After tea the doctor took Daisy in his gig and drove her home. The drive
was unmarked by a single thing; except that just as they were passing
the cripple's house Daisy broke silence and asked,
"Is that woman--Molly Skelton--is she very poor, Dr. Sandford?"
"If to live on charity be poor. I do not suppose the neighbours let her
suffer."
"Is she cross to everybody, Dr. Sandford?"
"She has the name of it, I believe, Daisy. I really do not remember
whether she was cross to me or not."
"Then you know her?"
"Yes. I know everybody."
The family at Melbourne were found just taking their late tea as the
doctor and Daisy entered. They were met with complaints of the heat;
though Daisy thought the drawing room was exceeding pleasant, the air
came in at the long windows with such gentle freshness from the river.
The doctor took a cup of tea and declared the day was excellent if you
only rode fifty miles through the heat of it.
"Coolness is coolness, after that," he said.
Daisy sat in a corner and wondered at the people. Hot? and suffocating?
she had no recollection of any such thing all day. How delicious it had
been in that green dell under the walnut tree, with the grey squirrels!
"How has it been with you, Daisy?" said her aunt at last.
"Nice, aunt Gary."
Two or three people smiled; Daisy's favourite word came out with such a
dulcet tone of a smooth and clear spirit. It was a syrup drop of
sweetness in the midst of flat and acid qualities.
"It has been satisfactory, has it?" said her aunt, in a tone which did
not share the character. "Come here, Daisy--I have got something for
you. You know I robbed you a little while ago, and promised to try to
find something to make amends. Now come and see if I have done it.
Preston, fetch that box here."
A neat wooden case of some size was brought by Preston, and set at his
mother's feet. Mrs. Gary unlocked it, and went on to take out of its
enveloping coverings a very elegant French doll; a real empress Eugenie.
The doll's face was even modelled into some likeness to the beauty she
was named after; a diadem sat gracefully on her head, and her robes were
a miniature imitation of royalty, but very exquisitely fashioned.
Everybody exclaimed at the perfection of the beautiful toy, except Daisy
herself, who stood quite still and quiet looking at it. Mrs. Gary had
not done yet. The empress had a wardrobe; and such variety and elegance
and finish of attire of all sorts rarely falls to the lot of a doll. A
very large wardrobe it was, and every article perfectly finished and
well made as if meant for actual wear. Mrs. Gary displayed her present;
Daisy looked on, standing by her father's knee and with one hand resting
on it.
"Have you nothing to say to express your pleasure, Daisy?"--This was
Mrs. Randolph's question.
Daisy at the word pronounced a sober "thank you, aunt Gary." But it was
so very sober and passionless that Mrs. Randolph grew impatient.
"I do not hear you express any pleasure, Daisy," she said meaningly.
Daisy turned her face towards her mother with a doubtful look, and was
silent.
"Speak!" said Mrs. Randolph.
"What, mamma?"
"Whatever you choose, to shew your sense of your aunt's kindness."
"Do not concern yourself, my dear," said her sister. "I am sorry if I
have failed in meeting Daisy's taste--that is all."
"Daisy, speak, or leave the room"--said Mrs. Randolph.
"Mamma," said Daisy, pushed into a corner, "I would speak, but I do not
know what to say."
"Tell your aunt Gary she has given you a great deal of pleasure."
Daisy looked again mutely at her mother, somewhat distressed.
"Tell her so, Daisy!" Mrs. Randolph repeated in a tone of command.
"I cannot, mamma--" the child answered sorrowfully.
"Do you mean to tell your aunt that her exquisite present gives you _no_
pleasure?"
"I did not intend to tell her so," Daisy answered in a low voice.
Another storm rising! Storms seemed to get up very easily in these days.
"My dear," said Mrs. Gary, "do not concern yourself. It is not of the
least consequence, as far as I am concerned. Preston, remove this box.
If Daisy chooses to receive it, perhaps it will find more favour at
another time."
Mrs. Gary got up and moved off.
"Mr. Randolph, I will trouble you to dismiss Daisy," said his wife. "If
she cannot behave properly she cannot be in the room with me."
Daisy was still standing with her hand on her father's knee. The other
little hand came for a moment across her brows and rested there; but she
would not cry; her lip did not even tremble.
"First let me understand," said her father; and he lifted Daisy on his
knee kindly. "Daisy, I never saw you uncivil before."
"Papa, I am very sorry--" said the child.
"Can you explain it?"
"Papa, I would have been civil if I could; but I had nothing to say."
"That is the very place where a person of good manners shews himself
different from a person who has no manners at all. Good manners finds
something to say."
"But, papa, there was nothing _true_."
"The doll gave you no pleasure?"
"No, papa," said Daisy low.
"And you felt no obligation for the thoughtfulness and kindness of your
aunt in getting for you so elegant a present?"
Daisy hesitated and flushed.
"Daisy, answer," said her father gravely.
"No, papa,"--Daisy said low as before.
"Why not?"
