"No, of course not," said Mr. Randolph, getting up.
He left her, and Daisy sat meditating; then with a glad heart ran off and ordered her pony-chaise. If tableaux were to be the order of the day every afternoon, she must go to see Molly in the morning. This time she had a good deal to carry and to get ready. Molly was in want of bread. A nice little loaf, fresh baked, was supplied by Joanna, along with some cold rolls.
"She will like those, I dare say," said Daisy. "I dare say she never saw rolls in her life before. Now she wants some meat, Joanna. There was nothing but a little end of cold pork on the dish in her cupboard."
"Why, I wonder who cooks for the poor wretch?" said Joanna.
"I think she cooks for herself, because she has a stove, and I saw iron things and pots to cook with. But she can't do much, Joanna, and I don't believe she knows how."
"Sick, is she too?" said Joanna.
"Sick with rheumatism, so that she did not like to stir."
"I guess I must go take a look at her; but maybe she mightn't let me. Well, Miss Daisy, the way will be for you to tell me what she wants, if you can find out. She must have neighbours, though, that take care of her."
"We are her neighbours," said Daisy.
Joanna looked, a look of great complacency and some wonder, at the child; and packed forthwith into Daisy's basket the half of a cold chicken and a broken peach-pie. A bottle of milk Daisy particularly desired, and a little butter; and she set off at last, happier than a queen Esther or any other to go to Molly with her supplies.