Christian fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Misers -- Fiction
"Yes. She mustn't see her father yet," said Mr. Bennet decidedly. "Keep
her as quiet as possible, and if Mrs. Simmons comes in from over the
way, don't you have too much talk."
"No, sir," said Mary Davis.
"I like Mrs. Simmons," said Daisy. "She is kind—and so big—"
"Well, yes, she's big undoubtedly," said the doctor. "Much bigger than
you will ever be, Daisy."
Daisy seemed to take the words in a sense which the doctor had
certainly not intended. She asked calmly:—
"Shall I never be well again?"
"Tut, tut! Nonsense!" said Mr. Bennet. "Why, you're ever so much better
to-day."
Daisy smiled a little; not as if she were quite sure that he meant what
he said. Mary Davis presently followed the doctor, as he left the room,
and while opening the front door she asked anxiously: "Will Miss Daisy
soon be up again, please, sir?"
"Can't say. Can't say at all," responded Mr. Bennet hastily. "There's
no knowing. It has been a terrible shock to the nervous system
altogether, and the head is a good deal affected,—no doubt about that.
She's a delicate little creature. May pass off soon, or may not. How is
your husband going on? You saw him yesterday, did you not?"
"Yes, sir. It's like to be a long business with him, they say; but he's
been more himself than Miss Daisy has been. His arm is shocking bad,
and he has a deal of pain."
"Well, well, the worst cases are not always those where there's most
pain—not by any means," said Mr. Bennet. "Your husband will have gained
experience for the future, when he comes out of the hospital."
"Yes, sir; in more ways than one, maybe," said Mary quietly. "He says
he means to sign the pledge, and to turn over a new leaf."
"A good day for you if he does," said the doctor, aware of John Davis'
propensities. "Good evening. Keep that child quiet, and don't let her
old father bother her."
Mary returned to the bedroom, with this injunction full in her mind. To
her astonishment, she found old Isaac Meads in the sick room, seated
beside Daisy's bed, with his chin resting on the knob of his stick,
and his eyes fixed solemnly upon Daisy. He had evidently crossed the
passage unobserved, while she was speaking with the doctor. Daisy lay
with shut eyes, unconscious of his presence.
Mary Davis was at a loss what to do. She did not wish to rouse Daisy,
yet silent signs and beckonings proved of no avail. The old man did not
see, or chose to ignore them. Mary laid one hand on his shoulder to
draw attention, and with the other she pointed to the door; but Isaac
shook off her hand, and doggedly retained his seat.
[Illustration: She found old Isaac Meads in the sick room,
seated beside Daisy's bed.]
"You must go away," Mary whispered. "The doctor says so. You are not to
come here, Mr. Meads."
"Not to come here? And who's got any right to say that to me?" growled
Isaac. "Isn't it my own house? Eh?"
"Hush—hush!" whispered Mary. "Hush! You will startle Miss Daisy and
make her worse."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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