As she made her escape one way, so did Daisy by another. When Preston
came back from attending Mrs. Sandford to her carriage he could find
nothing of his little co-worker. Daisy was gone.
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.
"You know, he can do everything. He can make you well; and I hope he
will."
"He won't make me well--" said Molly.
"He will make you happy, if you will pray to him."
"Happy!" said Molly; as if it were a yet more impossible thing.
"O yes. Jesus makes everybody happy that loves him. He makes them good
too, Molly; he forgives all their sins that they have done; and in
heaven he will give them white robes to wear, and they will not do wrong
things nor have any pain any more."
One of Molly's grunts came now; she did not understand this or could not
believe. Daisy looked on, pitiful and very much perplexed.
"Molly, you have a great Friend in heaven," said the child; "don't you
know it? Jesus loves you."
"H--n?"--said Molly again.
"Don't you know what he did, for you and me and everybody?"
Molly's head gave sign of ignorance. So Daisy sat down and told her.
She told her the story at length; she painted the love of the few
disciples, the enmity of the world, the things that infinite tenderness
had done and borne for those who hated goodness and would not obey God.
Molly listened, and Daisy talked; bow, she did not know nor Molly
neither; but the good news was told in that poor little house; the
unspeakable gift was made known. Seeing Molly's fixed eyes and rapt
attention, Daisy went on at length and told all. The cripple's gaze
never stirred all the while, nor stirred when the story came to an end.
She still stared at Daisy. Well she might.
"Now Molly," said the child, "I have got a message for you."
"H--n?" said Molly, more softly.
"It is from the Lord Jesus. It is in his book. It is a message. The
message is, that if you will believe in him and be his child, he will
forgive you and love you; and then you will go to be with him in
heaven."
"Me?" said Molly.
"Yes," said Daisy, nodding her little head with her eyes full of tears.
"Yes, you will. Jesus will take you there, and you will wear a white
robe and a crown of gold, and be with him."
Daisy paused, and Molly looked at her. How much of the truth got fair
entrance into her mind, Daisy could not tell. But after a few minutes of
pause, seeing that Daisy's lips did not open, Molly opened hers and bade
her "Go on."
"I am afraid I haven't time to-day," said Daisy. "I'll bring my book
next time and read you the words. Can you read, Molly?"
"Read? no!"--
Whether Molly knew what reading was, may be questioned.
"Molly," said Daisy lowering her tone in her eagerness,--"would you
like to learn to read yourself?--then, when I am not here, you could see
it all in the book. Wouldn't you like it?"
"Where's books?" said the cripple.
"I will bring the book. And now I must go."
For Daisy knew that a good while had passed; she did not know how long
it was. Before going, however, she went to see about the fire in the
stove. It was burnt down to a few coals; and the kettle was boiling.
Daisy could not leave it so. She fetched more wood and put in, with a
little more kindling; and then, leaving it all right, she was going to
bid Molly good-bye, when she saw that the poor cripple's head had sunk
down on her arms. She looked in that position so forlorn, so lonely and
miserable, that Daisy's heart misgave her. She drew near.
"Molly--" said her sweet little voice, "would you like your tea now? the
water is boiling."
Molly signified that she would.
"Would you like to have me make it?" said Daisy doubtfully, quite afraid
of venturing too far or too fast. But she need not have been afraid.
Molly only pointed with her finger to a wall cupboard and said as
before,--"In there."
The way was clear for Daisy, time or no time. She went to the cupboard.
It was not hard to find the few things which Molly had in constant use.
The tea-pot was there, and a paper of tea. Daisy made the tea, with a
good deal of pleasure and wonder; set it to draw, and brought out
Molly's cup and saucer and plate and knife and spoon. A little sugar she
found too; not much. She put these things on the low table which was
made to fit Molly's condition. She could have it before her as she sat
on the floor.
"I don't see any milk for your tea, Molly."
"Milk? no. It's all gone," said Molly.
"I am sorry. You'll have to take your tea without milk then. Here it is.
I hope it is good."
Daisy poured out a cup, set the sugar beside it, and cut slices of
sponge cake. She was greatly pleased at being allowed to do it. Molly
took it as a very natural thing, and Daisy sat down to enjoy the
occasion a few minutes longer, and also to give such attentions as she
could.
"Won't you have some?" said Molly.
"No, I thank you. Mamma does not let me drink tea, except when I am
sick."
Molly had discharged her conscience, and gave herself now to her own
enjoyment. One cup of tea was a mere circumstance; Daisy filled and
refilled it; Molly swallowed the tea as if cupfuls had been mouthfuls.
It was a subject of question to Daisy whether the poor creature had had
any other meal that day; so eager she was, and so difficult to satisfy
with the sponge cake. Slice after slice; and Daisy cut more, and put a
tiny fresh pinch of tea into the tea-pot, and waited upon her with
inexpressible tenderness and zeal. Molly exhausted the tea-pot and left
but a small remnant of the cake. Daisy was struck with a sudden fear
that she might have been neglected and really want things to eat. How
could she find out?
"Where shall I put this, Molly?" she said, taking the plate with the
morsel of cake. "Where does it go?"
"In there--" said Molly.
"Here?--or here?" touching the two doors of the cupboard.
"'Tother one."
So Daisy opened the other door of the cupboard, just what she wanted to
do. And there she saw indeed some remnants of food, but nothing more
than remnants; a piece of dry bread and a cold muffin, with a small bit
of boiled pork. Daisy took but a glance, and came away. The plate and
cup and saucer she set in their place; bid good-bye to Molly, and ran
out.
Time indeed! The sun was sending long slant bright beams against the
cottage-windows and over the pony chaise, and the groom had got the
pony's head turned for home, evidently under the impression that Daisy
was staying a long time. A little fearful of consequences if she got
home after sundown, Daisy gathered up her reins and signified to Loupe
that he was expected to move with some spirit.
But Daisy was very happy. She was thoroughly at home now with Molly; she
was fairly admitted within the house and welcome there; and already she
had given comfort. She had almost done as Nora said; as near as possible
she had taken tea with Molly. Besides, Daisy had found out what more to
do for her. She thought of that poor cupboard with mixed feelings; not
pity only; for next day she would bring supplies that were really
needed. Some nice bread and butter--Daisy had seen no sign of
butter,--and some meat. Molly needed a friend to look after her wants,
and Daisy now had the freedom of the house and could do it; and joyfully
she resolved that she would do it, so long as her own stay at Melbourne
should be prolonged. What if her getting home late should bring on a
command that would put a stop to all this!
But nobody was on the piazza or in the library when she got home. Daisy
went safely to her own room. There was June all ready to dress her; and
making good speed, that business was finished and Daisy ready to go down
to the dinner-table at the usual time.