But for the present Daisy was a soldier; and meditating much on a service which she had to perform.  That very day, if you had been there, and worn an invisible cap, you might have gone into her room and seen what she was about.  On the ottoman aforesaid Daisy’s writing-desk was placed; and before it on a cricket sat Daisy, with a face, O how grave and busy!  A very weight of care of some sort seemed to lie under her childish little brow.  She was opening her desk and looking out paper; some she felt and rejected—­it was too thin or too blue, or something; she tried her pen on another kind; it did not go well.  At last a thick little sheet of note paper was chosen; and Daisy began to write.  Or rather, sat over the paper with her pen in her fingers, thinking how to write.  She looked very anxious; then took bits of paper and a pencil and tried different forms of a sentence.  At last, with slow care, and fingers that trembled, a line or two was inscribed on the beautiful thick little sheet of English note paper.

    “Dear papa, won’t you think about being a Christian?  Do not be
    displeased with

    “DAISY.”

It was written all out, as fair as she could; and then you might have seen Daisy’s little round head go down on her hands on the desk.  It did not move for a good while.  When it was lifted up, she sought out an envelope rather hurriedly, directed it, folded and put in her note, and sealed it.

Daisy shut her desk then, and with a manner not quite as calm and careless as usual, went to her father’s dressing table and stood considering where she should put the note.  Under the cushion, it might be seen first by a servant, and then delivered to Mr. Randolph in the midst of company.  Under his dressing-box, the same fate threatened it.  Daisy peered about, and thought, and trembled for several minutes.  She had a fancy that she did not want him to get it before the next morning, when he would be quietly dressing here alone.  He would certainly be opening his dressing-box before that.  The only place Daisy could be sure would not be invaded before that, was the place she chose; she took off the cover of his box of shaving soap and with some trouble squeezed the note in so that it would lie safely hid; then put on the cover and put the box in its place, and went away with light hands and a heavy heart.  Heavy, that is, with a burden of doubt mingled with fear.  Would Mr. Randolph be angry?  Daisy could not feel sure that that would not be the consequence of her proceeding.  Perhaps he would be very much displeased, and think it very disrespectful and improper that his little daughter should take so much upon herself.  Daisy knew quite well all that.  But who else in the world would take the responsibility if she did not?  No one; and Daisy with all her fear did not once think of going to get her note away again before it should be read.  Her heart yearned towards her father.  He was so very gentle and