As
the gig was very slowly going past, Daisy uttered an exclamation, the
first word she had uttered in a long while.
"O Dr. Sandford!--what is that? Something is the matter!"
"No," said the doctor coolly, "nothing is the matter--more than usual."
"But a woman was on her hands and knees on the ground? wasn't it a
woman?"
"Yes. She cannot move about in any other way. She is a cripple."
"She cannot stand up?" said Daisy, looking distressed and horrified.
"No. She has no use of her lower limbs. She is accustomed, to it, Daisy;
she never had the use of them, or never for a very long while."
"Is she _old_?"
"Pretty old, I fancy. But she does not know her age herself, and nobody
else knows it."
"Has she got nice people to take care of her?"
The doctor smiled at the earnest little face. "She has nobody."
"No one to take care of her?" said Daisy.
"No. She lives there alone."
"But, Dr. Sandford, how does she do--how does she manage?"
"In some way that would be difficult for you and me to understand, I
suppose--like the ways of the beavers and wasps."
"I can understand _those_" said Daisy, "they were made to get along as
they do; they have got all they want."
Daisy was silent, musing, for a little time; then she broke out again.
"Isn't she very miserable, Dr. Sandford?"
"She is a very crabbed old thing, so the inference is fair that she is
miserable. In fact, I do not see how she can avoid it."
Daisy pondered perhaps this misery which she could so little imagine;
however she let the subject drop as to any more words about it.
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