“You must remain here until I come again,” said the doctor; “and now I will send some of the rest of the family to you.”

The first one that came was her father.  He sat down by the sofa, and was so tenderly glad to have her there again, that Daisy’s little heart leaped for joy.  She put her hand in his, and lay looking into his face.

“Papa, it is nice,” she said.

“What?”

“O to be here, and with you again.”

Mr. Randolph put his lips down to Daisy’s, and kissed them a good many times.

“Do you know we are going to Silver Lake with you as soon as you are strong enough?”

“O yes, papa!  Dr. Sandford says he can manage it.  But I don’t know when.”

“In a week or two more.”

“Papa, who is going?”

“Everybody, I suppose.”

“But I mean, is anybody to be invited?”

“I think we must ask Dr. Sandford.”

“O yes, papa!  I wish he would go.  But is anybody else to be asked?”

“I do not know, Daisy.  Whom would you like to have invited?”

“Papa, I would like very much to have Nora Dinwiddie.  She has come back.”

“Well, tell your mother so.”

Daisy was silent a little; then she began on a new theme.

“Papa, what is a ’vocation’?”

“What is what, Daisy?”

“Vocation, papa.”

“Where did you get that word?”

“I found it in a book.”

“It means commonly a person’s business or employment.”

“Only that, papa?”

“There is another sense in which it is used, but you would hardly understand it.”

“Please tell me, papa.”

“Why?”

“Papa, I like to know the meanings of things.  Please tell me.”

“Daisy, it means a ’calling’—­in the idea that some persons are particularly appointed to a certain place or work in the world.”

Daisy looked a little hard at him, and then said, “Thank you, papa.”

“Daisy, I hope you do not think you have a ‘vocation,’” said Mr. Randolph, half smiling.

“Papa,” said the child, “I cannot help it.”

“No, perhaps not,” said Mr. Randolph, stooping again to Daisy’s lips.  “When you are older and wiser you will know better.  At present your vocation is to be a good little daughter.  Now what are you going to do to-day?  Here is Preston—­if you want him; or I will do for you what you please.”

“Yes, Daisy, what shall we do?” said Preston.

“O, are you at leisure?”

“All your own, Daisy, for this morning at any rate.  What shall we do?”

“O Preston, would you mind getting my tray for me; and let us go on with the battle of Hastings?”

“With what?” said Mr. Randolph, laughing.

“The battle of Hastings, papa—­English history, you know.  Captain Drummond and I got just there and then we stopped.  But Harold was killed—­wasn’t he, papa?”