So tired was Daisy, after all the labor and excitement of the day, that as soon as she had finished her story she fell asleep. Maud tried until she was tired to arouse her sister, and make her talk some more; but Daisy, except for her quiet breathing, was like one dead.

Maud could not sleep; she listened to the howling of the storm, and then remembered the grave she had seen through Daisy's spectacles, out there in the night; and then her sister's vision of the beautiful, shining city, whose people were clothed in light, and thought of the highest among them all, the King, who waited for her love.

"He will not care for Daisy, with her wise little face, when once he has seen mine," thought Maud. "I shall wear my finest garments, and put on my most stately and haughtiest look, to show him I am not like common people. I hope he does not know that every thing I have comes from that wretched old dame."

Here there sounded a rattling at the door latch, as if some one were coming into the cabin. Maud's heart beat loud and fast for fright; she imagined that dreadful things were about to happen, and scolded poor Daisy, as if she could hear, for pretending to be asleep.

Then came quick flashes of lightning, that made the room like noonday for one instant; and then thunder in crashing peals, that sounded more dreadful in the silent night; and then a stillness, through which Maud could hear the voices of the wolves, and the heavy, pelting drops.

Sometimes she thought the river would swell, and swell, till it flooded into the cabin, and drowned them both; sometimes she thought the lightning would kill her at a flash, or the wolves would break through the slender door, and eat her up, or the wind would blow the cabin down, and bury her.

Wasn't it strange that the thought never came to her, as she lay there trembling, what a poor, weak thing she was, and how good the fairy had been to keep all mischief from her until now?

She did think of the fairy, at length, and resolved to call her help, if it were possible. She lighted a lamp, and held it so near Daisy's eyes as almost to burn the lashes off; this she found better than shaking or scolding, for Daisy started up from her pleasant dreams, and asked where she was and what was happening.

"That!" said Maud, as a still sharper flash of lightning ran across the sky, and then thunder so loud that it drowned Maud's angry voice.

Daisy covered her face, for the lightning almost blinded her, and then first found that she had fallen asleep with the fairy spectacles on.

"Come, selfish girl," said Maud, "look through your old glasses; and if they are good for any thing, you can find what has become of the dame, and if she is still awake and watching over us."

Then Daisy told how she had been once to the old woman's cave; and if it were not for leaving her sister alone, would go again to-night.

Maud would not listen to this at first, but told Daisy that she was deceiving her, and only wanted to creep off somewhere and sleep, and leave her to be eaten by the wolves. As she spoke, Daisy's face lighted all at once with the beautiful smile which Peter saw, the day that she was born.

"O Maud, listen, and you will not be afraid," she said in her gentle voice. "I seemed to see, just now, the night, and the storm, and our cabin, and myself asleep – all as if in a picture. The lightning flashed and thunder rolled; the wolves were creeping about the door, and sniffing at the threshold, and the cabin rocked in the wind like a cradle.

"But just where you are standing, Maud, was an angel bending over me, and shading my eyes from the dazzle with her own white wings. She had such a quiet, gentle face as I never saw any where except in my vision of our Father's house."

"Were her eyes black, or blue like mine? I wonder if Christ ever saw her."

"I do not remember the color; but her eyes were full of love, and pity, and tenderness; and when I seemed to awake, and look up at her, she pointed out into the night."

"And there, I suppose, you will pretend that you saw something else very fine – as if I should believe such foolish stories! But talk on, for it keeps you awake."

"No, Maud, nothing seemed beautiful after the angel's face; but I saw a strong city, with walls, and towers on the walls, and with watchmen walking to and fro to keep robbers away. And I saw a great house, as large as a hundred of ours, with heavy doors, and bolts, and locks, and many servants – strong men, sleeping in their beds, for it was night.

"And in one of the inmost rooms, where all was rich and elegant, and the carpet was soft as moss, and the muslin curtains hung like clouds, lay a girl about my age, but a great deal more beautiful, asleep."

"Was she handsomer than I?" interrupted Maud.

"I had not time to ask myself; for, as I looked, the door opened softly, and two thieves crept in, and snatched the jewels that lay about the room, and then, seeing a bracelet on her white arm, went towards the bed.

"I was about to scream, when the fairy softly put her hand before my mouth, and pointed again.

"As soon as the thief touched her arm, the girl awoke, and shrieked aloud; and, when they could not quiet her cries, the men struck at her with their sharp knives, and left her dead.

"Then the angel whispered, 'Daisy, there is only one hand that can save; there is one eye that watches, over rich and poor, the crowded city and the lonely wood, alike. That eye is God's; unless he keep the city, the watchman walketh in vain.'

"So, Maud, the angel will take care of us, if we only trust in her."

Maud's fears were quieted so far by Daisy's words, that she urged her sister now to go and seek the dame, and leave her there alone.

The truth was, Maud had a feeling that, if poor little Daisy had an angel to watch over her, she, who was so much more beautiful, could not be left to perish. Perhaps, even the glorious Christ would come; and if he did, she would rather not have her sister in the way.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE FAIRY'S CAVE

The old dame had built a fire in the corner of her cave, and sat, alone, watching the embers.

