Meanwhile Daisy turned away from her beautiful little ivory cathedral, and opened Mr. Dinwiddie\'s Bible. Her heart was not at all comforted yet; and indeed her talk with Dr. Sandford had rather roused her to keener discomfort. She had confessed herself wrong, and had told him the way to get right; yet she herself, in spite of knowing the way, was not right, but very far from it. So she felt. Her heart was very sore for the hurt she had suffered; it gave her a twinge every time she thought of the lotus carving of her spoon handle, and those odd representations of fish in the bowl of it. She lay over on her pillow, slowly turning and turning the pages of her Bible, and tear after tear slowly gathering one after another, and filling her eyes and rolling down to her pillow to make another wet spot. There was no harm in that, if that had been all. Daisy had reason. But what troubled her was, that she was so strongly displeased with her aunt Gary. She did not want to see her or hear her, and the thought of a kiss from her was unendurable. Nay, Daisy felt as if she would like to punish her, if she could; or at least to repossess herself of her stolen property by fair means or by foul. She was almost inclined to think that she must have it at all events. And at the same time, she had told Dr. Sandford that she was not right. So Daisy lay slowly turning the pages of her Bible, looking for some word that might catch her eye and be a help to her. There were a good many marks in the Bible, scattered here and there, made by its former owner. One of these stopped Daisy\'s search, and gave her something to think of. It stood opposite these words:

"I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called."

Daisy considered that. What "vocation" meant, she did not know, nor who was "the prisoner of the Lord," nor what that could mean; but yet she caught at something of the sense. "Walk worthy," she understood that; and guessed what "vocation" stood for. Ay! that was just it, and that was just what Daisy was not doing. The next words, too, were plain enough.

"With all lowliness and meekness, with long-suffering, forbearing one another in love."

"Forbearing one another"—easy to read, how hard to do! Mrs. Gary\'s image was very ugly yet to Daisy. Could she speak pleasantly to her aunt? could she even look pleasantly at her? could she "forbear" all unkindness, even in thought? Not yet! Daisy felt very miserable and very much ashamed of herself, even while her anger was in abiding strength and vigour.

She went on, reading through the whole chapter; not because she had not enough already to think about, but because she did not feel that she could obey it. Some of the chapter she did not quite understand; but she went on reading, all the same, till she came to the last verse. That went through and through Daisy\'s heart, and her eyes filled so full that by the time she got to the end of it she could not see to read at all. These were the words:

"And be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ\'s sake hath forgiven you."

That quite broke Daisy\'s heart. She rolled herself over upon her open Bible, so as to hide her face in her pillow, and there Daisy had a good cry. She standing out about a little thing, when Jesus was willing to forgive such loads and loads of naughtiness in her! Daisy would have no friendship with her resentment any more. She turned her back upon it, and fled from it, and sought eagerly that help by which, as she had told Dr. Sandford, it might be overcome. And she had said right. He who is called Jesus because be saves his people from their sins, will not leave anybody under their power who heartily trusts in him for deliverance from them.

Daisy received several visits that day, but they were all flying visits; everybody was busy. However they put to the proof the state of her feeling towards several persons. The next day the first person she saw was the doctor.

"How do you do, Daisy? Ready to go down stairs to-day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you got the better of your anger?"

"Yes, sir."

"Pray, at what hour did your indignation take flight?" said the doctor, looking at the gentle little face before him.

"I think—about three hours after you were here yesterday," said Daisy soberly. The doctor looked at her, and his gravity gave way, so far at least as to let the corners of his lips curl away from some very white teeth. Dr. Sandford rarely laughed. And there was nothing mocking about his smile now, though I have used the word "curl;" it was merely what Daisy considered a very intelligent and very benign curve of the mouth. Indeed she liked it very much.

"Have you seen the offending party since that time, Daisy?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you feel no return of displeasure?"

"No, sir."

There was something so exceedingly sweet in Daisy\'s expression of face, so unruffled in its loving calm and assurance, that Dr Sandford received quite a new impression in his views of human character.

"I shall have an account to settle with that young Preston one of these days," he remarked as he took Daisy\'s little form in his arms.

