She went up the path
and stood beside the cripple, who hearing the gate shut had
risen from her grubbing in the earth and sat back looking at
who was coming. Daisy went on without hesitation now. She had
prayed out all her prayer about it before setting out from
home.
"I have brought you a rose-bush," she said simply. "Do you
like roses? this is very sweet. I thought maybe you would like
a rose. Where would you like to have it go?"
The answer was a very strange sort of questioning grunt —
inarticulate — nevertheless expressive of rude wonder and
incredulity, as far as it expressed anything. And Molly
stared.
"Where shall I put this rose-tree?" said Daisy. "Where would
it look prettiest? May I put it here, by these balsams?"
No answer in words; but instead of a sign of assent, the
cripple after looking a moment longer at Daisy and the rose-
tree, put her hand beyond the balsams and grubbed up a tuft of
what the country people call "creepin' Charley;" and then
sitting back as before, signified to Daisy by a movement of
her hand that the rose-bush might go in that place. That was
all Daisy wanted. She fell to work with her trowel, glad
enough to be permitted, and dug a hole, with great pains and
some trouble; for the soil was hard as soon as she got a
little below the surface.
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