Presently she heard a sound unlike the storm – a parting of the bushes outside, a crackling of dry sticks upon the ground; and, all at once, Daisy's bright face appeared, seeming to bring a sunshine into the gloomy den.

Daisy was dripping with rain, and felt a little afraid that the dame would scold her because her feet made wet tracks on the floor.

But the fairy seemed in a merry mood to-night – perhaps she was glad of some one to keep her company. She laughed till the old cave rang again, when her visitor told that she had been frightened by the storm; for she said it was music in her ears, and ought to be in the ears of every one.

So she drew a stool before the fire for Daisy, and, while wringing the dampness from her dress, asked what had become of the spectacles.

"O, they are safe enough," answered Daisy. "I know now how much they are worth, and what a splendid present you gave me, though it seemed so poor. You are very good to us, dame."

"Better than I seem – always better than I seem," she muttered, looking into the fire still. "Now, if you think so much of your glasses, put them on."

Daisy wiped the water from them on a corner of the fairy's dress, for her own was too wet, and did as she was told.

And, down, down miles beneath the cave, she saw fires burning, blazing, flashing, flaming about, and filling the whole centre of the earth; beside them the lightning was dull, and the old dame's fire seemed hardly a spark.

She saw whole acres of granite – the hard stone that lay in pieces about the wood, half covered with moss and violets; acres of this were rolling and foaming like the river in a storm, melted and boiling in the fiery flames.

"Why, in a few minutes, the cave itself, and all the earth, will melt, and we shall be burned up," said Daisy, alarmed.

"O, no," laughed the fairy. "The fire was kindled thousands of years before you were born; and the granite your violets grow upon has boiled like this in its day; but we are not burned yet, and shall not be. There's a bridge over the fire."

And, surely enough, when Daisy looked again, she saw great cold ribs of rock rising above the flames and above the sea of boiling stone, up and out, like arches on every side. Upon this rock the earth was heaped, layer above layer, until on its outside countries, and cities, and great forests were planted, and fastened together, it seemed, by rivers and seas.

In the beds of rivers, in crevices of rock, in depths of the earth, were hidden precious stones and metals; and where the rocks rose highest, they formed what we call mountains, that buried their soaring heads in the sky, and stretched along the earth for many hundred miles.

"What can this rock be made of?" asked Daisy. "Look!" and, to her wonder, she saw that it was all little cells, crowded with insects of different kinds. She asked the dame how many there were in one piece of stone which she picked up, and which was about an inch square.

"About forty-one thousand millions of one kind, and many more of another," she answered carelessly.

"You could not make Maud believe that," thought Daisy; and the dame, as if seeing into her mind, continued, —

"But it is only the one little world we live in which you have seen thus far: look above."

The roof of the cave seemed gone; and Daisy beheld the stars, not far off and still, as they had always seemed, but close about her, whirling, waltzing, chasing each other in circles, with such tremendous speed that it made one dizzy to watch.

And they were no longer little points of light, but worlds like ours – many of them larger than our earth, which was whirling too, and seemed so small that Daisy hardly noticed it amidst the beaming suns.

There were no handles, no fastenings, no beams, or ropes, or anchors to those flying worlds, that dashed along at such mad speed; she wondered they did not strike against each other, and shatter, and fall.

"O, no," said the dame; "the Hand which made these worlds can keep them in their places. But how many stars do you suppose there are?"

"O, I could not count them in a week."

"No, nor in a lifetime. It takes more than that to count one million; and there are more than twenty million worlds."

"There will be no use in telling that to Maud," thought Daisy; "she'll never believe me."

And again the fairy saw into her heart, and answered, "Only the pure in heart can see God, and believe in him. Maud thinks there is no truth, because her weak mind cannot grasp it.

"Now, Daisy, think that all these worlds are God's – made, and watched, and loved by him. You see in many of them mountains such as the piece of stone you looked into; you see rivers, earth, and sky; and I tell you the truth when I say, that all of these are crowded, fuller than you can dream, with creatures He has made. And cannot He who made the lightning govern it? So, do not fear the howling of the storm again; it is your Father's voice."

"How great he is! I am afraid of him!" said Daisy.

"You may well be afraid to offend him, but only that; for God is a gentle, loving Father. He feels when the tiniest insect in this stone is hurt; and the same mighty Hand that guides the stars, and roofs over the fires that might burn up our earth, – the same Hand led you through the storm to-night, or, Daisy, you would not have found my cave."

The dame's last words reminded Daisy that she had left her sister alone; and though Maud had surprised her by saying that she need not hurry back, Maud might have changed her mind, and complain of the very thing she asked an hour before.

She flew home, therefore – falling many a time, and wounding her hands with the sharp sticks in her path. Great trees were torn up by the roots, and came crashing down, in the dark, scattering earth and pebbles far and wide; but Daisy walked among them all unharmed, and was not even frightened; for she knew some kind hand must be guiding her, and thought of the Watchman who never sleeps.

Reaching the cabin, she found Maud in a quiet slumber; and, lying down beside her, Daisy was soon dreaming over again all she had seen through the spectacles.

