing her name and a<?e, stanch, a1 her hcid and below are written the following woiris- -'A little child shall lead them."

To tluj-e who knew and loved her while on eaith her mcuioiy i* vcy • s voet and veiy "wcivd, and, to make u>se *ol Lou:; fellow '.-. besutiiu' line- — Da, after cl.iv tb?v think wlut c he is cloii.t; I,- ili"-p Ijii^bt ipjilni-, or <tv , Yeii ai'o' voai hc-i tt. uiei steps prisuu °.

Behold liei giotwi ipoie l«ir. 2s"i't a= .i child -ha 1 .! lhe\ ago in. bohold her,

For uhei' . llh i~ptiUi;=! ■wi'd In (!>ei' i-irlit.i e<- tl> •> '..'am enfiAl her,

She v'l not be a c'uld, Bn 1 a f.m 111..' >n m h°r Father's mansion,

C oth ti -uith ceiestnl giace. Aril bociut'Tul \vth all the soul's exp.i:iMon, fcj'Ml! thry boho'd hci face.