with paper curtains to keep out sunlight and curious eyes, looked dismal; the weatherboards were unpainted; the little porch broken.  Daisy did not like such things.  But she knocked without a bit of fear or hesitation, notwithstanding all this.  She was charged with work to do; so she felt; it was no matter what she might meet in the discharge of it.  She had her message to carry, and she was full of compassionate love to the creature whose lot in life was so unlike her own.  Daisy went straight on in her business.

Her knock got no answer, and still got none though, it was repeated and made more noticeable.  Not a sign of an answer.  Daisy softly tried the door then to see if it would open.  There was no difficulty in that; she pushed it gently and gently stepped in.

It looked just like what she expected, though Daisy had not got accustomed yet to the conditions of such rooms.  Just now, she hardly saw anything but Molly.  Her eye wandering over the strange place, was presently caught by the cripple, sitting crouching in a corner of the room.  It was all miserably desolate.  The paper shields kept out the light of the sunbeams; and though the place was tolerably clean, it had a close, musty, disagreeable, shut-up smell.  But all Daisy thought of at first was the cripple.  She went a little towards her.

“How do you do, Molly?” her little soft voice said.  Molly looked glum, and spoke never a word.

“I have been waiting to see you,” Daisy said, advancing a step nearer—­“and you did not come out.  I was afraid you were sick.”

One of Molly’s grunts came here.  Daisy could not tell what it meant.

“Are you sick, Molly?”

“It’s me and not you”—­said the cripple morosely.

“O I am sorry!” said Daisy tenderly.  “I want to bring in something for you—­”

She ran away for her basket.  Coming back, she left the door open to let in the sweet air and sun.

“What is the matter with you, Molly?”

The cripple made no answer, not even a grunt; her eyes were fastened on the basket.  Daisy lifted the cover and brought out her cake, wrapped in paper.  As she unwrapped it and came up to Molly, she saw what she had never seen before that minute,—­a smile on the cripple’s grum face.  It was not grum now; it was lighted up with a smile, as her eyes dilated over the cake.

“I’ll have some tea!” she said.

Daisy put the cake on the table and delivered a peach into Molly’s hand.  But she lifted her hand to the table and laid the peach there.

“I’ll have some tea.”

“Are you sick, Molly?” said Daisy again; for in spite of this declaration and in spite of her evident pleasure, Molly did not move.

“I’m aching all through.”

“What is the matter?”

“Aching’s the matter—­rheumatiz.  I’ll have some tea.”

“It’s nice and warm out in the sun,” Daisy suggested.