The conversation ended and left Daisy greatly mystified.  Her father’s people not liking him?—­the poor having ill will against the rich, and a grudge against their pleasant things?—­it was very melancholy!  Daisy thought about it a great deal that day; and had a very great talk on the subject with Nora, who without a quarter of the interest had much more knowledge about it than Daisy.  She had been with her brother sometimes to the houses of poor children, and she gave Daisy a high-coloured picture of the ways of living in such houses and the absence of many things by Daisy and herself thought the necessaries of life.  Daisy heard her with a lengthening face, and almost thought there was some excuse for the state of feeling her father had explained in the morning.  The question however was too long a one for Daisy; but she arrived at one conclusion, which was announced the next morning at the breakfast-table.  Mrs. Randolph had called upon her to say what was determined upon for the birthday.

“Papa,” said Daisy, “will there be a great plenty of strawberries next week?”

“Yes, I believe so.  Logan says the vines are very full.  What then?”

“Papa, you gave me my choice of what I would have for Wednesday.”

“Yes.  Is it my strawberry patch?”

“Not for myself, papa.  I want you to have a great table set out of doors somewhere, and give a feast to all your work people.”

“Daisy!” exclaimed Mrs. Randolph.  “I never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life!”

Daisy waited with downcast eyes for her father to speak.  He was not in a hurry.

“Would that give you pleasure, Daisy?”

“Yes, papa.”

“Did Nora Dinwiddie put that scheme in your head?” asked Mrs. Randolph.

“She didn’t like it at all, mamma.  I put it into her head.”

“Where did you get it?”

Daisy looked troubled and puzzled, and did not answer till her father said “Speak.”  Then nestling up to him with her head on his breast, a favourite position, she said, “I got it from different sources, I think, papa.”

“Let us hear, for instance.”

“I think, partly from the Bible, papa—­and partly from what we were talking of yesterday.”

“I wish you would shew me where you found it in the Bible.  I don’t remember a strawberry feast there.”

“Do you mean it in earnest, papa?”

“Yes.”

Daisy walked off for a Bible—­not her own—­and after some trouble found a place which she shewed her father; and he read aloud, “When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbours; lest they also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee.  But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind; and thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee; for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.”  Mr. Randolph closed the book and laid it on the table, and drew his little daughter again within his arms.