favorite, whose praises were in every mouth. But chiefly was she known
and loved by the poor and the despised whom she daily visited, and to
whom her presence was like the presence of an angel.

"You do look lovely and sing so sweet; I know there's nothing nicer in
heaven," said a little piece of deformity to her one day as it lay
dying in her arms. "I'se goin' to heaven, which I shouldn't have done if
you'se hadn't gin me the nice bun and told me of Jesus. I loves him now,
and I'll tell him how you bringed me to him."

Such was the testimony of one dying child, and it was dearer to Daisy
than all the words of flattery ever poured into her ear. As she had
brought that little child to God, so she would bring others, and she
made her work among the children especially, finding there her best
encouragement and greatest success.

Once when Guy Thornton chanced to be in the city and driving in the
Park, he saw a singular sight--a pair of splendid bays arching their
graceful necks proudly, their silver-tipped harness flashing in the
sunlight, and their beautiful mistress radiant with happiness as she sat
in her large open carriage, not in the midst of gayly dressed friends,
but amid a group of poorly clad, pale-faced little ones, to whom the
Park was a paradise, and she was the presiding angel.

"Look--that's Miss McDonald," Guy's friend said to him, "the greatest
heiress in New York, and I reckon the one who does the most good. Why,
she supports more old people and children and runs more ragged schools
than any half-dozen men in the city, and I don't suppose there's a den
in New York where she has not been, and never once, I'm told, was she
insulted, for the vilest of them stand between her and harm. Once a