She wanted first of all to see
Daisy in bed; but it seemed hopeless to speak to her; and
there the little round head lay on the window-sill, and the
moonbeams poured in lovingly over it. June stood still and
never stirred.
It was a long while before Daisy's sobs began to grow fainter,
and June ventured to put in her word, and got Daisy to lay
herself on the bed again. Then June went off after another
sort of medicine of her own devising, despising the drops
which Mr. Randolph had given her. Without making a confidant
of the housekeeper, she contrived to get from her the
materials to make Daisy a cup of arrowroot, with wine and
spices. June knew well how to be a cook when she pleased; and
what she brought to Daisy was, she knew, as good as a cook
could make it.
She found the child lying white and still on the bed, and not
asleep, nor dead, which June had almost feared at first sight
of her. She didn't want the arrowroot, she said.
"Miss Daisy, s'pose you take it?" said June. "It won't do you
no hurt — maybe it'll put you to sleep."
Daisy was perhaps too weak to resist. She rose half up and eat
the arrowroot, slowly, and without a word. It did put a little
strength into her, as June had said.
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