Daisy in the Field

soon called effectually home from my own specialconcerns, by seeing that the tenant of one of the neighbouringbeds was restless and suffering from fever. A strong, fine-looking man, flushed and nervous on a fever bed, in helplessinactivity, with the contrast of life energies all at work andeffectively used only a little while ago, in the camp and thebattlefield. Now lying here. His fever proceeded from hiswounds, I knew, for I had seen them dressed. I went to him andlaid my hand on his forehead. I wonder what and how much therecan be in the touch of a hand. It quieted him, like a charm;and after a while, a fan and a word or two now and then wereenough for his comfort. I did not seem to be Daisy Randolph; Iwas just - the hospital nurse; and my use was to minister; andthe joy of ministering was very great.

  From my fever patient I was called to others, who wanted manyvarious things; it was a good while before I got round toPreston again. Meanwhile, I was secretly glad to find out thatI was gaining fast ground in the heart of the other nurse ofthe ward, who had at first looked upon me with great doubt andmistrust on account of my age and appearance. She was aclever, energetic New England woman; efficient and helpful asit was possible to be; thin and wiry, but quiet, and full ofsense and kindliness. With a consciousness of her growingfavour upon me, I came at last to Preston's bedside again. Helooked anything but amicable.

  "Where is Aunt Randolph?" were his first words, uttered withvery much the manner of a growl. I replied that I had left herin New York.

  "I shall write to her," said Preston. "How came she to dosuch an absurd thing as to let you come here? and whom did youcome with? Did you come alone?"

  "Not at all. I came with proper company."

  "Proper company wouldn't have brought you," Preston growled.

  "I think you want something to eat, Preston," I said. "Youwill feel better when you have had some refreshment."

  It was just the time for a meal and I saw the supplies comingin. And Preston's refreshment, as well as that of some others,I attended to myself. I think he found it pleasant; foralthough some growls waited upon me even in the course of myministering to him, I heard from that time no moreremonstrances; and I am sure Preston never wrote his letter. Atestimonial of a different sort was conveyed in his whisperedrequest to me, not to let that horrid Yankee spinster comenear him again.

  But Miss Yates was a good friend to me.

  "You are looking a little pale," she said to me at evening."Go and lie down a spell. All's done up; you ain't wanted now,and you may be, for anything anybody can tell, before an houris gone. Just you go away and get some rest. It's been yourfirst day. And the first day's rather tough."

  I told her I did not feel tired. But she insisted; and Iyielded so far as to go and lie down for a while in the roomwhich Dr. Sandford had given to me. When I came back, I metMiss Yates near the door of the room. I asked her if therewere any serious cases in the ward just then.

  "La! half of 'em's serious," said she; "if you mean by thatthey might take a wrong turn and go off. You never can tell."

  "But are there any in immediate danger, do you think?"

  She searched my face before she answered.

  "How come you to be so strong, and so young, and so - well, sounlike all this sort of thing? - Have you ever, no you neverhave, seen much of sickness and death, and that?"

  "No; not much."

  "But you look as calm as a field of white clover. I beg yourpardon, my dear; it's like you. And you ain't one of the Indiarubber sort, neither. I am glad you ain't, too; I don't thinkthat sort is fit to be nurses or anything else."

  She looked at me inquiringly.

  "Miss Yates," I said, "I love Jesus. I am a servant of Christ.I like to do whatever my Lord gives me to do."

  "Oh!" said she. "Well I ain't. I sometimes wish I was. But itcomes handy now, for there's a man down there - he ain't agoing to live, and he knows it, and he's kind o' worried aboutit; and I can't say nothing to him. Maybe you can. I'vewritten his letters for him, and all that; but he's justuneasy."

  I asked, and she told me, which bed held this sick man, whowould soon be a dying one. I walked slowly down the ward,thinking of this new burden of life-work that was laid upon meand how to meet it. My very heart sank. I was so helpless. Androse too; for I remembered that our Redeemer is strong. Whatcould I do?

  I stood by the man's side. He was thirsty and I gave himlemonade. His eye met mine as his lips left the cup; an eye ofunrest.

  "Are you comfortable?" I asked.

  "As much as I can be." - It was a restless answer.

  "Can't you think of Jesus, and rest?" I asked, bending overhim. His eye darted to mine with a strange expression ofinquiry and pain; but it was all the answer he made.

  "There is rest at His feet for all who trust in Him; - rest inHis arms for all who love Him."

  "I am not the one or the other," he said shortly.

  "But you may be."

  "I reckon not, - at this time of day," he said.

  "Any time of day will do," I said tenderly.

  "I guess not," said he. "One cannot do anything lying here -and I sha'n't lie here much longer, either. There's no timenow to do anything."

  "There is nothing to do, dear friend, but to give your heartand trust to the Lord who died for you - who loves you - whoinvites you - who will wash away your sins for His own sake,in His own blood, which He shed for you. Jesus has died foryou; you shall not die, if you will put your trust in Him."

  He looked at me, turned his head away restlessly, turned itback again, and said, -

  "That won't do."

  "Why?"

  "I don't believe in wicked people going to heaven."

  "Jesus came to save wicked people; just them."

  "They've got to be good, though, before they" - he paused, -"go - to His place."

  "Jesus will make you good, if you will let him."

  "What chance is there, lying here; and only a few minutes atthat?"

  He spoke almost bitterly, but I saw the drops of sweatstanding on his brow, brought there by the intensity offeeling. I felt as if my heart would have broken.

  "As much chance here as anywhere," I answered calmly. "Theheart is the place for reform; outward work, without theheart, signifies nothing at all; and if the heart of love andobedience is in any man, God knows that the life would follow,if there were opportunity."

  "Yes. I haven't it," he said, looking at me.

  "You may have it."

  "I tell you, you are talking - you don't know of what," hesaid vehemently.

  "I know all about it," I answered softly.

  "There is no love nor obedience in me," he repeated, searchingmy eyes, as if to see whether there were anything to be saidto that.

  "No; you are sick at heart, and dying, unless you can becured. Can you trust Jesus to cure you? They that be wholeneed not a physician, He says, but those that are sick."

  He was silent, gazing at me.

  "Can you lay your heart, just as it is, at Jesus' feet, andask him to take it and make it right? He says, Come."

  "What must _I_ do?"

  "Trust Him."

  "But you are mistaken," he said. "I am not good."

  "No," said I; and then I know I could not keep back the tearsfrom springing; - "Jesus did not come to save the good. Hecame to save you. He bids you trust Him, and your sins shallbe forgiven, for He gave His life for yours; and He bids youcome to Him, and He will take all that is wrong away, and makeyou clean."

  "Come?" - the sick man repeated.

  "With your heart - to his feet. Give yourself to Him. He ishere, though you do not see Him."

  The man shut his eyes, with a weary sort of expressionoverspreading his features; and remained silent. After alittle while he said slowly -

  "I think - I have heard - such things - once. It is a greatwhile ago. I don't think I know - what it means."

  Yet the face looked weary and worn; and for me, I stood besidehim and my tears dripped like a summer shower. Like the firstof the shower, as somebody says; the pressure at my heart
wastoo great to let them flow. O life, and death! O message ofmercy, and deaf ears! O open door of salvation, and feet thatstumble at the threshold! After a time his eyes opened.

  "What are you doing there?" he said vaguely.

  "I am praying for you, dear friend."

  "Praying?" said he. "Pray so that I can hear you."

  I was well startled at this. I had prayed with papa; with noother, and before no other, in all my life. And here were rowsof beds on all sides of me, wide-awake careless eyes in someof their occupants; nurses and