About half a mile
from the church, Daisy's attention was drawn by one of these
poor houses. It was very small, unpainted and dreary-looking,
having a narrow court-yard between it and the road. As the gig
was very slowly going past, Daisy uttered an exclamation, the
first word she had uttered in a long while.
"Oh, Dr. Sandford! — what is that? Something is the matter!"
"No," said the doctor coolly, "nothing is the matter — more
than usual."
"But a woman was on her hands and knees on the ground? Wasn't
it a woman?"
"Yes. She cannot move about in any other way. She is a
cripple."
"She cannot stand up?" said Daisy, looking distressed and
horrified.
"No. She has no use of her lower limbs. She is accustomed to
it, Daisy; she never had the use of them, or never for a very
long while."
"Is she _old?_"
"Pretty old, I fancy. But she does not know her age herself,
and nobody else knows it."
"Has she got nice people to take care of her?"
The doctor smiled at the earnest little face. "She has
nobody."
"No one to take care of her?" said Daisy.
"No. She lives there alone."
"But, Dr. Sandford, how does she do — how does she manage?"
"In some way that would be difficult for you and me to
understand, I suppose — like the ways of the beavers and
wasps.
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