"
"But, papa, I am a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ," said the
child, looking unutterably sober.
"I do not intend my commands shall conflict with any of higher
authority."
"Papa — suppose — they _might?_"
"I must be judge. You are a little child; you must take the
law from my mouth, until you are older."
"But, papa, suppose I _thought_ the Bible told me to do what you
did not think it said?"
"I advise you to believe my judgment, Daisy, if you wish to
keep the peace between us. I will not have any more calling of
it in question."
Daisy struggled plainly, though she would not cry; her colour
flushed, her lip quivered. She was entirely silent for a
little while, and Mr. Randolph sat watching her. The struggle
lasted some minutes — till she had overcome it somewhat she
would not speak — and it was sharp. Then the child closed her
eyes, and her face grew calm. Mr. Randolph did not know what
to think of her.
"Daisy."
"What, papa?"
"I do not think we have settled this question yet."
"I do not think we have, papa."
"What is to be done? It will not answer, my little daughter,
for you to set up your will against mine."
"Papa, it is not my will."
"What do you call it, then?"
"Papa, it is not my will at all.
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