grass should not; and in the midst of it all the poor cripple on her hands and knees in the dirt, more uncared-for, more unseemly and unlovely than her little plot of weeds and flowers.  Daisy looked at her, with a new tide of tenderness flowing up in her heart, along with the doubt how her mission should be executed or how it would be received; then she gave up her reins, took the rose-tree in her hands, and softly opened the little wicket gate.  She went up the path and stood beside the cripple, who hearing the gate shut had risen from her grubbing in the earth and sat back looking at who was coming.  Daisy went on without hesitation now.  She had prayed out all her prayer about it before setting out from home.

“I have brought you a rose-bush,” she said simply.  “Do you like roses? this is very sweet.  I thought maybe you would like a rose.  Where would you like to have it go?”

The answer was a very strange sort of questioning grunt—­inarticulate—­nevertheless expressive of rude wonder and incredulity, as far as it expressed anything.  And Molly stared.

“Where shall I put this rose-tree?” said Daisy.  “Where would it look prettiest?  May I put it here, by these balsams?”

No answer in words; but instead of a sign of assent, the cripple after looking a moment longer at Daisy and the rose-tree, put her hand beyond the balsams and grubbed up a tuft of what the country people call “creepin’ Charley;” and then sitting back as before, signified to Daisy by a movement of her hand that the rose-bush might go in that place.  That was all Daisy wanted.  She fell to work with her trowel, glad enough to be permitted, and dug a hole, with great pains and some trouble; for the soil was hard as soon as she got a little below the surface.  But with great diligence Daisy worked and scooped, till by repeated trials she found she had the hole deep enough and large enough; and then she tenderly set the roots of the rose-tree in the prepared place and shook fine soil over them, as Logan had told her; pressing it down from time to time, until the job was finished and the little tree stood securely planted.  A great feat accomplished.  Daisy stayed not, but ran off to the road for the watering pot, and bringing it with some difficulty to the spot without soiling herself, she gave the rose-bush a thorough watering; watered it till she was sure the refreshment had penetrated down to the very roots.  All the while the cripple sat back gazing at her; gazing alternately at the rose-bush and the planting, and at the white delicate frock the child wore and the daintily neat shoes and stockings, and the handsome flat hat with its costly riband.  I think the view of these latter things must in some degree have neutralized the effect of the sweet rose looking at her from the top of the little bush; because Molly on the whole was not gracious.  Daisy had finished her work and set down her empty watering pot, and was looking with great satisfaction at the little rose-bush; which was somewhat closely neighboured by a ragged bunch of four-o’clocks on one side and the overgrown balsams on the other; when Molly said suddenly and gruffly,