The next day papa came in with something he had covered with a handkerchief. Emma took away the handkerchief, and clapped her hands for joy. "My own dear daisy," she said: "yes, I am sure it is the same. Thank you, dear papa!"
Yes, papa had found it on the rubbish, had washed it from dirt, and clipped off its broken leaves, and put it into a pretty little flower-pot with some fine rich mould; and there was daisy as brisk and bright as ever.
Summer passed away, and autumn came, and Emma was as fond as ever of her dear plant. But Mrs. Vincent, Emma's mother, had been very ill, and Dr. Ware had cured her.
One day, while Emma was in the parlor with her father and mother, Dr. Ware came in.
"I need not come again," he said: "I am here now to say good-by. You will not want any more of my medicines."
Then Emma's papa thanked Dr. Ware very much for the skill and care which he had shown in the case; and Emma's mother said, "I hope to show you some day how grateful I am, Dr. Ware."
"What can I do to let him know how much I thank him?" thought Emma. "I will give him my little daisy-plant," said she. So she took it to Dr. Ware; and he was so much pleased, that he took her on his knee and kissed her. But I am not sure that a little tear did not drop on Daisy-flower, as Emma put it into the doctor's hand.