"O he did nothing!" said Daisy. "It wasn\'t Preston at all. He had nothing to do with it!"

"He had not?" said the doctor.

"Not at all; nor any other boy."

"Beyond my management, then!" said the doctor; and he moved off. He had stood still to say that word or two; Daisy\'s arm was round his neck to help support herself; the two looked into each other\'s faces. Certainly that had come to pass which at one time she had thought unlikely; Daisy was very fond of the doctor.

He carried her now down to the library, and laid her on a sofa. Nobody at all was there. The long windows were standing open; the morning sweet air blew gently in; the books, and chairs, and tables which made the room pretty to Daisy\'s eyes, looked very pleasant after the long weeks in which she had not seen them. But along with her joy at seeing them again was mixed a vivid recollection of the terrible scene she had gone through there, a few days before her accident. However, nothing could make Daisy anything but happy just now.

"You must remain here until I come again," said the doctor; "and now I will send some of the rest of the family to you."

The first one that came was her father. He sat down by the sofa, and was so tenderly glad to have her there again, that Daisy\'s little heart leaped for joy. She put her hand in his, and lay looking into his face.

"Papa, it is nice," she said.

"What?"

"O to be here, and with you again."

Mr. Randolph put his lips down to Daisy\'s, and kissed them a good many times.

"Do you know we are going to Silver Lake with you as soon as you are strong enough?"

"O yes, papa! Dr. Sandford says he can manage it. But I don\'t know when."

"In a week or two more."

"Papa, who is going?"

"Everybody, I suppose."

"But I mean, is anybody to be invited?"

"I think we must ask Dr. Sandford."

"O yes, papa! I wish he would go. But is anybody else to be asked?"

"I do not know, Daisy. Whom would you like to have invited?"

"Papa, I would like very much to have Nora Dinwiddie. She has come back."

"Well, tell your mother so."

Daisy was silent a little; then she began on a new theme.

"Papa, what is a \'vocation\'?"

"What is what, Daisy?"

"Vocation, papa."

"Where did you get that word?"

"I found it in a book."

"It means commonly a person\'s business or employment."

"Only that, papa?"

"There is another sense in which it is used, but you would hardly understand it."

"Please tell me, papa."

"Why?"

"Papa, I like to know the meanings of things. Please tell me."

"Daisy, it means a \'calling\'—in the idea that some persons are particularly appointed to a certain place or work in the world."

Daisy looked a little hard at him, and then said, "Thank you, papa."

"Daisy, I hope you do not think you have a \'vocation,\'" said Mr.
Randolph, half smiling.

"Papa," said the child, "I cannot help it."

"No, perhaps not," said Mr. Randolph, stooping again to Daisy\'s lips. "When you are older and wiser you will know better. At present your vocation is to be a good little daughter. Now what are you going to do to-day? Here is Preston—if you want him; or I will do for you what you please."

"Yes, Daisy, what shall we do?" said Preston.

"O, are you at leisure?"

"All your own, Daisy, for this morning at any rate. What shall we do?"

"O Preston, would you mind getting my tray for me; and let us go on with the battle of Hastings?"

"With what?" said Mr. Randolph, laughing.

"The battle of Hastings, papa—English history, you know. Captain Drummond and I got just there and then we stopped. But Harold was killed—wasn\'t he, papa?"

"I believe he was, Daisy."

"Good for him, too," said Preston. "He was nothing but a usurper.
William the Conqueror was a great deal more of a man."

"But he was just as much of a usurper, wasn\'t he?" said Daisy.

"You must mind your ethics, Preston," Mr. Randolph said, laughing.
"Daisy is on the Saxon side."

"Preston, will you get the tray, please? June will give it to you."

Preston did not quite understand the philosophy of the tray; however, Daisy must be humoured. It was brought. By Daisy\'s order it had been carefully protected from dust and danger; and the lineaments of England, as traced by the captain some time ago, were fresh and in good order. Daisy hung over the map with great interest, renewing her acquaintance with various localities, and gradually getting Preston warmed up to the play. It was quite exciting; for with every movement of William\'s victorious footsteps, the course of his progress had to be carefully studied out on a printed map, and then the towns and villages which marked his way noted on the clay map, and their places betokened by wooden pins. Daisy suggested that these pins should have sealing-wax heads of different colours to distinguish the cities, the villages, and the forts from each other. Making these, interrupted doubtless the march of the Conqueror and of history, but in the end much increased Daisy\'s satisfaction, and if the truth be told, Preston\'s too.

