"
"I will change the word. Do you mean that your purpose is to
make, henceforward, your own rules of life?"
"No, papa; I do not mean that."
"What do you mean?"
"Papa," said Daisy, very deliberately, "if I belong to my
Saviour, — you know, — I must follow His rules."
"Daisy, I shall not cease to require obedience to mine."
"No, papa, — but —" said Daisy, colouring.
"But what?"
"I don't know very well how to say what I want, papa; it is
difficult."
"Try."
"Papa, you will not be displeased?"
"That depends upon what you have to say, Daisy."
"Papa, I do not _mean_ to displease you," said the child, her
eyes filling with tears. "But — suppose —"
"Well, — suppose anything."
"Suppose _those_ rules should be different from your rules?"
"I am to be the judge, Daisy. If you set up disobedience to
me, on any pretext, you know the consequences."
Daisy's lip trembled; she put up her hands to her face, and
burst into tears. She could not bear that reminder. Her father
took one of her hands down, and kissed the little wet cheek.
"Where are you going to find these rules, Daisy," he said,
kindly, "which you are going to set up against mine?"
"Papa, I do not set them up.
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