"From Miss Daisy's room, sir."
"Has she been taking supper up there?"
"No, sir — Miss Daisy wouldn't touch nothing."
"Is she unwell?" — Mr. Randolph asked, in a startled tone.
"No, sir." June's tone was dry.
Mr. Randolph marched at once to the room in question, where
Daisy was eating her bread and milk.
"What are you doing, Daisy?"
"Papa!" — said the child, with a start; and then quietly, "I
am taking my supper."
"Were you not at the table down stairs?"
"Yes, papa."
"How came you not to have your supper there?"
"I had to come away, papa."
"Are you not well, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, tenderly,
bending down over her chair.
"Yes, papa — quite well."
"Then, why did you come away?"
Daisy's spoon lay still in her fingers and her eyes reddened.
"Mamma sent me."
If the child was to have any supper at all, Mr. Randolph saw,
he must forbear his questioning. He rose up from leaning over
her chair. "Go on, Daisy —" he said; and he left her, but did
not leave the room. He walked up and down the floor at a
little distance, while Daisy finished her bread and milk She
was too much in want of it not to do that. When it was done
she got out of her chair and stood on the floor looking at her
father, as gentle as a young sparrow.
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