"There,—now you can see at a glance where the castles are; don\'t their red heads look pretty! And, O Preston! we ought to have some way of marking the battle-fields; don\'t you think so?"

"The map of England will be nothing but marks then, by and by," said
Preston.

"Will it? But it would be very curious. Preston, just give me a little piece of that pink blotting paper from the library table; it is in the portfolio there. Now I can put a little square bit of this on every battle-field, and pressing it a little, it will stick, I think. There!—there is Hastings. Do you see, Preston? That will do nicely."

"England will be all pink blotting paper by and by," said Preston.

"Then it will be very curious," said Daisy. "Were new kings always coming to push out the old ones?"

"Not like William the Conqueror. But yet it was something very like that, Daisy. When a king died, two of his children would both want the place; so they would fight."

"But two men fighting would not make a battle-field."

"O Daisy, Daisy!" cried Preston; "do you know no better than that?"

"Well, but who else would fight with them?"

"Why, all the kingdom! Part would fight for the right, you know, as the Saxons did with Harold; and part would fight to be the best fellows and to get the fat places."

"Fat places?" said Daisy. At which Preston went off into one of his laughs. Daisy looked on. How could she be expected to understand him?

"What is the matter, my dear? What are you doing?" Daisy started.

"We are studying English, history, aunt Gary."

"History, my dear? And what is all this muss, and these red and black spots? does your mamma allow this in the library?"

"Just the place to study history, I am sure, mamma," said Preston; "and you cannot have less muss than this where people are fighting. But I really don\'t know what you mean, ma\'am; there cannot be a cleaner map, except for the blood shed on it."

"Blood?" said Mrs. Gary. "My dear"—as Preston burst into another laugh—"you must not let him tease you."

Daisy\'s look was so very unruffled and gentle that perhaps it put Mrs.
Gary in mind of another subject.

"Did you know, Daisy, that I had robbed you of your old-fashioned spoon?"

"I found it was not among my things," said Daisy.

"My dear, your mother thought you would not value it; and it was very desirable to my collection. I took it with her consent."

"I am willing you should have it, aunt Gary."

"Were you very angry, my dear, when you found where it had gone?"

"I am not angry now, aunt Gary."

Certainly Daisy was not; yet something in the child\'s look or manner made the lady willing to drop the subject. Its very calm gentleness did not testify to anything like unconcern about the matter; and if there had been concern, Mrs. Gary was not desirous to awaken it again. She kissed Daisy, said she was a good girl, and walked off. Daisy wondered if her aunt had a fancy for trilobites.

"What was all that about, Daisy?" Preston asked.

"O never mind—let us go on with William the Conqueror."

"What spoon of yours has she got?"

"My Egyptian spoon."

"That old carved thing with the duck\'s bill?"

"Yes. Now, Preston, what comes next?"

"Didn\'t you say she could not have it?"

"No matter what I said, if I say that she can have it now."

"Did you give it to her?"

"Preston, that has nothing to do with William the Conqueror. Please let us go on."

"Daisy, I want to know. Did you give it to her?"

"I am willing she should have it. Now, Preston, go on?"

"But I say, did you give my mother that spoon?"

"Preston," said Daisy, "do you think it is quite proper to question me in that manner about what you see I do not wish to have you know?"

Preston laughed, though he looked vexed, and kissed her, nobody being in the library; he was too big a boy to have done it if anybody had been looking on. And after that he played the historico-geographical play with her for a very long time; finding it, with Daisy\'s eagerness and freshness, a very good play indeed. Only he would persist in calling every cause of war, every disputed succession, every rivalry of candidates, an Egyptian spoon. Daisy could not prevent him. She had a very happy morning; and Dr. Sandford was well satisfied with her bright face when he came, towards night, and carried, her up stairs again.

