But they found Maud ready, as usual, to spoil all their pleasure, by fretting because they had left her alone, and had not come earlier, and a hundred other foolish things.

She wouldn't hear a word about the music, but asked her sister if she was not ashamed to talk with a cow boy, and declared that neither she nor Susan should go to the hill again.

But it was no strange thing for Maud to change her mind; so, one day, she told Daisy she had dreamed about Joseph's music, and must hear it, and they would all go that very afternoon.

Daisy was glad, you may be sure; but she had great trouble with her sister on the way, for Maud would shriek at an earth worm, and start at a fly, and was afraid of bats, and snakes, and owls, and more other things than Daisy ever thought of.

Then the sharp sticks cut through her satin boots; and when she sat a while to rest, the crickets ate great holes in her new silk gown, and mosquitos kept buzzing about her, and little worms dropped down sometimes from the boughs.

When any of these things happened, of course poor Daisy had to be scolded, as if it were her fault. If a shadow moved, or a bird flew quickly past, or a bee buzzed by,--thinking of any one except Miss Maud,--the beauty would fancy that a tiger or rattlesnake was making ready to spring at her, and suffered a great deal more from fright than she would from pain if the creatures she dreaded had really been near, and she had allowed them quietly to eat her up.

When, after all this trouble, she found that Joseph wore a coa.r.s.e blue frock, and did not oil his curly hair, and hardly looked at her, while he was overjoyed at seeing Daisy again, Maud began to pout, and say she must go home.

But Joseph brought a kind of harp he had made from reeds and corn stalks; and when he began to play, Maud started, for it was as if she stood under the arching trees again, and the Beautiful Being stood beside her, with his sad eyes, saying, "O Maud, when you despise my little ones, you are despising me."

She thought it must only be a kind of waking dream, however, and tossing her head, asked Joseph if he could play any opera airs, and where he bought his harp, and who his teacher could have been.

"The trees, and river, and birds, the morning wind and midnight sky, sorrow, and joy, and hope have been my teachers," he answered gravely.

"They're an old-fashioned set, then," said Maud. "We haven't had any of the tunes you play at our b.a.l.l.s this year; and you must find more modern teachers, or else be content to take care of your cows."

Joseph heard not her sneers; he was talking with Daisy; and every thing he said seemed so n.o.ble, and wise, and pure, so unlike the words of Maud or of the fretful dame, that Daisy could not help loving him with all her heart.

The more she thought of Joseph the less she said of him to Maud; but whenever her sister was away, they were sure to meet; and the herdsman grew as fond of Daisy as she was of him.

In the long winter evenings, when Maud was away at her b.a.l.l.s, she little dreamed what pleasant times Daisy had at home. When floating about in the dance, to the sound of gay, inspiring music, she thought of her sister only to pity her, and did not know that she was listening to sweeter music from Joseph's humble harp of reeds.

We often pity people who are a great deal better off than ourselves, forgetting that what seems fine to us may be tedious enough to them.

Then it was such a new thing for Daisy to have any one think of _her_ comfort, and plan pleasant surprises for her, and even admire her serious face, and--best of all--appreciate her spectacles.

As soon as Joseph came, he wanted her to put them on, and tell him about a hundred things which he had looked at only with his naked eyes. Daisy found so often that he had seen rightly and clearly, and had in humblest paths picked up most lovely things, and every where found what was best, she told him that he must have borrowed the old dame's lantern.

But Joseph said, no, he had only taken care that the lantern in his own breast should be free from dust and stains; while that burned clearly, there was no use in borrowing another's light.

Maud's lover took her to dances and sleigh rides, and gave her jewels and confectionery; Daisy's lover took her to see the old sick mother he supported, and to look at his cows in their neat barn, and brought her a new ap.r.o.n sometimes from the fair, or a bag of chestnuts which he had picked up in the fall.

But Joseph gave the love of a fresh, honest heart; and Daisy thought this better than all her sister's bright stones and sugar plums.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE FRESHET.

The spring came; and Maud's wedding day was so near that she and Daisy went to the town every week to make purchases.

Now, the river which they were obliged to cross always overflowed its banks in spring. Although, in summer, Daisy had often walked across it, by stepping from stone to stone in the rough bed, it had risen now to a height of many feet.

Then, blocks of ice came down from the mountain streams above, and swept along bridges, and hay ricks, and drift wood with them, just as happened once, you may remember, when Susan was alive.

A new bridge had been built; but it jarred frightfully when the heaped blocks of ice came down, or some great tree was dashed against it by the rapid stream.

Things were in this state when the two sisters reached home, one day, from town. When Maud felt how the bridge jarred, she ran back screaming, and told Daisy to go first, and make sure it was safe.

Daisy was not a coward; but this time she did think of her own life for once, or rather of Joseph--how he would grieve if she were swept away and drowned.

Her heart beat faster than usual; yet she walked on calmly, and soon gained the other side. Then she called back for Maud to wait till she could find Joseph, and secure his help.

But Maud, always impatient, grew tired of waiting, and mustering all her courage, stepped upon the bridge alone.

She had hardly reached the centre when its foundations gave way; and, with a great crash and whirl, with the trees, and ice, and drift wood whirling after it, the bridge went sweeping down the stream.

So Joseph and Daisy returned only in time to hear Maud's shrieks, which sounded louder than the heavy, jolting logs, and creaking beams, and grinding ice.

Running across the bridge wildly, she beckoned for Joseph to come to her--implored him to trust himself upon the blocks of ice, or else send Daisy, and not leave her to perish alone.

There came new drifts of ice from above, jolting against the bridge, and throwing Maud from her feet; and so the heavy structure went whirling, tossing like a straw upon the stream.

Joseph turned to Daisy. "If I go to her help, we both may slip from the unsteady blocks of ice, and drown. Yet I may possibly save her; shall I go or stay?"

"Go," she said instantly.

"Then good by, Daisy; perhaps we never shall look in each other's faces again."

"Not here, perhaps; but, go."

"What's that?" asked the sharp voice of the dame. "Foolish children!

Don't you know that, when Maud is drowned, there will be no one to separate you, and, as long as she lives, she will not let you be married?"

"She is my sister," said Daisy. And Joseph, stepping boldly upon the ice, creeping from log to log,--lost now in the branches of a tree, dashed into the water, and struggling out again,--found his way to the bridge, and threw his strong arm about the form of the fainting Maud.

But here was new trouble; for she declared that she would never venture where Joseph had been, not if they both were swept away.

Finding her so unreasonable, the herdsman took Maud, like an infant, in his arms, and, though she shrieked and struggled, stepped from the bridge just as its straining beams parted, and fell, one by one, among the drift wood in the stream.

When Maud stood safely on the sh.o.r.e, she was so glad to find herself alive, that she took off every one of her jewels and offered them to Joseph.

But the herdsman told her that he did not wish to be paid for what had cost him nothing, and had he lost his life, the jewels would have been no recompense.

"So you want more, perhaps," said Maud, the haughty look coming again into her handsome face. "Well, what shall I give you for risking your precious life?"

"Daisy," he answered.

"My sister? Do you dare tell me that she would marry a cowboy?"

"Ask her."