"Do you not consider that one has a right to be angry when one
has a reason?"
"But one shouldn't stay angry," said the child, folding her
hands over her heart.
"How are you going to help it, Daisy?"
"There is a way, Dr. Sandford."
"Is there? But you see I am in the dark now. I am as much
abroad about that, as you were about a journey of three
hundred years to the sun. When I am angry I never find that I
can help it. I can maybe help using my horsewhip; but I cannot
manage the anger."
"No —" said Daisy, looking up at him, and thinking how
terrible it must be to have to encounter anger from his blue
eye.
"What then, Daisy? how do you make out your position."
Daisy did not very well like to say. She had a certain
consciousness — or fear — that it would not be understood, and
she would be laughed at — not openly, for Dr. Sandford was
never impolite; but yet she shrunk from the cold glance of
unbelief, or of derision, however well and kindly masked. She
was silent.
"Haven't we got into a confidential position yet?" said the
doctor.
"Yes, sir, but —"
"Speak on."
"Jesus will help us, Dr. Sandford, if we ask Him." And tears,
that were tears of deep penitence now, rushed to Daisy's eyes.
Pages:
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417