But Daisy was getting well now. It was only a few days more, and Dr. Sandford permitted her to walk a little way herself on her own feet. A little way at first, across the floor and back; no more that day; but from that time Daisy felt whole again. Soon she could walk to please herself, up and down stairs and everywhere; though she was not allowed to go far enough to tire her foot while it was yet unused to exercise.

Now all her home ways fell again into their accustomed order. Daisy could get up and be dressed; nobody knows what a luxury that is unless he has been hindered of it for a good while. She could stand at her window and look out; and go down on her own feet to join the family at breakfast. Her father procured her a seat next himself now, which Daisy did not use to have; and she enjoyed it. She knew he enjoyed it too; and it made breakfast a very happy time to Daisy. After breakfast she was at her own disposal, as of old. Nobody wished her to do anything but please herself.

At this moment nothing pleased Daisy better than to go on with English history. With Preston, if she could get him; if not, alone, with her book and her tray map. Poring over it, Daisy would lie on the sofa, or sit on a little bench with the tray on the floor; planting her towns and castles, or going hack to those already planted with a fresh interest from new associations. Certain red-headed and certain black-headed and certain green-headed pins came to be very well known and familiar in the course of time. And in course of time, too, the soil of England came to be very much overspread with little squares of pink blotting-paper. To Daisy it grew to be a commentary on the wickedness of mankind. Preston remarked on the multitude there was of Egyptian spoons.

"What do you mean by that, Preston?" said his aunt.

"Causes of quarrel, ma\'am."

"Why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"

"Causes of trouble, I should say, ma\'am."

"And again I say, why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"

"I beg your pardon, aunt Felicia. Egypt was always a cause of trouble to the faithful; and I was afraid little Daisy has had just a spoonful of it lately."

"Daisy, what have you been saying to your cousin?"

"Nothing, mamma, about that; only what Preston asked me."

"I am sure you did not say what I asked of you, Daisy. She told me nothing at all, aunt Felicia, except by what she did not tell me."

"She behaved very sweetly about it, indeed," said Mrs. Gary. "She made me feel quite easy about keeping it. I shall have to find out what I can send, to Daisy that she will like."

"What are you and Preston doing there?" Mrs. Randolph asked with a cloudy face.

"Studying, mamma; I am. English history."

"That is no way of studying; and that tray—what have you got in it?"

"England, mamma."

Preston laughed. Mrs. Randolph did not join him.

"What have you got in that thing, Daisy? sand?"

"O no, mamma—it\'s something—it\'s prepared clay, I believe."

"Prepared!" said Mrs. Randolph. "Prepared for something besides my library. You are hanging over it all day, Daisy—I do not believe it is good for you."

"O mamma, it is!"

"I think I shall try whether it is not good for you to be without it."

"O no, mamma." Daisy looked in dismay. "Do ask Dr. Sandford if he thinks it is not good for me."

"There he is, then," said Mrs. Randolph, "Doctor, I wish you would see whether Daisy is occupying herself, in your judgment, well, when she is hanging over that thing half the day."

Dr. Sandford came up. Daisy was not afraid of his decision, for she knew he was on her side. Mrs. Randolph on the other hand did not wish, to dispute it, for she was, like most other people, on the doctor\'s side. He came up and looked at the tray.

"What is this?"

"The map of England, sir."

"Pray what are you doing with it?"

"Making it, sir, and studying English history."

"What are these pins? armies? or warriors? they are in confusion enough."

"O there is no confusion," said Daisy. "They are castles and towns."

"For instance?—"

"This is Dover Castle," said Daisy, touching a red-headed pin; "and this is Caernarvon, and Conway; and these black ones are towns. There is London—and Liverpool—and York—and Oxford—don\'t you see?"

"I see, but it would take a witch to remember. What are you doing?"

"Studying English history, sir; and as fast as we come to a great town or castle we mark it. These bits of paper shew where the great battle-fields are."

"Original!" said the doctor.

"No sir, it is not," said Daisy. "Captain Drummond taught it to me."

"What, the history?"

"No; but this way of playing."

Preston was laughing and trying to keep quiet. Nothing could be graver than the doctor.

"Is it interesting, this way of playing?"

"Very!" said Daisy, with a good deal of eagerness, more than she wished to shew.

