“So you came home?”

“Yes, papa.  No, papa, I went to ride with Dr. Sandford.”

“Have you asked leave of your mother?”

“No, papa,”—­said Daisy, in a tone of voice which sufficiently expressed that she did not intend it.

“So my dear little Daisy,” said her father drawing his arm round her a little more closely—­“you think a rose-bush would serve instead of friends to make this poor creature happy?”

“O no, papa!”

“What was the purpose of it, then?”

“Only—­to get her to like me, papa.”

“What were you going to do to make her happy?”

“Papa, if you lived in such a place, in such a way, wouldn’t you like to have a friend come and see you sometimes?”

“Certainly!—­if you were the friend.”

“I thought—­by and by—­she might learn to like it,” Daisy said in the most sedately meek way possible.  Her father could not forbear a smile.

“But Daisy, from what you tell me, I am at a loss to understand the part that all this could have had in your happiness.”

“O papa—­she is so miserable!” was Daisy’s answer.  Mr. Randolph drew her close and kissed her.

“You are not miserable?”

“No, papa—­but—­”

“But what?”

“I would like to give her a little bit of comfort.”

There was much earnestness, and a little sorrow, in Daisy’s eyes.

“I am not sure that it is right for you to go to such places.”

“Papa, may I shew you something?” said the child with sudden life.

“Anything, Daisy.”

She rushed away; was gone a full five minutes; then came softly to Mr. Randolph’s shoulder with an open book in her hand.  It was Joanna’s Bible, for Daisy did not dare bring her own; and it was open at these words—­

“Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.”

“What does this mean, Daisy?  It seems very plain; but what do I want with it?”

“Only, papa, that is what makes me think it is right.”

“What is right?”

“To do this, papa.”

“Well but, are you in want of somebody to come and make you happy?”

“O no, papa—­but if I were in her place, then I should be.”

“Do you suppose this commands us to do in every case what we would like ourselves in the circumstances?”

“Papa—­I suppose so—­if it wouldn’t be something wrong.”

“At that rate, I should have to let you go with your rose-bush,” said Mr. Randolph.

“O papa!” said Daisy, “do you think, if you asked her, mamma would perhaps say I might?”

“Can’t tell, Daisy—­I think I shall try my powers of persuasion.”