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.
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