"
"Daisy, I wish you would be a little more frank. Have you any
objection to tell me what you were doing?"
"No, papa; — but I did not think it would give you any
pleasure. I was only trying to do something."
"It would give me pleasure to have you tell about it."
"I must tell you more then, papa." And standing with her arm
on her father's shoulder, looking over to the blue mountains
on the other side of the river, Daisy went on.
"There is a poor woman living half a mile from here, papa,
that I saw one day when I was riding with Dr. Sandford. She is
a cripple. Papa, her legs and feet are all bent up under her,
so that she cannot walk at all; her way of moving is by
dragging herself along over the ground on her hands and knees;
her hands and her gown all clown in the dirt."
"That is your idea of extreme misery, is it not, Daisy?"
"Papa, do you not think it is — it must be — very
uncomfortable?"
"Very, I should think."
"But that is not her worst misery. Papa, she is all alone; the
neighbours bring her food, but nobody stops to eat it with
her. She is all alone by night and by day; and she is
disagreeable in her temper, I believe, and she has nobody to
love her and she loves nobody.
Pages:
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596