In all haste and with a little self-reproach for having forgotten it, she had ordered her pony chaise; and then examined into the condition of her stores. The sponge cake was somewhat dry; the sickle pears wanted looking over. Part of them were past ripe. Indeed so many of them, that Daisy found her basket was no longer properly full, when these were culled out. She went to Joanna. Miss Underwood, soon made that all right with some nice late peaches; and Daisy thought with herself that sponge cake was very good a little dry and would probably not find severe criticism at Molly\'s house. She got away without encountering her cousin, much to her satisfaction.
Molly was not in her garden. That had happened before. Daisy went in, looked at the flowers, and waited. The rose tree was flourishing; the geranium was looking splendid; with nothing around either of them that in the least suited their neighbourhood. So Daisy thought. If all the other plants—the ragged balsams and "creeping Charley" and the rest—could have been rooted up, then the geranium, and the rose would have shewn well together. However, Molly did not doubtless feel this want of suitability; to her the tall sunflower was no question a treasure and a beautiful plant. Would Molly come out!
It seemed as if she would not. No stir, and the closed house door looking forbidding and unhopeful. Daisy waited, and waited, and walked up and down the bit of a path, from the gate quite to the house door; in hopes that the sound of her feet upon the walk might be heard within. Daisy\'s feet did not make much noise; but however that were, there was no stir of a sound anywhere else. Daisy was patient; not the less the afternoon was passing away and pretty far gone already, and it was the first of October now. The light did not last as long as it did a few months ago. Daisy was late. She must go soon, if she did not see Molly; and to go without seeing her was no part of Daisy\'s plan. Perhaps Molly was sick. At any rate, the child\'s footsteps paused at the door of the poor little house, and her fingers knocked. She had never been inside of it yet, and what she saw of the outside was not in the least inviting. The little windows, lined with paper curtains to keep out sunlight and curious eyes, looked dismal; the weatherboards were unpainted; the little porch broken. Daisy did not like such things. But she knocked without a bit of fear or hesitation, notwithstanding all this. She was charged with work to do; so she felt; it was no matter what she might meet in the discharge of it. She had her message to carry, and she was full of compassionate love to the creature whose lot in life was so unlike her own. Daisy went straight on in her business.
Her knock got no answer, and still got none though, it was repeated and made more noticeable. Not a sign of an answer. Daisy softly tried the door then to see if it would open. There was no difficulty in that; she pushed it gently and gently stepped in.
It looked just like what she expected, though Daisy had not got accustomed yet to the conditions of such rooms. Just now, she hardly saw anything but Molly. Her eye wandering over the strange place, was presently caught by the cripple, sitting crouching in a corner of the room. It was all miserably desolate. The paper shields kept out the light of the sunbeams; and though the place was tolerably clean, it had a close, musty, disagreeable, shut-up smell. But all Daisy thought of at first was the cripple. She went a little towards her.
"How do you do, Molly?" her little soft voice said. Molly looked glum, and spoke never a word.
"I have been waiting to see you," Daisy said, advancing a step nearer—"and you did not come out. I was afraid you were sick."
One of Molly\'s grunts came here. Daisy could not tell what it meant.
"Are you sick, Molly?"
"It\'s me and not you"—said the cripple morosely.
"O I am sorry!" said Daisy tenderly. "I want to bring in something for you—"
She ran away for her basket. Coming back, she left the door open to let in the sweet air and sun.
"What is the matter with you, Molly?"
The cripple made no answer, not even a grunt; her eyes were fastened on the basket. Daisy lifted the cover and brought out her cake, wrapped in paper. As she unwrapped it and came up to Molly, she saw what she had never seen before that minute,—a smile on the cripple\'s grum face. It was not grum now; it was lighted up with a smile, as her eyes dilated over the cake.
"I\'ll have some tea!" she said.
Daisy put the cake on the table and delivered a peach into Molly\'s hand.
But she lifted her hand to the table and laid the peach there.
"I\'ll have some tea."
"Are you sick, Molly?" said Daisy again; for in spite of this declaration and in spite of her evident pleasure, Molly did not move.
"I\'m aching all through."
"What is the matter?"
"Aching\'s the matter—rheumatiz. I\'ll have some tea."
"It\'s nice and warm out in the sun," Daisy suggested.
"Can\'t get there," said Molly. "Can\'t stir. I\'m all aches all over."
"How can you get tea, then, Molly? Your fire is quite out."
"Ache and get it—" said the cripple grumly.
Daisy could not stand that. She at first thought of calling her groom to make a fire; but reflected that would be a hazardous proceeding. Molly perhaps, and most probably, would not allow it. If she would allow her, it would be a great step gained. Daisy\'s heart was so fall of compassion she could not but try. There was a little bit of an iron stove in the room, and a tea-kettle, small to match, stood upon it; both cold of course.
"Where is there some wood, Molly?" said Daisy over the stove;—"some wood and kindling? I\'ll try if I can make the fire for you, if you will let me, please."
"In there—" said the cripple pointing.
Daisy looked, and saw nothing but an inner door. Not liking to multiply questions, for fear of Molly\'s patience, she ventured to open the door. There was a sort of shed room, where Daisy found stores of everything she wanted. Evidently the neighbours provided so far for the poor creature, who could not provide for herself. Kindling was there in plenty, and small wood stacked. Daisy got her arms fall and came back to the stove. By using her eyes carefully she found the matches without asking anything, and made the fire, slowly but nicely; Molly meanwhile having reached up for her despised peach was making her teeth meet in it with no evidence of disapprobation. The fire snapped and kindled and began immediately to warm up the little stove. Daisy took the kettle and went into the same lumber shed to look for water. But though an empty tin pail stood there, the water in it was no more than a spoonful. Nothing else held any. Daisy looked out. A worn path in the grass shewed the way to the place where Molly filled her water pail—a, little basin of a spring at some distance from the house. Daisy followed the path to the spring, filled her pail and then her kettle, wondering much how Molly ever could crawl to the place in rainy weather; and then she came in triumphant and set the tea-kettle on the stove.
"I am very sorry you are sick, Molly," said Daisy anew.
Molly only grunted; but she had finished her peach and sat there licking her fingers.
"Would you like to see Dr. Sandford? I could tell him."
"No!"—said the poor thing decidedly.
"I\'ll pray to the Lord Jesus to make you well."
"Humph?"—said Molly, questioning.
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