Juanita's thanksgiving was earnest. Daisy looked very sober.
"Juanita, I have been wanting to talk to you."
Now they had been talking a good deal; but this, the black woman saw, was not what Daisy meant.
"What is it, my love?"
"I don't know, Juanita. I think I am puzzled."
The fine face of Mrs. Benoit looked gravely attentive, and a little anxiously watchful of Daisy's.
"The best way will be to tell you. Juanita, they are I mean, we are playing pictures at home."
"What is that, Miss Daisy?"
"Why, they take pictures pictures in books, you know and dress up people like the people in the pictures, and make them stand so, or sit so, and look so, as the people in the pictures do; and so they make a picture of living people."
"Yes, Miss Daisy."