They do not generally speak it out aloud."
"Then papa," said Daisy speaking slowly, "how do you know? What makes
you think they feel so?"
Her father smiled at her eagerness and gravity. "I see it, Daisy, when
they do not speak it. They shew it in various ways. Besides, I know
their habit of talking among themselves."
"But papa, that is very bad."
"What?"
"That poor people should feel so. I am sure rich people are their best
friends."
Her father stroked her head fondly, and looked amused.
"They don't believe that, Daisy."
"But _why_ don't they believe it, papa?" said Daisy growing more and
more surprised.
"I suppose," said Mr. Randolph rising, "they would be better satisfied
if I gave them my horses and went afoot."
A speech which Daisy pondered and pondered and could make nothing of.
They walked on, Mr. Randolph making observations and giving orders now
and then to workmen. Here a man was mowing under the shrubbery; there
the gardener was setting out pots of greenhouse flowers; in another
place there were holes digging for trees to be planted.
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