But in that day or two of rheumatic pains,
when Molly had been waited upon by the dainty little handmaiden who came
in spotless frocks and trim little black shoes to make her fire and
prepare her tea, Daisy's tenderness and care had completely won Molly's
heart. She was a real angel in that poor house; no vision of one. Molly
welcomed her so, looked at her so, and would perhaps have obeyed her as
readily. But Daisy offered no words that required obedience, except
those she read out of the Book; and Molly listened to them as if it had
been the voice of an angel. She was learning to read herself; really
learning: making advances every day that shewed diligent interest; and
the interest was fed by those words she daily listened to out of the
same book. Daisy had got a large-print Testament for her at Crum Elbow;
and a new life had begun for the cripple. The rose-bush and the
geranium flourished brilliantly, for the frosts had not come yet; and
they were a good setting forth of how things were going in the house.
One lovely October afternoon, when air and sky were a breath and vision
of delight, after a morning spent in dressing and practising, Daisy went
to Molly. She went directly after luncheon. She had given Molly her
lesson; and then Daisy sat with a sober little face, her finger between
the leaves of the Bible, before beginning her accustomed reading. Molly
eyed her wistfully.
"About the crowns and the white dresses," she suggested.
"Shall I read about those?" said Daisy.
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