"Mamma," said Daisy, when she had allowed a moment to pass —
"what shall I take to Mrs. Parsons?"

"You must go and see Joanna about that. You may make up
whatever you think will please her or do her good. Joanna will
tell you."

And Mrs. Randolph had the satisfaction of seeing that Daisy's
eyes were lively enough for the rest of breakfast-time, and
her colour perceptibly raised. No sooner was breakfast over
than she flew to the consultation in the housekeeper's room.

Joanna was the housekeeper, and Mrs. Randolph's right hand; a
jewel of skill and efficiency; and as fully satisfied with her
post and power in the world, at the head of Mr. Randolph's
household, as any throned emperor or diademed queen;
furthermore, devoted to her employers as though their concerns
had been, what indeed she reckoned them, her own.

"Mrs. Randolph didn't say anything to me about it," said this
piece of capability, — "but I suppose it isn't hard to manage.
Who is Mrs. Parsons? that's the first thing."

"She's a very poor old woman, Joanna; and she is obliged to
keep her bed always; there is something the matter with her.
She lives with a daughter of hers who takes care of her, I
believe; but they haven't much to live upon, and the daughter
isn't smart. Mrs. Parsons hasn't anything fit for her to eat,
unless somebody sends it to her."