Daisy did not answer, while she was writing down with a pencil what Nora had said and making her repeat it for that purpose.  When she had done she looked a little dubiously off towards the woods, while Nora was surprised and disappointed into silence.

“I think perhaps I ought to tell you——­” was Daisy’s slow conclusion.  “I want to know what this means, that I may do it, Nora.”

“Do it?”

“Yes,” said Daisy turning her quiet eyes full upon her companion—­“I want to try to please God.  I love the Lord Jesus.”

Nora was very much confounded, and looked at Daisy as if a gap in the ground had suddenly separated them.

“So,” Daisy went on, “as I have talents to use, I want to know what they are, for fear I shouldn’t use them all.  I don’t understand it yet, but I will think about it.  Now we will go on about the party if you like.”

“But Daisy——­” said Nora.

“What?”

“Are you in earnest?”

“Certainly I am in earnest,” said Daisy gravely.  “What makes you ask me?  Don’t you think your brother is in earnest?”

“Marmaduke! oh yes,—­but—­you never told me of it before.”

“I didn’t know it till yesterday,” said Daisy simply, “that I loved the Lord Jesus; but I know I do now, and I am very glad; and I am going to be his servant.”

Her little face was very sweet and quiet as she looked at her little neighbour and said these words; but Nora was utterly confounded, and so nearly dismayed that she was silent; and it was not till several invitations in Daisy’s usual manner had urged her, that she was able to get upon the subject of the party again and to discuss it with any spirit.  The discussion then did not come to any determination.  Daisy was at least lukewarm in her fancy for that mode of spending her birthday; and separate plans of pic-nics and expeditions of pleasure were taken up and handled, sure to be thrown aside by Nora for the greater promise and splendour of the home entertainment.  They broke up at last without deciding upon anything, except that Nora should come again to talk about it, and should at all events have and give her share in whatever the plan for the day might be.

Perhaps Daisy watched her opportunity, perhaps it came; but at all events she seized the first chance that she saw to speak with her father in private.  He was sauntering out the next morning after breakfast.  Daisy joined him, and they strolled along through the grounds, giving here and there directions to the gardener, till they came near one of the pleasant rustic seats, under the shade of a group of larches.

“Papa, suppose we sit down here for a moment and let us look about us.”

“Well, Daisy,”—­said her father, who knew by experience what was likely to follow.

“Papa,” said Daisy as they sat down, “I want to ask you about something.”

“What is it?”

“When I was in the chaise, driving Loupe the other day, papa, I heard something that I could not understand.”