The little windows, lined with paper curtains to keep out sunlight and
curious eyes, looked dismal; the weatherboards were unpainted; the
little porch broken. Daisy did not like such things. But she knocked
without a bit of fear or hesitation, notwithstanding all this. She was
charged with work to do; so she felt; it was no matter what she might
meet in the discharge of it. She had her message to carry, and she was
full of compassionate love to the creature whose lot in life was so
unlike her own. Daisy went straight on in her business.

Her knock got no answer, and still got none though, it was repeated and
made more noticeable. Not a sign of an answer. Daisy softly tried the
door then to see if it would open. There was no difficulty in that; she
pushed it gently and gently stepped in.

It looked just like what she expected, though Daisy had not got
accustomed yet to the conditions of such rooms. Just now, she hardly saw
anything but Molly. Her eye wandering over the strange place, was
presently caught by the cripple, sitting crouching in a corner of the
room. It was all miserably desolate. The paper shields kept out the
light of the sunbeams; and though the place was tolerably clean, it had
a close, musty, disagreeable, shut-up smell. But all Daisy thought of at
first was the cripple. She went a little towards her.

"How do you do, Molly?" her little soft voice said. Molly looked glum,
and spoke never a word.

"I have been waiting to see you," Daisy said, advancing a step
nearer--"and you did not come out. I was afraid you were sick."

One of Molly's grunts came here. Daisy could not tell what it meant.