June came the next morning to dress her young mistress as usual.

Daisy was not soon done with that business on this particular day; she would break off, half dressed, and go to lean out of her window.

There was a honeysuckle below the window; its dewy sweet smell came up to her, and the breath of the morning was sweet beside in all the trees and leaves around; the sun shone on the short turf by glimpses, where the trees would let it.

Daisy leaned out of her window.

June stood as often before, with comb and brush in hand.
"Miss Daisy--it's late." "June," said Daisy,--"it's Sunday." "Yes, ma'am." "It'll be hot too," Daisy went on.