Sam knew little; he believed Mr.
Randolph was better, he said; but his tone of voice was not
very encouraging, and Daisy drove off to Juanita's cottage.
There was one person, she knew, who could feel with her; and
she went with a sort of eagerness up the grassy pathway from
the road to the cottage door, to get that sympathy.
Juanita was within, busy at some ironing. The work fell from
her hands, and the iron was set down with an expression of
pleasure as she saw Daisy come in. The next minute her tone
changed and her look.
"What ails my love?"
"Juanita —" said Daisy, standing still and pale by the ironing
table, — "haven't you heard? Papa —"
"What, Miss Daisy?"
"Papa — he was knocked off his horse yesterday — and they
won't let me see _him!_"
So far Daisy's power of composure went, and no further. With
that last word her voice failed. She threw her arms around
Juanita, and hiding her face in her gown, burst into such
tears as Daisy rarely shed at all; very rarely under any one's
observation. Juanita, very much startled, sat down and drew
the child into her arms, so far as she could; for Daisy had
sunk on her knees, and with her face in Juanita's lap was
weeping all her heart out.
Pages:
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762