Part 3 (1/2)
”How shall I go, I mean?”
”You may have the carriage. I cannot go, this morning or this afternoon.”
”Oh, papa, mayn't I take Loupe and drive there myself?”
If Daisy had put the question at the other end of the table, there would have been an end of the business, as she knew. As it was, her father's ”yes” got out just before her mother's ”no.”
”Yes she may,” said Mr. Randolph ? ”no harm. John, tell Sam that he is to take the black pony and go with the pony-chaise whenever Miss Daisy drives. Daisy, see that he goes with you.”
”Well,” said Mrs. Randolph, ”you may do as you like, but I think it is a very unsafe proceeding. What's Sam? ? he's a boy.”
”Safe enough,” said Mr. Randolph. ”I can trust all three of the party; Daisy, Loupe, and Sam. They all know their business, and they will all do it.”
”Well! ? I think it is very unsafe,” repeated Mrs. Randolph.
”Mamma,” said Daisy, when she had allowed a moment to pa.s.s ?
”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.”
”What's the matter with her? ain't she going to get well?”
”No, never ? she will always be obliged to lie on her bed as long as she lives; and so, you see, Joanna, she hasn't appet.i.te for coa.r.s.e things.”
”Humph!” said Joanna. ”Custards won't give it to her. What does the daughter live upon?”
”She does was.h.i.+ng for people; but of course that don't give her much. They are very poor, I know.”
”Well, what would you like to take her, Miss Daisy?”
”Mother said you'd know.”
”Well, I'll tell you what _I_ think ? sweetmeats ain't good for such folks. You wait till afternoon, and you shall have a pail of nice broth, and a bowl of arrowroot with wine and sugar in it; that'll hearten her up. Will that do?”
”But I should like to take something to the other poor woman, too.”
”How are you going?”
”In my pony-chaise ? I can take anything.”