"O because that is true—because he lives up there to take care of me."
"Bless the Lord!" said the black woman.
Towards evening of that day, Juanita had left the room to make her fire and attend to some other things, when Daisy heard her own name hailed softly from the window. She turned her head, and there was Preston's bright face.
"My poor, poor little Daisy!"
"How do you do, Preston?" said Daisy, looking as clear as a moonbeam.
"There you are a prisoner!"
"It is a very nice prison."
"Don't, my dear Daisy! I'll believe you in anything else, you know; but in this I am unable. Tied by your foot for six weeks, perhaps! I should like to shoot Capt. Drummond."
"It was not Capt. Drummond's fault."
"Is it bad, Daisy?"