ou cool off a little before you go on? This is the
little girl, I s'pose. I guess it's pretty cool to what she's accustomed
to, ain't it, Delia?"

"No, I thank you, Mrs. Slater. I'll go right on to the house. Now,
Ardelia, here you are in the country. I'm staying with my friend in a
big white house about a quarter of a mile farther on. You can't see it
from here, but if you want anything you can just walk over. Day after
to-morrow is the picnic I told you of. You'll see me then, anyway. Now
run right out in the grass and pick all the daisies you want. Don't be
afraid; no one will drive you off this grass!"

The force of this was lost on Ardelia, who had never been driven off any
grass whatever, but she gathered that she was expected to walk out into
the thick rank growth of the unmowed side yard, and strode downward
obediently.

"Now pick them! Pick the daisies!" cried Miss Forsythe, excitedly. "I
want to see you."

Ardelia looked blank.

"Huh?" she said.

"Gather them. Get a bunch. Oh, you poor child! Mrs. Slater, she doesn't
know how!" Miss Forsythe was deeply moved and illustrated by picking
imaginary daisies on the porch. Ardelia's quick eye followed her
gestures, and stooping, she scooped the heads from three daisies and
started back with them. Miss Forsythe gasped.

"No, no, dear! Pull them up! Take the stem, too," she explained. "Pick
the whole flower."

Ardelia bent over again, tugged at a thick-stemmed clover, brought it
up by the roots, and laid it awkwardly on the young lady's lap.

"Thank you, dear," she said, politely, "but I meant them for you.
I meant you to have a bunch. Don't you want them?"

"Naw," said Ardelia, decidedly.

Miss Forsythe's eyes brightened suddenly.

"I know what you want," she cried, "you're thirsty! Mrs. Slater, won't
you get us some of your good, creamy milk? Don't you want a drink,
Ardelia?"

Ardelia nodded. When Mrs. Slater appeared with the foaming yellow
glasses she wound her nervous little hands about the stem of the goblet
and drank a deep draught.

"There!" cried the young lady. "Now, how do you like real milk, Ardelia?
I declare you look like another child already! You can have all you want
every day--why, what's the matter?"

For Ardelia was growing ghastly pale before them; her eyes turned
inward, her lips tightened. A blinding horror surged from her toes
upward, and the memory of the liquid ice-cream and the frying onions
faded before the awful reality