The child
lingered wistfully. Then crossed the hall, and went into a matted,
breezy, elegant room, where a lady lay luxuriously on a couch, playing
with a book and a leaf-cutter. She could not be _busy_ with anything in
that attitude. Nearly all that was to be seen was a flow of lavender
silk flounces, a rich slipper at rest on a cushion, and a dainty little
cap with roses on a head too much at ease to rest. By the side of the
lavender silk stood the little white dress, still and preoccupied as
before--a few minutes without any notice.
"Do you want anything, Daisy?"
"Mamma, I want to know something."
"Well, what is it?"
"Mamma"--Daisy seemed to be engaged on a very puzzling question--"what
does it mean to be a Christian?"
"_What?_" said her mother, rousing herself up for the first time to look
at her.
"To be a Christian, mamma?"
"It means, to be baptized and go to church, and all that," said the
lady, turning back to her book.
"But mamma, that isn't all I mean."
"I don't know what you mean. What has put it into your head?"
"Something Mr.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25