"
"Set it down. I have got some here better for her. June, take
Daisy's hands."
"Oh, mamma, no!" exclaimed Daisy. "Oh, please send June away!"
The slight gesture of command to June which answered this, was
as imperious as it was slight. It was characteristically like
Mrs. Randolph; graceful and absolute. June obeyed it, as old
instinct told her to do; though sorely against her will. She
had held hands before, though not Daisy's; and she knew very
well the look of the little whip with which her mistress
stepped back into the room, having gone to her own for it. In
a Southern home that whip had been wont to live in Mrs.
Randolph's pocket. June's heart groaned within her.
The whip was small, but it had been made for use, not for
play; and there was no play in Mrs. Randolph's use of it. This
was not like her father's ferule, which Daisy could bear in
silence, if tears would come; her mother's handling forced
cries from her; though smothered and kept under in a way that
showed the child's self-command.
"What have you to say to me?" Mrs. Randolph responded, without
waiting for the answer. But Daisy had none to give. At length
her mother paused.
"Will you do what I bid you?"
Daisy was unable to speak for tears — and perhaps for fear.
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