Molly signified that she would.

“Would you like to have me make it?” said Daisy doubtfully, quite afraid of venturing too far or too fast.  But she need not have been afraid.  Molly only pointed with her finger to a wall cupboard and said as before,—­“In there.”

The way was clear for Daisy, time or no time.  She went to the cupboard.  It was not hard to find the few things which Molly had in constant use.  The tea-pot was there, and a paper of tea.  Daisy made the tea, with a good deal of pleasure and wonder; set it to draw, and brought out Molly’s cup and saucer and plate and knife and spoon.  A little sugar she found too; not much.  She put these things on the low table which was made to fit Molly’s condition.  She could have it before her as she sat on the floor.

“I don’t see any milk for your tea, Molly.”

“Milk? no.  It’s all gone,” said Molly.

“I am sorry.  You’ll have to take your tea without milk then.  Here it is.  I hope it is good.”

Daisy poured out a cup, set the sugar beside it, and cut slices of sponge cake.  She was greatly pleased at being allowed to do it.  Molly took it as a very natural thing, and Daisy sat down to enjoy the occasion a few minutes longer, and also to give such attentions as she could.

“Won’t you have some?” said Molly.

“No, I thank you.  Mamma does not let me drink tea, except when I am sick.”

Molly had discharged her conscience, and gave herself now to her own enjoyment.  One cup of tea was a mere circumstance; Daisy filled and refilled it; Molly swallowed the tea as if cupfuls had been mouthfuls.  It was a subject of question to Daisy whether the poor creature had had any other meal that day; so eager she was, and so difficult to satisfy with the sponge cake.  Slice after slice; and Daisy cut more, and put a tiny fresh pinch of tea into the tea-pot, and waited upon her with inexpressible tenderness and zeal.  Molly exhausted the tea-pot and left but a small remnant of the cake.  Daisy was struck with a sudden fear that she might have been neglected and really want things to eat.  How could she find out?

“Where shall I put this, Molly?” she said, taking the plate with the morsel of cake.  “Where does it go?”

“In there—­” said Molly.

“Here?—­or here?” touching the two doors of the cupboard.

“’Tother one.”

So Daisy opened the other door of the cupboard, just what she wanted to do.  And there she saw indeed some remnants of food, but nothing more than remnants; a piece of dry bread and a cold muffin, with a small bit of boiled pork.  Daisy took but a glance, and came away.  The plate and cup and saucer she set in their place; bid good-bye to Molly, and ran out.

Time indeed!  The sun was sending long slant bright beams against the cottage-windows and over the pony chaise, and the groom had got the pony’s head turned for home, evidently under the impression that Daisy was staying a long time.  A little fearful of consequences if she got home after sundown, Daisy gathered up her reins and signified to Loupe that he was expected to move with some spirit.