“What you going to do?” said Molly.

“I’ll bring them back,” said Daisy.  “I will be ready directly.  The water is not boiling yet.”

For she saw that Molly was jealously eager for the hoped-for cup of tea.  She carried the things out into the shed, and there looked in vain for any dish or vessel to wash them in.  How could it be that Molly managed?  Daisy was fain to fetch a little bowl of water and wash the crockery with her fingers, and then fetch another bowl of water to rinse it.  There was no napkin to be seen.  She left the things to drain as they could, and went to the spring to wash her own fingers; rejoicing in the purifying properties of the sweet element.  All this took some time, but Daisy carried in her clean dishes with a satisfied heart.

“It’s bi’lin’,—­” said Molly as soon as she entered.

So the little kettle was.  Daisy made tea, and prepared Molly’s table with a little piece of butter and the bottle of milk.  And no little girl making an entertainment for herself with tiny china cups and tea-set, ever had such satisfaction in it.  Twenty dinners at home could not have given Daisy so much pleasure, as she had now to see the poor cripple look at her unwonted luxuries and then to see her taste them.  Yet Molly said almost nothing; but the grunt of new expression with which she set down the bottle of milk the first time, went all through and through Daisy’s heart with delight.  Molly drank tea and spread her bread with butter, and Daisy noticed her turning over her slice of bread to examine the texture of it; and a quieter, soothed, less miserable look, spread itself over her wrinkled features.  They were not wrinkled with age; yet it was a lined and seamed face generally, from the working of unhappy and morose feelings.

“Ain’t it good!—­” was Molly’s single word of comment as she finished her meal.  Then she sat back and watched Daisy putting all the things nicely away.  She looked hard at her.

“What you fetch them things here for?” she broke out suddenly.  “H—­n?”

The grunt with which her question concluded was so earnest in its demand of an answer, that Daisy stopped.

“Why I like to do it, Molly,” she said.  Then seeing the intent eyes with which the poor creature was examining her, Daisy added,—­“I like to do it; because Jesus loves you.”

“H—­n?”—­said Molly, very much at a loss what this might mean, and very eager to know.  Daisy stood still, with the bread in her hands.

“Don’t you know, Molly?” she said.  “He does.  It is Jesus, that I told you about.  He loves you, and he came and died for you, that he might make you good and save you from your sins; and he loves you now, up in heaven.”

“What’s that?” said Molly.

“Heaven? that is where God lives, and the angels, and good people.”

“There ain’t none,” said Molly.

“What?”

“There ain’t no good people.”