"I wish you would forbid it, Dr. Sandford," said Daisy\'s mother. "I do not believe in such a method of study, nor wish Daisy to be engrossed with any study at all. She is not fit for it."

"Whereabouts are you?" said the doctor to Daisy.

"We are just getting through the wars of the Roses."

"Ah! I never can remember how those wars began—can you?"

"They began when the Duke of York tried to get the crown of Henry the
Sixth. But I think he was wrong—don\'t you?"

"Somebody is always wrong in those affairs," said the doctor. "You are getting through the wars of the Roses. What do you find was the end of them?"

"When the Earl of Richmond came. We have just finished the battle of Bosworth Field. Then he married Elizabeth of York, and so they wore the two roses together."

"Harmoniously?" said the doctor.

"I don\'t know, sir. I do not know anything about Henry the Seventh yet."

"What was going on in the rest of the world while the Roses were at war in England?"

"O I don\'t know, sir!" said Daisy, looking up with a sudden expression of humbleness. "I do not know anything about anywhere else."

"You do not know where the Hudson River was then."

"I suppose it was where it is now?"

"Geographically, Daisy; but not politically, socially, or commercially. Melbourne House was not thinking of building; and the Indians ferried their canoes over to Silver Lake, where a civilized party are going in a few days to eat chicken salad under very different auspices."

"Were there no white people here?"

"Columbus had not discovered America, even. He did that just about seven years after Henry the Seventh was crowned on Bosworth Field."

"I don\'t know who Columbus was," Daisy said, with a glance so wistful and profound in its sense of ignorance, that Dr. Sandford smiled.

"You will hear about him soon," he said, turning away to Mrs. Randolph. That lady did not look by any means well pleased. The doctor stood before her looking down, with the sort of frank, calm bearing that characterized him.

"Are you not, in part at least, a Southerner?" was the lady\'s first question.

"I am sorry I must lose so much of your good opinion as to confess myself a Yankee," said the doctor steadily.

"Are you going to give your sanction to Daisy\'s plunging herself into study, and books, and all that sort of thing, Dr. Sandford?"

"Not beyond my depth to reach her."

"I do not think it is good for her. She is very fond of it, and she does a great deal too much of it when she begins; and she wants strengthening first, in my opinion. You have said enough now to make her crazy after the history of the whole world."

"Mrs. Randolph, I must remind you that though, you can hinder a tree from growing, in a particular place, you cannot a fungus; if the conditions be favourable."

"What do you mean?"

"I think this may be a good alterative."

The lady looked a little hard at the doctor.

"There is one book I wish you could hinder her from reading," she said, lowering her tone.

"What is that, madam?"

"She is just the child not to bear it; and she is injured by poring over the Bible."

"Put the Bibles out of her way," suggested the doctor.

"I have, as much as I can; but it is not possible to do it perfectly."

"Then I counsel you to allow her the use of this medicine," said Dr. Sandford, glancing towards the tray, which no longer held Daisy\'s attention. For together with her mother\'s lowering of voice, the one word "Bible" had come to her consciousness. Daisy was at no loss to guess what it meant. The low tones of the speakers gave her sufficient information.

Thus far; that her Bible was reckoned an undesirable treasure for her by her mother. Was her own dear little particular Bible in danger? the one that Mr. Dinwiddie had given her? Daisy was alarmed. She did not enjoy any more battle-fields, nor enter with good heart into her history work from that time, until she could get up stairs again and see that it was safe, and contrive some way or place to keep it safe in time to come. Where could such a place be? It was a puzzle, because all Daisy\'s things were, of course, open to her mother. Perhaps Daisy\'s fears were needless; but after the affair of her Egyptian spoon she looked with jealous eves not only on her Bible, but on her trilobite. She sat down with a dismayed little face, to think where she could find a hiding-place. She thought of putting the Bible under her bed or pillow; but the bed was turned over every morning, and the servants would find it. None of her bureau drawers or cabinet drawers were secure. Daisy pondered all manner of impossible places. At last fixed upon a spot of the floor covered by an ottoman. The ottoman was hollow and not very heavy, and never moved after the room was put in order every day. Till the room was put in order Daisy hid her Bible in a drawer; then took it out and consigned it to the obscurity of the ottoman.

