"_Are_ you sick, Molly?"

"It's me and not you"--said the cripple morosely.

"O I am sorry!" said Daisy tenderly. "I want to bring in something for
you--"

She ran away for her basket. Coming back, she left the door open to let
in the sweet air and sun.

"What is the matter with you, Molly?"

The cripple made no answer, not even a grunt; her eyes were fastened on
the basket. Daisy lifted the cover and brought out her cake, wrapped in
paper. As she unwrapped it and came up to Molly, she saw what she had
never seen before that minute,--a smile on the cripple's grum face. It
was not grum now; it was lighted up with a smile, as her eyes dilated
over the cake.

"I'll have some tea!" she said.

Daisy put the cake on the table and delivered a peach into Molly's hand.
But she lifted her hand to the table and laid the peach there.

"I'll have some tea."

"Are you sick, Molly?" said Daisy again; for in spite of this
declaration and in spite of her evident pleasure, Molly did not move.