He came and wheeled her
chair round and sat down upon it.
"What is the matter, Daisy?"
"Mamma was displeased with me." The child dropped her eyes.
"What about?"
"Papa" — said Daisy, slowly, trying for words and perhaps also
for self-command — "mamma was displeased with me because — I —
"
"What?"
"Papa — because I did what she did not like at dinner."
"At dinner? what was that?"
The child lifted her eyes now to her father's face, a little
wistfully.
"Papa — don't you know? — I was only praying a minute."
Mr. Randolph stretched out his arm, drew Daisy up to him,
placed her on his knee, and looked down into her face.
"Did you have no supper downstairs?"
"No, sir."
"Do you like bread and milk better than other things?"
"No, papa."
"I met June with a great tray of supper things, and she said
you would not eat them. Why was that?"
"Papa," said Daisy, "I thought mamma did not mean me to have
those things to-night."
"She did not forbid you?"
"No, papa."
Mr. Randolph's arm was round Daisy; now he wrapped both arms
about her, bringing her up close to his breast, and putting
down his lips to her face, he kissed her over and over, with a
great tenderness.
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