determined to put into action. So next evening, when the little girl was
brought in after our supper, I begged that she might be put down on the
fur before the fire, to play with me, and I watched my opportunity. Mr.
Stewart was reading by the candles on the table. Save for the singing of
the kettle on the crane--for the mixing of his night-drink later on--and
the click of my aunt's knitting-needles, there was perfect silence. I
mustered my bravery, and called my wee playmate "Daisy."

I dared not look at the master, and could not tell if he had heard or not.
Presently I spoke the name again, and this time ventured to steal an
apprehensive glance at him, and fancied I saw the workings of a smile
repressed in the deep lines about his mouth. "A Dutchman for obstinacy"
truly, since two days afterward Mr. Stewart himself called the girl
"Daisy"--and there was an end of it. Until confirmation time, when she
played a queenly part at the head of the little class of farmers' and
villagers' daughters whom Dominie Romeyn baptized into full communion,
the ponderous Latin name was never heard of again. Then it indeed emerged
for but a single day, to dignify a state occasion, and disappeared
forever. Except alone on the confirmation register of the Stone Church at
Caughnawaga, she was Daisy thenceforth for all time and to all men.

The winter of 1757-58 is still spoken of by us old people as a season of
great severity and consequent privation. The snow was drifted over the
roads up to the first branches of the trees, yet rarely formed a good
crust upon which one could move with snow-shoes. Hence the outlying
settlements, like Cherry Valley and Tribes Hill, had hard work to
get food.

I do not remember that our household stood in any such need, but
occasionally some Indian who had been across the hills carrying venison