In all haste and with a little self-reproach for having forgotten it, she had ordered her pony1 chaise; and then examined into the condition of her stores. The sponge cake was somewhat dry; the sickle2 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 culled3 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 ragged4 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 inviting5. The little windows, lined with paper curtains to keep out sunlight and curious eyes, looked dismal6; the weatherboards were unpainted; the little porch broken. Daisy did not like such things. But she knocked without a bit of fear or hesitation7, 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 compassionate9 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 crouching10 in a corner of the room. It was all miserably11 desolate12. 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 glum13, and spoke14 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 grunts16 came here. Daisy could not tell what it meant.
"Are you sick, Molly?"
"It's me and not you"—said the cripple morosely17.
"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 grunt15; 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 dilated18 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 groom19 to make a fire; but reflected that would be a hazardous20 proceeding21. 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 compassion8 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 kindling22? 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 liking23 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 kindled24 and began immediately to warm up the little stove. Daisy took the kettle and went into the same lumber25 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 triumphant26 and set the tea-kettle on the stove.
"I am very sorry you are sick, Molly," said Daisy anew.
Molly only grunted27; 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 perplexed28.
"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 disciples29, 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 fixed30 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 miserable31, that Daisy's heart misgave32 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 pointed33 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 enjoyment34. One cup of tea was a mere35 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 zeal36. Molly exhausted37 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 morsel38 of cake. "Where does it go?"
"In there—" said Molly.
"Here?—or here?" touching39 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 slant40 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 reins41 and signified to Loupe that he was expected to move with some spirit.
But Daisy was very happy. She was thoroughly42 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 joyfully43 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 piazza44 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.
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1
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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culled
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| v.挑选，剔除( cull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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7
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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9
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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27
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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misgave
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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41
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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42
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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43
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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44
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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