When the
rustle of the breeze among the branches was the only thing
left to hear, beside the dripping of the rain drops shaken
from the leaves, Juanita shut the door, and came to Daisy. The
child was lying white and still, with her eyes closed. Very
white and thin the little face looked, indeed; and under each
eyelid lay a tear glistening, that had forced its way so far
into notice. Juanita said not a word just then; she bustled
about and made herself busy. Not that Juanita's busy ways were
ever bustling in reality; she was too good a nurse for that;
but she had several things to do. The first was to put up a
screen at the foot of Daisy's couch. She lay just a few feet
from the door, and everybody coming to the door, and having it
opened, could look in if he pleased; and so Daisy would have
no privacy at all. That would not do; Juanita's wits went to
work to mend the matter. Her little house had been never
intended for more than one person. There was another room in
it, to be sure, where Mrs. Benoit's own bed was; so that Daisy
could have the use and possession of this outer room all to
herself. Juanita went about her business too noiselessly to
induce even those closed eyelids to open.
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