“Mrs. Randolph didn’t say anything to me about it,” said this piece of capability,—­“but I suppose it isn’t hard to manage.  Who is Mrs. Parsons? that’s the first thing.”

“She’s a very poor old woman, Joanna; and she is obliged to keep her bed always; there is something the matter with her.  She lives with a daughter of hers who takes care of her, I believe; but they haven’t much to live upon, and the daughter isn’t smart.  Mrs. Parsons hasn’t anything fit for her to eat, unless somebody sends it to her.”

“What’s the matter with her? ain’t she going to get well?”

“No, never—­she will always be obliged to lie on her bed as long as she lives; and so, you see, Joanna, she hasn’t appetite for coarse things.”

“Humph!” said Joanna.  “Custards won’t give it to her.  What does the daughter live upon?”

“She does washing for people; but of course that don’t give her much.  They are very poor, I know.”

“Well, what would you like to take her, Miss Daisy?”

“Mother said you’d know.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I think—­sweetmeats ain’t good for such folks.  You wait till afternoon, and you shall have a pail of nice broth and a bowl of arrowroot with wine and sugar in it; that’ll hearten her up.  Will that do?”

“But I should like to take something to the other poor woman, too.”

“How are you going?”

“In my pony-chaise—­I can take anything.”

Joanna muttered an ejaculation.  “Well then, Miss Daisy, a basket of cold meat wouldn’t come amiss, I suppose.”

“And some bread, Joanna?”

“The chaise won’t hold so much.”

“It has got to hold the basket,” said Daisy in much glee, “and the bread can go in.  And, Joanna, I’ll have it ready at half-past four o’clock.”

There was no air of moping about Daisy, when, at half-past four she set off from the house in her pony-chaise, laden with pail and basket and all she had bargained for.  A happier child was seldom seen.  Sam, a capable black boy, was behind her on a pony not too large to shame her own diminutive equipage; and Loupe, a good-sized Shetland pony, was very able for more than his little mistress was going to ask of him.  Her father looked on, pleased, to see her departure; and when she had gathered up her reins, leaned over her and gave her with his kiss a little gold piece to go with the pail and basket.  It crowned Daisy’s satisfaction; with a quiet glad look and word of thanks to her father, she drove off.

[Illustration:  Loupe.]

The pony waddled along nicely, but as his legs were none of the longest, their rate of travelling was not precisely of the quickest.  Daisy was not impatient.  The afternoon was splendid, the dust had been laid by late rains, and Daisy looked at her pail and basket with great contentment.  Before she had gone a quarter of a mile from home, she met her little friend of the wintergreens.  Nora sprang across the road to the chaise.