CHAPTER XVIII.
DAISY ALONE

The sisters lived together comfortably enough in the wood, for the old dame still supplied their wants; and Daisy grew so accustomed to Maud's complaints and reproaches, that she did not mind them so much as at first.

Then it was such a joy when, sometimes, Maud would be pleased and satisfied, and speak a kind word or two, that her sister forgot all the rest.

The fairy had been in the habit, after Susan's death, of taking Maud to the fair sometimes, where she could see the people, and choose handsome gowns for herself, and hear what was going on in the world.

Meantime Daisy would remain at home, cleaning the house and washing Maud's dresses, and baking some nice thing for her to eat when she should come home tired from the fair.

You may think this hard for Daisy; but you are mistaken, this time, for she was never so merry as when working thus alone. There was no one to meddle and complain when she was trying to do her best. Let Maud depart, and all was peace in Daisy's home.

Maud seemed to think that Daisy was made for her servant; and when she wished to enjoy herself alone, or to do some kind deed, – for other people lived, now, in the neighborhood of the cabin, – her sister would always interfere, and complain and whine so grievously that Daisy yielded to her.

But Maud away, and her work all finished in the house, Daisy would clap on her spectacles, and then such a wonderful world as stretched around her! Nothing was common, or mean, or dead; all things were full of beauty and surprise, when she looked into them.

The insects that stung Maud, and made her so impatient, would settle quietly on Daisy's hand, and let her find out how their gauzy, glittering wings were made, and see all the strange machinery by which they could rise and fly, and the little beating hearts and busy heads they had.

Then they would go slowly circling to their homes; and Daisy would softly follow, and find how they lived, and what they ate, and what became of them in winter time, and all about their young.

The birds, meantime, would come and sing to her about their joy, their young, their fairy nests, their homes among the shady summer leaves; the poorest worm, the ugliest spider, had something in him curious and beautiful.

Then she would study the plants and trees, see the sap rising out of the ground, and slowly creeping into every branch and leaf, and the little buds come forth, and swell, and burst, at length, into lovely flowers.

She would sit upon the mossy rocks, and think how far down under the earth they had been, and how full they might be of living creatures now; and then bending over the violets that had grown in their crevices, would count their tiny veins, and find how air and sunshine had mixed with the sap to color and perfume them.

All these works of his hands made Daisy feel how near the great God was to her, and that she could never go where he had not been before, and where his eye would not follow her.

And then, amidst her troubles and toils, she had but to think of the beautiful city above, where Peter and Susan were waiting for her, where the spirits clothed in light would be her teachers and friends, and she would see as far, perhaps, as they, and learn more a thousand times than even her wonderful spectacles could teach her now.

But, one day, the dame took a fancy in her head that she was too old to go to the fair again, and, in future, Daisy must go instead, and take care of Maud.

This pleased neither of the sisters; for Daisy now must lose her only hours of quiet; and Maud, instead of the old crone who had passed for her servant, must appear with the shabby little Daisy, of whose meek, serious face, and country manners, she was very much ashamed.

Then there was the mark of the spectacles to attract attention, and make every one ask who it could be that had such a wise look on a face so young.

But the two sisters started, one morning, for the fair, on the selfsame road on which Peter had met his wife, and along which he had led her home, to make his cabin such a happy place.

It was not so bad for Maud to have Daisy with her as she had feared; for the good natured sister carried all her parcels, found out cool springs where they could drink, and pleasant spots where they could sit in the cool grass and rest sometimes, instead of hurrying on through the dust, as the dame had always done.

Then Daisy had a cheerful heart, and was pleased with every thing she met, and so full of her stories and cheerful songs, that the way seemed not half so long to Maud as when she went with the dame.

Ah, but Maud didn't think how much shorter and brighter her sister's path through life would have been had she, instead of her selfish temper, a good and gentle heart like that which was cheering her now.

Daisy took her spectacles along, you may be sure; and besides that she saw through them many a flower, and bird, and stone, and countless other things to which her sister was as good as blind, Maud found them very useful at the fair.

For the glasses showed things now exactly as they were – in the rich silk, rough places or cotton threads; calicoes, gay enough to the naked eye, through these looked faded and shabby. Was any thing shopworn, moth eaten, or out of fashion, the spectacles told it as plainly as if they had spoken aloud.

And just so, seen through these magical glasses, the people changed. A man with a smiling face and pleasant words would appear dishonest and cunning, when Daisy put on her spectacles. A maiden with a proud and beautiful face looked humbled, all at once, and sad, and dying of a broken heart. People that walked about in splendid clothes, and looked down on the others, seemed suddenly poor beggars, hiding beneath their garments as if they were a mask.

The dame would never carry bundles for Maud, nor allow herself to be hurried or contradicted in any way; but Daisy bore all the burdens of her own accord, and yielded to Maud's caprices, however foolish they might be, if they troubled no one except herself.

But on their way home, something occurred in which Daisy resolved to have her own way; and Maud was so angry that she would not walk with her sister, and hurrying on, left her far behind.