So the little kettle was. Daisy made tea, and prepared Molly's table
with a little piece of butter and the bottle of milk. And no little girl
making an entertainment for herself with tiny china cups and tea-set,
ever had such satisfaction in it. Twenty dinners at home could not have
given Daisy so much pleasure, as she had now to see the poor cripple
look at her unwonted luxuries and then to see her taste them. Yet Molly
said almost nothing; but the grunt of new expression with which she set
down the bottle of milk the first time, went all through and through
Daisy's heart with delight. Molly drank tea and spread her bread with
butter, and Daisy noticed her turning over her slice of bread to examine
the texture of it; and a quieter, soothed, less miserable look, spread
itself over her wrinkled features. They were not wrinkled with age; yet
it was a lined and seamed face generally, from the working of unhappy
and morose feelings.

"Ain't it good!--" was Molly's single word of comment as she finished
her meal. Then she sat back and watched Daisy putting all the things
nicely away. She looked hard at her.

"What you fetch them things here for?" she broke out suddenly. "H--n?"

The grunt with which her question concluded was so earnest in its demand
of an answer, that Daisy stopped.

"Why I like to do it, Molly," she said. Then seeing the intent eyes with
which the poor creature was examining her, Daisy added,--"I like to do
it; because Jesus loves you."

"H--n?"--said Molly, very much at a loss what this might mean, and very
eager to know. Daisy stood still, with the bread in her hands.