She was greatly afraid, then, of being found reading it. She had not heard the words which passed between the doctor and her mother; only the word "Bible;" but the low tones made her well enough aware that the matter of their talk was somehow adverse; it boded nothing kindly to her and the Bible. So Daisy was in another perplexity; and resolved that to be as safe as she could, she would read with locked doors for the future. And as doors must not be locked at times when her mother might be coming and going, Daisy chose early morning and late evening for her Bible-reading. She used to let June undress her, and finish all her duties of dressing-maid; then she sent her away and locked her doors, and read in comfort. This lasted a little while; then one unlucky night Daisy forgot to unlock her doors. The morning came, and June with it; but June could neither get in nor dare knock loud enough to make Daisy hear; she was obliged to come round through her mistress\'s dressing-room. But Daisy\'s door on that side was locked too! June was going softly away.

"What do you want?" said her mistress.

"If you please, ma\'am," said June, stopping very unwillingly—"I thought it was time to wake Miss Daisy."

"Why do you not go in, then?"

"Ma\'am—the door is locked," said June, in a scarce audible undertone.

"Locked?—knock."

June went back and knocked.

"Louder," said Mrs. Randolph, who was under her maid\'s hands; "you would not waken a cat at that rate. Make yourself heard."

June\'s taps, however, continued so fearfully gentle, that Mrs. Randolph, arose and came to the door herself. One or two of the touches of her imperative fingers brought a little figure in white night-dress and just-awakened face, to open the door.

"Daisy," said her mother, "what is your door fast for?"

"Mamma—I wanted it fast for a few minutes."

"Did you lock it last night or this morning?"

"Last night—I thought—I meant to have opened it."

"Both your doors?"

"Yes, mamma."

"All night locked! Now, Daisy, I forbid you ever to turn the key in your door again, night or day."

"O mamma!—I want it shut sometimes."

"Hush. Go and let June dress you."

June was vexed enough with herself to have inflicted some punishment on her awkward tongue and head, when she saw that Daisy was for some reason or other deeply grieved. The tears gathered and fell, quietly, all through the process of dressing; and a sort of sob heaved from the child\'s breast now and then, without words and most involuntary. Juanita\'s cottage was a palace to Melbourne House, if peace made the furniture. But June did not know what to say; so she was silent too.

When June was gone Daisy went to her beloved window, and stood there. She did not like to kneel, because her mother might come in, or even June, while she was doing so. She stood at the sweet open window, and prayed that the Lord would take care of her, and help her to pray however she could. And then the thought of those words came to Daisy:—"Thou, therefore, endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ." She remembered very well how Captain Drummond had described the way a good soldier takes things—hard and disagreeable things as well as others. It is part of his business to endure them; he expects them, and minds them not at all in comparison with the service in which he is engaged. And a soldier of Jesus Christ has only to obey him, and take willingly whatever comes in the line of his service. What matter? The only thing was to obey orders, and do the work she was set upon. Hardships did not seem much like hardships when she thought of them in this way. And then it occurred to Daisy, that if she could not fasten her doors, she had better just kneel down as usual with them open. She could not do without praying; and if she must be in traded upon, why it was a little hardship that she had better not mind. And when she had thought that, Daisy kneeled down; and she never had any more trouble about it. She did fancy, even that first morning, that she heard the lock of her door turn; but she did not move to see, and hearing nothing more she soon forgot it. Nobody wore such a bright and fresh face at the breakfast-table as Daisy; such a glad and uncareful face; and Mrs. Randolph seeing it, was reassured; though she had just seen her little daughter at her prayers, on her knees, by the window. She looked so happy now, that the lady was inclined to hope her religion was a childish folly, which would pass away and be forgotten in time.