"Papa," said Daisy with a good deal of difficulty and hesitation--"that
is all passed--I do not want to say anything more about it."
"About what?"
"About--papa, I do not think mamma would like to have me talk about it."
"Go on, Daisy.--About what?"
"All that trouble we had, papa."
"What I want to know is, why you did not feel grateful for your aunt's
kindness just now, which she had been at some pains to shew you."
"Papa," said Daisy wistfully,--"it was not kindness--it was pay; and I
did not want pay."
"Pay? For what?"
"For my Egyptian spoon, papa."
"I do not understand what you are talking of, Daisy."
"No, papa," said Daisy; so simply shewing her wish that he should not as
well as her knowledge that he did not, that Mr. Randolph could not
forbear smiling.
"But I mean to understand it," he said.
"It was my old Egyptian spoon, papa; the doll was meant to be pay for
that."
A little explanation was necessary in order to bring to Mr. Randolph's
mind the facts Daisy referred to, the spoon itself and the time and
occasion when it was bestowed on her.
"Did you give your Egyptian spoon to your aunt Gary?"
"I said she might have it, papa."
"Unwillingly?"
"No, papa--willingly."
"In exchange for this doll?"
"O no, papa--not in exchange for anything. I did not want any exchange."
"If I remember, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph, "your aunt Gary desired to
have that spoon the very day it was given to you; and I thought you did
not wish she should have it?"
"No, papa--so I didn't."
"Your mind changed afterward?"
"I do not think my mind changed," said Daisy slowly--"but I was willing
she should have it."
"Daisy, this whole affair is a mystery to me yet. In this case, why was
it not kind in your aunt to bestow this French doll upon you? it seems
to me very kind."
"Yes papa--you do not understand."
"Make me understand. Daisy, I command you to tell me all that you have
not told me. You need not think of anything now, except my command."
Daisy did, perhaps; for now her lip quivered slightly; and for a moment
she hid her face in her father's bosom. Mr. Randolph wrapped his arms
round her and stooped his head to hear the story which Daisy was
obliged to give. She gave it fully, and he heard it quite through in
silence. And he made no observation upon it when it was finished; he
only asked her,
"Was there no resentment in your refusal of thanks to your aunt just
now?"
"No, papa"--said Daisy; with too sweet and artless utterance for him to
doubt her.
"But then, Daisy, we come back to the cause of your mother's
displeasure. Good breeding requires that people should not be rude, even
by silence."
"Papa, I did not know how to be polite with truth."
"You could have said you were very much obliged to your aunt."
"But, I was _not_, papa."
"Not obliged to her?"
"No, sir."
"But, Daisy, that is a civil form, of expression which it is usual to
avail oneself of upon such occasions. It does not necessarily mean
much."
"But, papa, would she not have thought I meant it, if I had said so?"
"Very likely. That is the polite advantage gained."
"But papa. _I_ should have known that I did not mean it; and it would
not have been true."
"This is getting to be too deep a question for you to discuss
to-night--it is time for you to go to bed. But I cannot have you rude."
Daisy kissed her father, who had been extremely gentle and tender with
her, and went off to her room. Mr. Randolph's brow looked moody.
"Have you brought Daisy's ideas into order?" asked his wife, who had
been engaged in conversation with Dr. Sandford.
"She has rather brought confusion into mine," said the gentleman.
"What is the matter?"
"Truth and Daisy, versus civility and the world. And it is not easy to
make a child comprehend some of the fine distinctions we are accustomed
to draw. White and black are _very_ white and black, to such eyes, and
no allowance is made for a painter's lights and shades."
"She must make allowance for what your eyes see," said Mrs. Randolph.
Mr. Randolph made no answer.
"Daisy is entirely changed," her mother went on,--"and is become
utterly obstinate and unmanageable. Perfectly self-important too--she
thinks there is no wisdom now but her own. I may thank you for it, Dr.
Sandford."
"You do me too much honour," said the doctor.
"It is an honour you share with Mr. Dinwiddie."
"I did not know I shared anything with Mr. Dinwiddie."
"He has infected the child with a set of perfectly fanatical notions;
and you persisted in keeping her under that creature's care, where they
had time to grow strong."
"I will do all I can to repair mischief done," said the doctor. "Mrs.
Benoit is a good nurse for the body and you will bear me witness it was
for repairs of _that_ I was called in. What is the other damage referred
to?"
"Fanaticism."
"Rather young for that disease to take deep root," said the doctor.
"Anything takes deep root in Daisy; whatever she takes up she holds to."
"I advise you to let her be fanatical then a little while longer," said
the doctor, "till she has time to lay up some strength."
And the doctor took his departure.
"I am sure that is wise counsel, Felicia," Mr. Randolph said. But the
lady made him no answer.
Ransom went off to school the next day, as his father had promised.
Mrs. Randolph looked very gloomy; Mrs. Gary looked not otherwise; and
Daisy thought the mental and social horizon foreboded stormy weather.
