The children were called in to dinner, and kept in the house by Mrs. Sandford during the intensest heat of the day.  But when the afternoon was cooling off, or at least growing less oppressive, the two children again sought the shade under the walnut tree, where the gurgle of the water over the stones, and the company of the squirrels in the tree, made the place pleasant.  And there they sat down in a great state of mutual contentment.  Nora’s feet were swinging about for very jollity.  But Daisy sat still.  Perhaps she was tired.  Nevertheless it could not be that which made her little face by and by take on it as profound an expression as if she had been looking over all Methuselah’s years.

“Nora—­” said Daisy, and stopped.

“What?” said Nora, kicking her heels.

“You know that poor old crippled woman—­what did you call her?”

“Molly Skelton?”

“Suppose you were in her place—­what do you think you would wish for?”

“In her place!” said Nora.  “I should wish for everything.”

“Yes, but I mean, things that you could have.”

“I should wish some doctor would come and make me straight, the first thing; and then—­”

“No, Nora, but I mean, things that might be possible, you know.  I do not mean things like a fairy tale.”

“I don’t know,” said Nora.  “I don’t believe Molly Skelton wishes for anything.”

“But what would you wish for, in her place?”

“I should want to be straight, and stand and go about like other people.”

“Yes, Nora, but I say!  I mean, what would you wish for that would not be impossible?”

“Why, Daisy, how funny!  Let me see.  I should wish that somebody would come and be good to me, I think.”

“How?”

“O—­tell me stories and read to me, and take tea with me—­and I don’t know what!”

“Do you suppose nobody ever does take tea with her?” said Daisy, upon whose fancy a new shadow of wretchedness darkened.

“I guess not,” said Nora.  “I don’t believe anybody would.  I guess nobody likes her well enough, she is so bad.”

“Who gets her tea for her then?”

“Why nobody.  She does it herself.”

“How can she?”

“I don’t know.  Marmaduke says she keeps her house clean too, though she only goes about on her hands and knees.”

“Nora,” said Daisy, “that isn’t like the Bible.”

“What isn’t?”

“Don’t you remember what the Bible says? that whatever we would like other people to do to us, we should do so to them.”

“What do you mean, Daisy?”

“I mean just so.”

“But what isn’t like the Bible?”

“Why—­to let that poor old woman go without what we would like if we were in her place.”

“Why Daisy!  Molly Skelton!  The Bible does not mean that we ought to go and make visits to such horrid people as that.”