But for the present Daisy was a soldier; and meditating much on a service which she had to perform. That very day, if you had been there, and worn an invisible cap, you might have gone into her room and seen what she was about. On the ottoman aforesaid Daisy\'s writing-desk was placed; and before it on a cricket sat Daisy, with a face, O how grave and busy! A very weight of care of some sort seemed to lie under her childish little brow. She was opening her desk and looking out paper; some she felt and rejected—it was too thin or too blue, or something; she tried her pen on another kind; it did not go well. At last a thick little sheet of note paper was chosen; and Daisy began to write. Or rather, sat over the paper with her pen in her fingers, thinking how to write. She looked very anxious; then took bits of paper and a pencil and tried different forms of a sentence. At last, with slow care, and fingers that trembled, a line or two was inscribed on the beautiful thick little sheet of English note paper.

"Dear papa, won\'t you think about being a Christian? Do not be displeased with
"DAISY."

It was written all out, as fair as she could; and then you might have seen Daisy\'s little round head go down on her hands on the desk. It did not move for a good while. When it was lifted up, she sought out an envelope rather hurriedly, directed it, folded and put in her note, and sealed it.

Daisy shut her desk then, and with a manner not quite as calm and careless as usual, went to her father\'s dressing table and stood considering where she should put the note. Under the cushion, it might be seen first by a servant, and then delivered to Mr. Randolph in the midst of company. Under his dressing-box, the same fate threatened it. Daisy peered about, and thought, and trembled for several minutes. She had a fancy that she did not want him to get it before the next morning, when he would be quietly dressing here alone. He would certainly be opening his dressing-box before that. The only place Daisy could be sure would not be invaded before that, was the place she chose; she took off the cover of his box of shaving soap and with some trouble squeezed the note in so that it would lie safely hid; then put on the cover and put the box in its place, and went away with light hands and a heavy heart. Heavy, that is, with a burden of doubt mingled with fear. Would Mr. Randolph be angry? Daisy could not feel sure that that would not be the consequence of her proceeding. Perhaps he would be very much displeased, and think it very disrespectful and improper that his little daughter should take so much upon herself. Daisy knew quite well all that. But who else in the world would take the responsibility if she did not? No one; and Daisy with all her fear did not once think of going to get her note away again before it should be read. Her heart yearned towards her father. He was so very gentle and tender in his manner with her, more than ever, Daisy thought; she felt that the love between them was growing strong and deep even beyond what it used to be. And while he knew nothing of the joy that filled her own heart, and while he refused obedience to the laws that she knew were binding on him as well as on her, he must be also, she knew, without the favour and blessing of God. He had no part in it; nothing to do with it; and Daisy\'s heart swelled with childish sorrow and longing. She had thought a great deal about it, and concluded that she must bear "the message," even plainly in words, to her father, before she could feel satisfied. Little hands might take the message, Juanita had said; so humbly Daisy\'s took it; and then she prayed that it might not be for nothing. She knew all her hands could do was not much.

All the remainder of that day, Daisy never forgot her note in the box of shaving soap. She knew it was extremely unlikely that the box would be opened sooner than the next morning; nevertheless, whenever Mr. Randolph came near where she was, Daisy looked up with something like a start. There was nothing in his face to alarm her; and so night came, and Daisy kissed him twice for good night, wondering to herself whether he would feel like kissing her when they met again. Never mind, the message must be delivered, cost what it might. Yes, this was soldier\'s service. Daisy was going into the enemy\'s country.

Mr. Randolph had felt the lingering touch of Daisy\'s lips, and the thought of it came to him more than once in the course of the evening—"like the wind that breathes upon a bank of violets"—with a breath of sweetness in the remembrance. Nevertheless he had pretty well forgotten it, when he pulled off the cover of his box of shaving soap the next morning. He was belated and in something of a hurry. If ever a man suddenly forgot his hurry, Mr. Randolph did, that morning. He knew the unformed, rather irregular and stiff handwriting in a moment; and concluded that Daisy had some request to make on her own account which she was too timid to speak out in words. That was what he expected when he opened the paper; but Eve could not have been much more surprised when the serpent spoke to her in the garden of Eden, than was Mr. Randolph at finding that his little lamb of a child had dared to open her mouth to him in this fashion.

"Mr. Randolph, you will be late," said the lady who owned that name, coming to his door. And seeing her husband standing still with his elbow leaning on his dressing-table, she walked in.

"You will assuredly be late! what have you got there?"

