seeming to do some trifles of business, then stood still and
looked at the child, who was intent on her book.

"Come, Miss Daisy," said she at last, "wouldn't you like to be
undressed?"

The words were said in a tone so low they were hardly more
than a suggestion. Daisy gave them no heed. The woman stood
with dressing gown on her arm and a look of habitual endurance
upon her face. It was a singular face, so set in its lines of
enforced patience, so unbending. The black eyes were bright
enough, but without the help of the least play of those fixed
lines, they expressed nothing. A little sigh came from the
lips at last, which also was plainly at home there.

"Miss Daisy, it's gettin' very late."

"June, did you ever read the parable of the tares?"

"The what, Miss Daisy?"

"The parable about the wheat and the tares in the Bible — in
the thirteenth chapter of Matthew?"

"Yes, ma'am," — came somewhat dry and unwillingly from June's
lips, and she moved the dressing-gown on her arm
significantly.

"Do you remember it?"