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, oh, 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.
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