“I don’t want to learn no more to-day,” said the child.  “I’m going.  Good bye, Daisy.”

She stayed no further instruction of any kind; but caught up her calico sunbonnet and went off at a jump, calling out “Good bye, Daisy!” when she had got some yards from the house.  Daisy lay still, looking very thoughtful.

“The child has just tired you, my love!” said the black woman.

“What shall I do, Juanita?  She doesn’t understand.”

“My love knows who opened the eyes of the blind,” said Juanita.

Daisy sighed.  Certainly teaching seemed to take very small hold on her rough little pupil.  These thoughts were suddenly banished by the entrance of Mrs. Randolph.

The lady was alone this time.  How like herself she looked, handsome and stately, in characteristic elegance of attire and manner both.  Her white morning dress floated off in soft edges of lace from her white arms; a shawl of precious texture was gathered loosely about them; on her head a gossamer web of some fancy manufacture fell off on either side, a mock covering for it.  She came up to Daisy and kissed her, and then examined into her various arrangements, to see that she was in all respects well and properly cared for.  Her mother’s presence made Daisy feel very meek.  Her kiss had been affectionate, her care was motherly; but with all that there was not a turn of her hand nor a tone of her calm voice that did not imply and express absolute possession, perfect control.  That Daisy was a little piece of property belonging to her in sole right, with which she did and would do precisely what it might please her, with very little concern how or whether it might please Daisy.  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.”  For Daisy knew that Juanita was not far off.  But Mrs. Randolph only said, “Tell me now.”