“Papa—­Dr. Sandford told me I must keep quiet.”

“Well, you shall,” said Mr. Randolph.  “That is right enough.  You shall keep quiet, and I will go to sleep.”

So he did.  But he did not loose his hold of Daisy; and she lay, still as happiness could make her, with her head upon his breast.  She knew, she was conscious, that he must be very feeble yet, to go to sleep in that way; but she was with him again, and in his arms, and her heart was so full of joy that it could do nothing but overflow in silent thanksgivings and prayers.  Daisy would not have stirred till he did, no matter how long it might have been; but there came an interruption.  A door opened, and Mrs. Randolph appeared on the threshold, and so soon as she saw Daisy beckoned her to come to another room.  Mr. Randolph’s arms had relaxed their hold somewhat, and Daisy obeyed the signal and left him.

Her mother wanted then to know all the story of her days at Mrs. Sandford’s; and Daisy had a good deal to tell.  That is, Mrs. Randolph’s questionings made it so.  Daisy herself would not have had it a long story.  Then, she must see June, and Joanna; and then came dinner.  It was not till the afternoon was well passed that the call came for her to go to her father again.  Daisy had watched and waited for it; her mother had forbidden her to go in without it.  At last she was sent for, and Daisy sprang away.

Mrs. Randolph was there.

“No noise!—­remember,” she said, lifting her finger as Daisy came in.  Daisy came near slowly.  Her father held out his hand to her, and folded her in his arms again.

“You are such a noisy child!” he said,—­“your mother does wisely to warn you.”

“She is an excitable child,”—­said Mrs. Randolph;—­“and I think you want warning too.”

“We will keep each other quiet,” said Mr. Randolph.

The lady looked on, with what seemed a doubtful eye.  Nobody watched it.  Her husband’s eyes were often closed; Daisy’s little head lay on his breast, quiet enough, unless when she moved it to give soft noiseless kisses to her father’s cheek.  They remained so a good while, with scarce any word spoken; and Mrs. Randolph was busy at her tetting.  The light faded; the evening drew on.

“It is time for Daisy’s tea.”  It was the first thing that broke a long silence.

“She and I will have it together,” said Mr. Randolph.

“Will that be best for you, Mr. Randolph?”

“I hope so.”

“I doubt it.”

“Most things in this world are doubtful,” said Mr. Randolph; “but we will try.”

“Will you choose to have tea now, then?”

“Now?—­no.”

“This is Daisy’s time.”

“Very well.  She must wait for my time.”