“I think perhaps I had better explain a little more, or you may not be able to understand. You see, when Miss Polly had that accident, three years ago, she never really got well. She has had to stay in a wheel-chair ever since, and the doctors told her she would never be able to walk again.
Daisy took the two letters, flew down-stairs, and out into the street.—Page [191].
“I hope you won’t think me interfering for writing what Miss Polly didn’t want you to know, but I love her so, and she is so ill, and I just couldn’t help it. Please come and see her as soon as you can, and don’t let her know it even if she should be the least little bit of a burden. I am sure she couldn’t be a very big one, because she is so lovely.
“If I have made a great many mistakes in this letter, please excuse them, for I am only just eleven.
“From your little friend,
“Daisy Winslow.”
Daisy’s heart was beating very fast, as she slipped her letter into an envelope, and copied the address from the other letter on the desk. She dared not read over what she had written, for fear of losing courage. It was such a terribly bold, unheard-of thing that she had done, and yet—Maggie had said Miss Polly might not live through the summer. She must get the letter posted quickly, before she had time to change her mind.
Having addressed and stamped her envelope, she took the two letters, and without even waiting to get her hat, she flew down-stairs, and out into the street. It was only a few steps to the corner where the letter-box was, and in less than five minutes from the time she left the nursery both letters had taken the first step on their journey to Chicago.
When the others returned, half an hour later, they found Daisy lying on the sofa, with her head buried in the cushions.
“Why, Daisy,” exclaimed Dulcie, bending over her sister in real anxiety, “what is it? Is your head worse?”