"Daisy, answer," said her father, gravely.
"No, papa," — Daisy said, low as before.
"Why not?"
"Papa," said Daisy, with a good deal of difficulty and
hesitation — "that is all passed — I do not want to say
anything more about it."
"About what?"
"About — papa, I do not think mamma would like to have me talk
about it."
"Go on, Daisy. — About what?"
"All that trouble we had, papa."
"What I want to know is, why you did not feel grateful for
your aunt's kindness just now, which she had been at some
pains to show you."
"Papa," said Daisy, wistfully, — "it was not kindness — it was
pay; and I did not want pay."
"Pay? For what?"
"For my Egyptian spoon, papa."
"I do not understand what you are talking of, Daisy."
"No, papa," said Daisy; so simply showing her wish that he
should not, as well as her knowledge that he did not, that Mr.
Randolph could not forbear smiling.
"But I mean to understand it," he said.
"It was my old Egyptian spoon, papa; the doll was meant to be
pay for that."
A little explanation was necessary in order to bring to Mr.
Randolph's mind the facts Daisy referred to, the spoon itself
and the time and occasion when it was bestowed on her.
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