It is just a year since she came back to us again. We were in the old
house then, but somehow Daisy's very presence seemed to brighten and
beautify it, until I was almost sorry to leave it last April for this
grander place with all its splendor.
There was no wedding at all; that is, there were no invited guests, but
sure, never had bride greater honor at her bridal than our Daisy had,
for the church where the ceremony was performed, at a very early hour in
the morning, was literally crowded with the halt, the lame, the maimed,
and the blind; the slums of New York, gathered from every back street
and by-lane and gutter; Daisy's "people," as she calls them, who came to
see her married, and who, strangest of all, brought with them a present
for the bride, a beautiful family Bible, golden-clasped and bound, and
costing fifty dollars. Sandy McGraw presented it, and had written upon
the fly leaf: "To the dearest friend we ever had we give this book as a
slight token of how much we love her." Then followed upon a sheet of
paper the names of the donors and how much each gave. Oh, how Daisy
cried when she saw the ten cents and the five cents and the three cents
and the one cent, and knew how it had all been earned and saved at some
sacrifice for her. I do believe she would have kissed every one of them
if Guy had permitted it. She did kiss the children and shook every hard,
soiled hand there, and then Guy took her away and brought her to our
home, where she has been ever since, the sweetest, merriest, happiest
little creature that ever a man called wife, or a woman sister. She does
leave her things round a little, to be sure, and she is not always ready
for breakfast. I guess she never will wholly overcome those habits, but
I can put up with them now better than I used to. Love makes a vast
difference in our estimate of others, and she could scarcely ruffle me
now, even if she kept breakfast waiting every morning, and left her
clothes lying three garments deep upon the floor. As for Guy--but his
happiness is something I cannot describe. Nothing can disturb his peace,
which is as firm as the everlasting hills. He does not caress her as
much as he did once, but his thoughtful care of her is wonderful, and
she is never long from his sight without his going to seek her.