At the first stir she made, her father and Mrs. Benoit were
instantly at her side. Mr. Randolph bent over her, and asked
tenderly how she felt.
"I feel hot, papa."
"Everybody must do that," said Mr. Randolph. "The breeze has
died away, and the morning is very close."
"Papa, have you been awake all night?"
He stooped down and kissed her.
"You must go home and get some breakfast, and go to sleep,"
Daisy said, looking at him lovingly with her languid eyes.
"Shall I bring you anything from home, Daisy?" he said,
kissing her again.
The child looked a little wistfully, but presently said no;
and Mr. Randolph left her, to do as she had said. Mrs. Benoit
was privately glad to have him out of the way. She brought
water, and bathed Daisy's face and hands, and gave her a
delicate breakfast of orange; and contrived to be a long while
about it all, so as to rest and refresh her as much as
possible. But when it was all done, Daisy was very hot and
weary and in much pain. And the sun was only in the tops of
the trees yet. The black woman stood considering her.
"It will be a hot day, Miss Daisy — and my little lady is
suffering already, when the dew is not dried off the grass.
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