Melbourne House Part 103

"And the Bible, papa?"

"You are quite growing an old woman a good while before the time."

Daisy kissed him with good childlike kisses, laying her little head in his neck and clasping her arms around him; for all that, her heart was busy yet.

"Papa," she said, "what do you think is right for me to do?"

"Thinking exhausts me, Daisy. It is too hot to-day for such an exercise."

Daisy drew back and looked at him, with one hand resting on his shoulder. She did not dare urge any more in words; her look spoke her anxious, disappointed questioning of her father's meaning. Perhaps he did not care to meet such a gaze of inquiry, for he pulled her down again in his arms.

"I do not want you to be an old woman."

"But, papa ? that is not the thing."

"I will not have it, Daisy."

"Papa," she said with a small laugh, "what shall I do to help it? I do not know how I came to be an old woman?"

"Go off and play with Nora Dinwiddie. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, papa ? except my hat and gloves."

"Do not think any more to-day. I will think for you by and by.

But, Daisy, why should you and I set ourselves up to be better than other people?"

"How, papa?"

"Do you know anybody else that lives up to your views on the subject of thanksgiving?"

"Oh, yes, papa."

"Who?"

Daisy softly said, "Juanita does, papa, I think."

"A poor ignorant woman, Daisy, and very likely full of superst.i.tions. Her race often are."

"What is a superst.i.tion, papa?"

"A religious notion which has no foundation in truth."

"Then papa, can it be superst.i.tion to do just what G.o.d tells us to do?"

"You are too deep for me, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph, languidly. "Go and get ready for Dr. Sandford. He will be here presently."

So Daisy went, feeling very uncertain of the result of her talk, but doubtful and discouraged. Mr. Randolph had a book in hand when she returned to the library: she could not speak to him any more; and soon indeed the doctor came, helped her into his gig, and drove off with her.

Now it was pleasant. The fine gravelled roads in the grounds of Melbourne were in beautiful order after the rain; no dust rose yet, and all the trees and flowers were in a refreshed state of life and sweetness. Truly it was a very hot day, but Daisy found nothing amiss. Neither, apparently, did the doctor's good horse. He trotted along without seeming to mind the sun; and Daisy in a good deal of glee enjoyed everything.

It was private glee ? in her own mind; she did not offer any conversation; and the doctor, of Mr. Randolph's mind, perhaps, that it was a warm day, threw himself back in his seat and watched her lazily. Daisy on the contrary sat up and looked busily out. They drove in the first place for a good distance through her own home grounds, coming out to the public road by the church where Mr. Pyne preached, and near which the wintergreens grew. It looked beautiful this morning, with its ivy all washed and fresh from the rain. Indeed all nature was in a sort of glittering condition. When they came out on the public way it was still beautiful; no dust, and fields and gra.s.s and trees all shining.

The road they travelled now was one scarce known to Daisy; the carriages from Melbourne never went that way; another was always chosen at the beginning of all their excursions whether of business or pleasure. No gentlemen's seats were to be seen; an occasional farmhouse stood in the midst of its crops and meadows; and more frequently a yet poorer sort of house stood close by the roadside. The road in this place was sometimes rough, and the doctor's good horse left his trot and picked his way slowly along, giving Daisy by this means an opportunity to inspect everything more closely. There was often little pleasure in the inspection. About half a mile from the church, Daisy's attention was drawn by one of these poor houses. It was very small, unpainted and dreary-looking, having a narrow court-yard between it and the road. As the gig was very slowly going past, Daisy uttered an exclamation, the first word she had uttered in a long while.

"Oh, Dr. Sandford! ? what is that? Something is the matter!"

"No," said the doctor coolly, "nothing is the matter ? more than usual."

"But a woman was on her hands and knees on the ground? Wasn't it a woman?"

"Yes. She cannot move about in any other way. She is a cripple."

"She cannot stand up?" said Daisy, looking distressed and horrified.

"No. She has no use of her lower limbs. She is accustomed to it, Daisy; she never had the use of them, or never for a very long while."

"Is she _old?_"

"Pretty old, I fancy. But she does not know her age herself, and n.o.body else knows it."

"Has she got nice people to take care of her?"

The doctor smiled at the earnest little face. "She has n.o.body."

"No one to take care of her?" said Daisy.

"No. She lives there alone."

"But, Dr. Sandford, how does she do ? how does she manage?"

"In some way that would be difficult for you and me to understand, I suppose ? like the ways of the beavers and wasps."

"I can understand those," said Daisy, "they were made to get along as they do; they have got all they want."

Daisy was silent, musing, for a little time; then she broke out again.

"Isn't she very miserable, Dr. Sandford?"

"She is a very crabbed old thing, so the inference is fair that she is miserable. In fact, I do not see how she can avoid it."

Daisy pondered perhaps this misery which she could so little imagine; however, she let the subject drop as to any more words about it. She was only what the doctor called "quaintly sober," all the rest of the way.

"Why, she looks child-like and bright enough now," said Mrs.

Sandford, to whom he made the remark.

Daisy and Nora were exchanging mutual gratulations. The doctor looked at them.

"At the rate in which she is growing old," said he, "she will have the soul of Methuselah in a body of twenty years."

"I don't believe it," said Mrs. Sandford.