But very happily, as it seemed to her, before dinner there was an
arrival of some expected visitors, coming to stay for a time in the
house. They had been desired as well as expected; there was a famous
lady and a learned gentleman among them; and every eye and ear were
taken up with attending to their words or waiting upon their movements.
Daisy and her concerns were, she thought, forgotten.
She enjoyed the feeling of this for a little while; and then ordered her
pony chaise. And presently you might have seen a little figure in a
white frock come out upon the front steps, with a large flat on her head
and driving gloves on her hands and in one of them a little basket. Down
the steps she came and took her place in the chaise and gathered up the
reins. The black pony was ready, with another boy in place of Sam;
nobody interfered with her; and off they went, the wheels of the little
chaise rolling smoothly over the gravel, Loupe in a gentle waddling
trot, and Daisy in a contented state of mind. It was very pleasant!
Clear sunny air, yet not too hot, and the afternoon shadows beginning to
make all things look lovely. Daisy took the way to the church, passed
out upon the high road, and turned the pony's head in the direction
which she had taken with Dr. Sandford the day before. She did not go
quite so fast, however; so that it was a little time before she came in
sight of the poor old house which she recognized as Molly Skelton's.
Daisy drew the reins then and let Loupe walk slowly up a slight ascent
in the road which led to it. But when the chaise was fairly opposite the
house door, Daisy drew the reins still more and brought Loupe to a
stand-still. She peered forth then anxiously to see if the poor old
inmate of the house were to be seen anywhere.
As she looked, the house door opened; and with a very straitened and
touched heart Daisy watched the crippled old creature come from within,
crawl down over the door step, and make her slow way into the little
path before the house. A path of a few yards ran from the road to the
house door, and it was bordered with a rough-looking array of flowers.
Rough-looking, because they were set or had sprung up rather confusedly,
and the path between had no care but was only worn by the feet of
travellers and the hands and knees of the poor inhabitant of the place.
Yet some sort of care was bestowed on the flowers themselves, for no
weeds had been suffered to choke them; and even the encroaching grass
had been removed from trespassing too nearly on their little occupation
of ground. The flowers themselves shot up and grew as they had a mind.
Prince's feather was conspicuous, and some ragged balsams. A few yellow
marigolds made a forlorn attempt to look bright, and one tall sunflower
raised its great head above all the rest; proclaiming the quality of the
little kingdom where it reigned. The poor cripple moved down a few
steps from the house door, and began grubbing with her hands around the
roots of a bunch of balsams.
Daisy looked a minute or two, very still, and then bade the boy hold her
pony; while without troubling herself about his mystification she got
out of the chaise, and basket in hand, opened the wicket and softly went
up the path. The neat little shoes and spotless white dress were close
beside the poor creature grubbing there in the ground before she knew
it, and there they stood still; Daisy was a good deal at a loss how to
speak. She was not immediately perceived; the head of the cripple had a
three-cornered handkerchief thrown over it to defend it from the sun and
she was earnestly grubbing at the roots of her balsam; the earth-stained
fingers and the old brown stuff dress, which was of course dragged along
in the dirt too, made a sad contrast with the spotless freshness of the
little motionless figure that was at her side, almost touching her.
Daisy concluded to wait till she should be seen, and then speak, though
how to speak she did not very well know and she rather dreaded the
moment.
It came, when in throwing her weeds aside a glance of the cripple saw,
instead of stones and grass, two very neat and black and well shaped
little shoes planted there almost within reach of her hand. She drew
herself back from the balsam and looked sideways up, to see what the
shoes belonged to. Daisy saw her face then; it was a bad face; so
disagreeable that she looked away from it instantly to the balsams.
"What are you doing to your flowers?" she asked gently. The gentle
little child voice seemed to astonish the woman, although after an
instant she made surly answer,--
"Whose business is it?"
"Wouldn't it be easier," said Daisy, not looking at her, "if you had
something to help you get the weeds up? Don't you want a fork, or a hoe,
or something?"
"I've got forks," said the cripple sullenly. "I use 'em to eat with."
"No, but I mean, something to help you with the weeds," said
Daisy--"that sort of fork, or a trowel."
The woman spread her brown fingers of both hands, like birds' claws,
covered with the dirt in which she had been digging. "I've got forks
enough," she said savagely--"them's what goes into my weeds. Now go
'long!--"
The last words were uttered with a sudden jerk, and as she spoke them
she plunged her hands into the dirt, and bringing up a double handful
cast it with a spiteful fling upon the neat little black shoes. Woe to
white stockings, if they had been visible; but Daisy's shoes came up
high and tight around her ankle, and the earth thrown upon them fell off
easily again; except only that it lodged in the eyelet holes of the boot
lacing and sifted through a little there, and some had gone as high as
the top of the boot and fell in. Quite enough to make Daisy
uncomfortable, besides that the action half frightened her. She quitted
the ground, went back to her pony chaise without even attempting to do
anything with the contents of her basket. Daisy could go no further with
her feet in this condition. She turned the pony's head and drove back to
Melbourne.