“Daisy, are you serious?”

“Why, yes, Preston.”

“My dear little Daisy, do not you go and be a philosopher!”

“Why, I can’t; but why shouldn’t I?”

“Philosophers are not ‘nice,’ Daisy, when they are ladies,” said Preston, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“Because ladies are not meant to be philosophers.”

“But I want to know about trilobites,” said Daisy.

“I don’t think you do.  You would not find the study of fossils interesting.”

“I think I should—­if you would help me, Preston.”

“Well, we will see, Daisy.  I will do anything for you, if you will do one thing for me.  O Daisy, do!  Aunt Felicia has not given it up at all.”

“Good bye, Preston,” said Daisy.  “Now you must go, and not talk to me any more this time.”

Preston ran off.  He was not allowed to come again for a day or two; and Daisy was not allowed to talk.  She was kept very quiet, until it was found that the broken bone was actually healing and in a fair way to get well.  The pains in it were no longer so trying; the very hot days had given place to a time of milder weather; and Daisy, under the care of the old black woman, enjoyed her solitary imprisonment well enough.  Twice a day always her father visited her; once a day, Mrs. Randolph.  Her stay was never very long; Juanita’s house was not a comfortable place for her; but Mr. Randolph gave a large piece of his time and attention to his suffering little daughter, and was indeed the first one to execute Preston’s plan of reading aloud for her amusement.  A new and great delight to Daisy.  She never remembered her father taking such pains with her before.  Then, when her father and mother were gone, and the cottage was still, Juanita and Daisy had what the latter called their “good time.”  Juanita read the Bible and sang hymns and prayed.  There was no time nor pleasure in all the day that Daisy liked so well.

She had gained strength and was in a good way to be well again.  The first morning this was told her, Daisy said: 

“Papa, may I speak to you now?”

“About something important, Daisy?”

“Yes, papa, I think so.”

“Go on.  What is it?”

Juanita was standing near by.  The child glanced at her, then at her father.

“Papa,” she said, speaking slowly and with some hesitation,—­“I want you to know—­I want to tell you—­about me, so that you may understand.”

“Are you so difficult to understand, Daisy?”

“No, papa; but I want you to know something.  I want you to know that I am a Christian.”

“Well, so are we all,” said Mr. Randolph coolly.

“No, papa, but I don’t mean that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, papa,—­that I belong to the Lord Jesus, and must do what he tells me.”

“What am I to understand by that, Daisy?”

“Nothing, papa; only I thought you ought to know.”