Daisy was very far
from putting all this in words, or even in distinct thoughts;
nevertheless she felt and knew every bit of it; her mother's hand did
not touch Daisy's foot or her shoulder, without her inward consciousness
what a powerful hand it was. Now it is true that all this was in one way
no new thing; Daisy had always known her mother's authority to be just
what it was now; but it was only of late that a question had arisen
about the bearing of this authority upon her own little life and
interests. With the struggle that had been, and the new knowledge that
more struggles in the future were not impossible, the consciousness of
her mother's power over her had a new effect. Mrs. Randolph sat down and
took out her tetting work; but she only did a few stitches.
"What child was that I met running from the house as I came up?" she
asked, a little to Daisy's discomfiture.
"It was a little girl who belongs in the village, mamma."
"How comes she to know you?"
"It happened by accident partly, in the first place."
"What accident?"
"Mamma, I will tell you another time, if you will let me.
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