I don't believe it."
Daisy peeled her peach. It was all she could bear to do. She peeled it
carefully and slowly; there never was a peach so long in paring; for it
was hardly more than finished when they rose from table. She had tried
to taste it too; that was all; the taste never reached her
consciousness. Mrs. Sandford knew better than her husband, and let her
alone.
Daisy could think of nothing now but to watch for the doctor; and to do
it with the most comfort and the best chance she placed herself on the
steps of the piazza, sitting down on the uppermost step. It was a fair
evening; warm and mild; and Mrs. Sandford sitting in her drawing-room
with the windows open was but a few feet from Daisy and could observe
her. She did so very often, with a sorrowful eye. Daisy's attitude
bespoke her intentness; the child's heart was wound up to such a pitch
of expectation that eye and ear were for nothing else. She sat bending
both upon the road by which she looked for the doctor to come; her
little figure did not stir; her head rested slightly on her hand with a
droop that spoke of weariness or of weakness. So she sat looking down
the road, and the sweet October light was all over her and all around
her. Mrs. Sandford watched her, till the light lost its brightness and
grew fair and faint, and then began to grow dim. Daisy sat still, and
Mrs. Sandford looked at her, till a step within the room drew her
attention on that side.
"Why there you are!" said the lady--"come the other way.
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