Daisy stood and looked at it. The
sweet half-blown rose at the top of the little tree hung
ingloriously over the soil, and yet looked so lovely and smelt
so sweet; and Daisy had hoped it might win poor Molly
Skelton's favour, or at least begin to open a way for it to
come in due time.
"So ye didn't get your bush planted —" said Logan, coming up.
"No."
"Your hands were not strong enough to make the hole deep for
it, Miss Daisy?"
"Yes, I think they could; but I met with an interruption
yesterday, Logan."
"Weel — it'll just bide here till ye want it."
Daisy wished it was back in its old place again; but she did
not like to say so, and she went slowly back to the house. As
she mounted the piazza steps she heard her father's voice. He
was there before the library windows.
"Come here, Daisy. What are you about?" he said, drawing her
up in his arms.
"Nothing, papa."
"How do you like doing nothing?"
"Papa, I think it is not at all agreeable."
"You do! So I supposed. What were you about yesterday
afternoon?"
"I went to ride with Dr. Sandford."
"Did that occupy the whole afternoon?"
"Oh, no, papa."
"Were you doing nothing the rest of the time?"
"No sir, not _nothing_.
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