“What?”

“Will you sing the song for them next time?  You will, won’t you?”

“I’ll do what I can”—­said Daisy.  But it was said so soberly, that Preston was doubtful of her.  However he, like Capt.  Drummond, had got to the end of his resources for that time; and seeing his uncle approach, Preston left his seat.

Mr. Randolph took it and drew Daisy from her own to a place in his arms.  He sat then silent a good while, or talking to other people; only holding her close and tenderly.  Truth to tell, Mr. Randolph was a little troubled about the course things were taking; and Daisy and her father were a grave pair that evening.

Daisy felt his arms were a pleasant shield between her and all the world; if they might only keep round her!  And then she thought of Juanita’s prayer, and of the invisible shield, of a stronger and more loving arm, that the Lord Jesus puts between his children and all real harm.

At last Mr. Randolph bent down his head and brought his lips to Daisy’s, asking her if she had had a nice time that afternoon.

“Very, papa!” said Daisy gratefully; and then added after a little hesitation, “Papa, do you know old Juanita?—­Mrs. St. Leonard’s woman, that Mr. St. Leonard built a little house for?”

“I do not know her.  I believe I have heard of her.”

“Papa, would you let me go into her house?  She has some beautiful shells that I should like to see.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw them, papa, through the doorway of her house, I waited there while Sam went with Loupe to the blacksmith’s.”

“And you did not go in?”

“No, sir—­you said I must not, you know.”

“I believe Juanita is a safe person, Daisy.  You may go in, if ever you have another opportunity.”

“Thank you, papa.”

“What are you going to do with the hundred dollars?” said Mr. Randolph, putting his head down and speaking softly.

Daisy waited a minute, checked the swelling of her heart, forbade her tears, steadied her voice to speak; and then said, “I sha’n’t have them, papa.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t fulfil the conditions.”  Daisy spoke again after waiting a minute.

“Don’t you mean to sing?”

Every time Daisy waited.—­“I can’t, papa.”

“Your mother will require it.”

Silence, only Mr. Randolph saw that the child’s breath went and came under excitement.

“Daisy, she will require it.”

“Yes, papa”—­was said rather faintly.

“And I think you must do it.”

No response from Daisy; and no sign of yielding.

“How do you expect to get over it?”

“Papa, won’t you help me?” was the child’s agonized cry.  She hid her face in her father’s breast.

“I have tried to help you.  I will give you what will turn your fancied wrong deed into a good one.  It is certainly right to do charitable things on Sunday.”