“O Daisy, where are you going?”

“I am going to carry some things for mamma, to a house.”

“All alone?”

“No, Sam is there to take care of me.”

Nora looked back at the black pony, and then at Daisy.  “Isn’t it nice!” she said, with a sort of half-regretful admiration.

“It’s as nice as a fairy tale,” said Daisy.  “I’m just as good as a princess, you know, Nora.  Don’t you want to go, too?  Do come.”

“No, I musn’t—­there are people coming to tea.  Mrs. Linwood, and Charles and Jane—­I wish I could go!  How far is it, Daisy?”

“About five miles.  Down beyond Crum Elbow, a good nice way; but I shan’t go through Crum Elbow.”

“It’s so splendid!” sighed Nora.  “Well, good-bye.  I can’t go.”

On went the pony.  The roads were good and pleasant, leading through farm, fields and here and there a bit of wood, but not much.  It was mostly open country, cultivated by farmers; and the grain fields not yet ripe, and the grass fields not yet mown, looked rich and fair and soft in bright colours to Daisy’s eyes, as the afternoon sun shone across them and tree shadows lay long over the ground.  For trees there were, a great many, growing singly about the fields and fences, and some of them, very large and fine.  Daisy was not so busy with her driving but that she could use her eyes about other things.  Now and then she met a farm wagon, or a labourer going along the road.  The men looked at her curiously and pleasantly, as if they thought it a pretty sight; but once Daisy, passing a couple of men together, overheard one say to the other: 

“It’s Randolph’s folks—­they stick themselves up considerable—­”

The tone of the voice was gruff and coarse, and Daisy marvelled much in her little mind what had displeased the man in her or in “Randolph’s folks.”  She determined to ask her father.  “Stick ourselves up?” said Daisy thoughtfully—­“we never do!”

So she touched the pony, who was falling into a very leisurely way of trotting, and in good time came to Mrs. Parsons’ door.

Daisy went in.  The daughter was busy at some ironing in the outer room; she was a dull, lack-lustre creature, and though she comprehended the gifts that had been brought her, seemed hardly to have life enough to thank the donor. That wasn’t quite like a fairy tale, Daisy thought.  No doubt this poor woman must have things to eat, but there was not much fun in bringing them to her.  Daisy was inclined to wonder how she had ever come to marry anybody with so lively a name as Lark.  But before she got away, Mrs. Lark asked Daisy to go in and see her mother, and Daisy, not knowing how to refuse, went in as requested.

What a change!  Another poor room to be sure, very poor it looked to Daisy; with its strip of rag carpet on the floor, its rush-bottomed chairs, and paper window-shades; and on the bed lay the bed-ridden woman.  But with such a nice pleasant face; eyes so lively and quiet, smile so contented, brow so calm, Daisy wondered if it could be she that must lie there always and never go about again as long as she lived.  It had been a matter of dread to her to see anything so disagreeable; and now it was not disagreeable.  Daisy was fascinated.  Mrs. Lark had withdrawn.