The little sheet of English note-paper lay spread out on the dressing-table. Mr. Randolph was looking at it. He did not answer, and the lady bent nearer for a moment and then stood upright.

"Daisy!" exclaimed Mrs. Randolph.

Her husband made an inarticulate sort of a noise, as he turned away and took up his neglected shaving soap.

"What is this?" said the lady in astonishment.

"What you see—" said Mr. Randolph.

"Where did it come from?"

"The signature tells you."

"But where did you get it?"

"Here—this moment."

"The impertinent little minx!"

"Hush. She does not mean to be impertinent, Felicia."

"Do you like misbehaviour that is not meant, Mr. Randolph?"

"Better than that which is meant."

"I told you the child would get ruined in that place," said Mrs. Randolph, after musing a few minutes over the little sheet of note-paper.

Mr. Randolph made a lather and applied it. That might be the reason why he made no answer.

"I call it impertinence," the lady went on, "and very well grown impertinence too—from a child like that! It is the trick of all religious people, to think themselves better and wiser than the rest of the world; but I think Daisy has learnt the lesson early!"

Still silence on Mr. Randolph\'s part and steady attention to his toilet duties.

"What notice do you mean to take of this?"

"I think, none at all."

"Mr. Randolph, Daisy is ruined!"

"I do not quite see it yet."

"I wish you would see it. She is full of stupid stiff ways, which will be habits fixed as iron in a little time if we do not break them up. She does not act like a child."

"She is very like a child to me," said Mr. Randolph.

"You do not see. Do you observe her way whenever she sits down to table? She covers her face and remains in silent prayer, I suppose, a minute or so."

A slight laugh came from Mrs. Randolph with the words. Mr. Randolph could not well laugh, for he was shaving. He remarked that he had never seen it.

"I wish you would remember and take notice. She does it regularly. And she is not a docile child any longer, I give you warning. You will find it very difficult to do anything with her in the way of breaking up this religious stiffness of hers."

Mr. Randolph was silent a while, and Mrs. Randolph looked vexed. At length he remarked that indirect ways were the best.

"It will take both," said his wife; "direct and indirect." And after that they went down to breakfast.

Mr. Randolph was the last, and he was not early; but this morning Daisy was later still. Her father watched for her coming, and did not see it after all; Daisy stole in so quietly, she was in her seat by his side before he had noticed her. Then perceiving the gentle, sweet, quiet little face beside him, and recognizing the timid feeling which made Daisy afraid to meet his eye, he could not refrain; he bent down and gave her a kiss. He was very much touched by the little fluttering start and glance which Daisy returned to this salutation, and he saw that a pink flush of pleasure came into her cheeks. Perhaps all this put the subject of watching her out of Mr. Randolph\'s head; he certainly did not see the minute, a few minutes later, when Daisy\'s hand stole to her brow and her eyes were for a short space hidden and her hand moveless. Mrs. Randolph saw it, and saw that he did not. Daisy had forgotten that anybody could see her. The thanksgiving of her heart had more burden to-day than the ordinary gifts of the morning which she was wont to remember. Her father was not angry with her! It took a load off Daisy\'s heart; and she looked so happy all breakfast time that Mr. Randolph was very much inclined to slight his wife\'s fears.

Juanita\'s constant habit of thankfulness and of expressing her thankfulness, during the weeks Daisy had spent with her had gone down into the child\'s heart. With every meal, though taken by herself all alone, Daisy had seen the old woman acknowledging gratefully from whose hand she got it. And with other things beside meals; and it had seemed sweet and pleasant to Daisy to do so. At home, when she was suddenly transferred to her father\'s stately board, where every beauty and luxury were gathered together and an array of friends to help each other enjoy it; and no one remembered, no one acknowledged that any gratitude was due to the hand that had supplied the board and given the friends, Daisy\'s heart was pained by a great sense of want. Not thank God for all these things? give no acknowledgement of praise to him? She could not bear to have it so. She thought nobody would notice her, or know what she was doing if they did notice her; and she used to put her hand over her brow and comfort her own heart with giving the thanks she wanted to express. She soon forgot to be afraid anybody would notice her. But Mrs. Randolph marked it all, and now never missed the minute when Daisy\'s face was shielded.