Your ShelfYour Projects

CLEARING AWAY TROUBLE

3%

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Nov 25, 1903

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 29, No. 47.

Read the full edition

CLEARING AWAY TROUBLE.

[A Story for the Children.]
“AH, there's lots of trouble in the world!” the cook said as the grocer's boy passed out at the door.
Daisy, resting in the wide, cool porch, turned her eyes toward the speaker. “Who has lots of trouble, cook?” she asked.
“Lots of people,” said the cook, shortly.
Daisy pondered awhile, her chin resting on her plump, little hand. Then she said, suddenly: “Do you, cook?”
“I should think so! There's that boy didn't bring half the things I ordered. He says the children are all sick, and the grocer's worried, so he forgets things; and he can't come back till he's delivered what he's got with him; and Kathie is in the garden gathering peas, and I can't leave these cakes even to call her.”
“I'll go,” Daisy said, jumping up and tying her white sunbonnet. “I can clear off that much of the trouble.”
As she ran across the lawn, a group of children—summer boarders, like herself—called to her to join them; but she shook her head gaily, and hurried down between the long rows of pea vines.
“To go to the grocer's, is it?” said Kathie, despairingly. “And how'll I ever get peas enough for dinner, then?”
“I'll pick till you come back,” said Daisy, encouragingly. “Make haste, Kathie.”
The nimble little fingers pulled the plump, green pods swiftly, and when Kathie returned, hot and breathless, the big basket was nearly full. Then Daisy sat in the porch again, and helped to shell them while she rested.
“I don't see how we'd have got along without you,” the cook said, looking quite pleasant, as Daisy threw down the last shell.
Daisy laughed. “It's nice helping people,” she said. “I'm going to find some more trouble to clear off.”
She ran down the steps and paused, glancing at an open window above. A low, wailing cry sounded within, and a sweet, faint voice singing a cradle song. “I'll help Mrs. Verne take care of the baby,” she thought, and she ran toward the hall door. A playful breeze followed her, and, just as she crossed the threshold, a lot of closely written sheets of paper fluttered to her feet.
“O, dear!” some one said, and Daisy looked up to see a gray-haired old man at a desk near the door. He looked very pale and tired, and one of his feet was bandaged and resting on a cushion.
Daisy said nothing until she had secured all the fluttering sheets, and placed them on the desk. Then she took a large shell from the hall table. “Will this do for a paper weight?” she asked, timidly.
“Very nicely, my dear,” said the gentleman. “It was so still this morning that I forgot to ask for one, and I have sprained my ankle so badly that I can't move without assistance. Thank you, my dear; I shall have no trouble now.”
Daisy ran upstairs with a happy song on her lips. The young mother's pale, sad face brightened when she saw Daisy. “O, Daisy, dear, you are like the sunshine!” she said. “Baby has been ill all night, and I am worn out for want of sleep. Would you sit by his crib for a minute or two while I bathe my head?”
“And then we'll take him out-of-doors,” said Daisy, easily. “Under the big trees it is lovely and cool, and I'll hold him while you rest in the hammock.”
Ten minutes later Daisy sat rocking slowly under the trees, while the baby slept quietly in her lap. The tired mother in the hammock close by had forgotten her troubles, and was sleeping the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.
The voices of the gay pleasure-seekers on the lawn grew querulous and ill-natured as the heat of the day increased, but Daisy was very happy as she sung softly in the shade.
“O, Daisy, I never can thank you enough!” Mrs. Verne said, when she awoke, rested and refreshed. “How much better baby looks! And I feel so much better able to take care of him. I have been so worried!” she added confidentially. “You see it costs so much for us to stay here, and I was afraid the money was all thrown away. Baby was no better, and I was growing sick, too.”
“There's the dinner bell,” said Daisy. “Let me take care of the baby while you are eating.”
“No, dear, thank you,” the young mother said, coloring a little. “I'd have to dress first, and I'd rather not go now.”
Daisy was an observant little girl, and she had noticed how Mrs. Verne, in her worn dress, shrank from observation. She did not press the point, but ran off to the kitchen. “There's lots of trouble in the world,” she said demurely, as the cook looked up and smiled.
“Who's in trouble now?” asked the cook, laughing.
“Mrs. Verne's baby's sick, and she doesn't want to go to the dining-room; but I just know she could eat a nice lunch under the trees.”
For answer the cook loaded a tray with roast lamb and green peas and raspberry tarts, and gave it to Daisy. What a delightful “picnic” dinner they had under the trees! Daisy's mama was away for the day, and no one came to look for the little girl. So she and Mrs. Verne ate at their leisure, and then the young mother lay down in the hammock with her baby on her arm.
Daisy waited until they both slept again, and then she ran back with the tray, and told the cook how much Mrs. Verne had enjoyed her dinner.
The children were coming in from the lawn, tired and fretful. The gentleman who had been writing had finished his work, and was lying on the lounge. He smiled when he saw Daisy's bright face. “You don't look tired,” he said. “What have you been doing all day?”
“Helping people,” said Daisy, “clearing away trouble.”
The gentleman laughed. “I should think that was pretty hard work,” he said.
“But it isn't,” said Daisy, earnestly; “it's lovely—ever so much nicer than playing. Ah, there's mama! I must carry her parcels upstairs!” And the little helper ran away.—Weekly Welcome.