I want to see her to tell her about
it."
Mr. Randolph had it on his tongue to say that somebody else might do
that; but looking down at Daisy, the sight of the pale face and hollow
eyes stopped him. He sat down and drew Daisy up to his side.
"I will let you go."
"Thank you, papa!"
"Do you know," said Mr. Randolph, "that your mother is going to ask you
to sing that song again when Sunday evening comes?"
The smile vanished from Daisy's face; it grew suddenly dark; and a
shuddering motion was both seen and felt by Mr. Randolph, whose arm was
round her.
"Daisy," said he, not unkindly, "do you know that I think you a little
fool?"
She lifted her eyes quickly, and in their meeting with her father's
there was much; much that Mr. Randolph felt without stopping to analyze,
and that made his own face as suddenly sober as her own. There was no
folly in that quick grave look of question or appeal; it seemed to carry
the charge in another direction.
"You think it is not right to sing such a song on a Sunday?" he asked.
"No, papa."
"But suppose, by singing it, you could do a great deal of good, instead
of harm?"
"How, papa?"
"I will give you a hundred dollars for singing it,--which you may spend
as you please for all the poor people about Melbourne or Crum Elbow.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225