"Papa - you know on what side of most things I am -" I replied
to this difficult question.
"Do I? No, I do not know that I do. What side is it, Daisy?"
"On the Lord's side, papa, when I can find out what that is."
"Make me sure that you have found it, and I will be on that
side too," he said, as he kissed me.
The words filled me with a great joy. For they were not spoken
in defiance of the supposed condition, but rather, as it
seemed to me, in desire and love of it. Had papa come to that?
The new joy poured like a flood over all the dry places in my
heart, which had got into a very dry state with hearing the
conversation of the evening. I went to bed tired and happy.
Nevertheless I awoke to the consciousness that I had a nice
piece of navigation before me, and plenty of rough water in
all probability. The best thing would be for me to be as
silent as possible. Could I be silent? They all wanted to hear
what I would say. Every eye had sought mine this past evening.
I was the first in the breakfast-room, and papa was the next.
We were alone. He took me tenderly in his arms and held me
fast, looking at me and kissing me by turns.
"Are you well now, papa?" I asked him. "Are you quite well
again?"
"Well enough," he answered; "not just as I was once."
"Why not, papa?"
"I have never quite got over that unlucky fall. It has left my
head a little shaky, Daisy; and my strength - Never mind! you
are my strength now, my pet. We should have gone home before
this, only for the troubles breaking out there."
I leaned my head upon his breast, and wished the troubles were
not! What a division those troubles made, unknown to him,
between his heart's happiness and mine - yes, between him and
me. Mamma came in and looked at us both.
"It is a very pretty picture," she said. And she kissed me,
while papa did not let me out of his arms. "Daisy, you are a
beauty."
"She is a great deal better than a beauty," said my father.
"But, now I look at you, Daisy - yes, you are a beauty,
certainly."
They both laughed heartily at the colour which all this raised
in my face.
"Most exquisite, her skin is," said my mother, touching my
cheek. "Did you ever see anything superior to it, Mr.
Randolph? Rose leaves are not any better than that. Pshaw,
Daisy! - you must get accustomed to hear people say it."
"Nobody shall say it to me, mamma, but you."