She was a real angel in that poor house; no vision of one.

Molly welcomed her so, looked at her so, and would perhaps have obeyed her as readily.

But Daisy offered no words that required obedience, except those she read out of the Book; and Molly listened to them as if it had been the voice of an angel.

She was learning to read herself; really learning: making advances every day that shewed diligent interest; and the interest was fed by those words she daily listened to out of the same book.

Daisy had got a large-print Testament for her at Crum Elbow; and a new life had begun for the cripple.