Daisy drove on, very happy and thankful, till the little
hill was gained, and slowly walking up it Loupe stopped,
nothing loth, before the gate of Molly Skelton's courtyard.
A little bit of hesitation came over Daisy now, not about what
was to be done, but how to do it. The cripple was in her
flowery bit of ground, grubbing around her balsams as usual.
The clear afternoon sunbeams shone all over what seemed to
Daisy all distressing together. The ragged balsams — the
coarse bloom of prince's feather and cockscomb — some
straggling tufts of ribband grass and four-o'clocks and
marigolds — and the great sunflower nodding its head on high
over all; while weeds were only kept away from the very growth
of the flowers and started up everywhere else, and grass grew
irregularly where grass should not; and in the midst of it all
the poor cripple on her hands and knees in the dirt, more
uncared-for, more unseemly and unlovely than her little plot
of weeds and flowers. Daisy looked at her, with a new tide of
tenderness flowing up in her heart, along with the doubt how
her mission should be executed or how it would be received;
then she gave up her reins, took the rose-tree in her hands,
and softly opened the little wicket gate.
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