“Cases are not parallel, Daisy.”

She wondered in her simplicity why they were not; but her questions had already ventured pretty far; she did not dare count too much upon her father’s gentleness.  She stood looking at him with unsatisfied eyes.

“In one sense we receive everything we have from the bounty of Heaven.”

“Yes, papa.”

“If your wish were carried out, we should be covering our faces all the time—­if that formality is needed in giving thanks.”

Daisy had thoughts, but she was afraid to utter them.  She looked at Mr. Randolph with the same unsatisfied eyes.

“Do you see, Daisy?”

“No, papa.”

“Don’t you!” said Mr. Randolph smiling.  “Difficulties still unsolved?  Can you state them, Daisy?”

“Papa, you said I might shew you in the Bible things—­do you remember?”

“Things?  What things?”

“Papa, if I wanted to do things that I thought were right—­you promised that if you thought they were in the Bible, I might do as it said.”

“Humph!”—­said Mr. Randolph, with a very doubtful sort of a grunt, between displeasure at his own word, and annoyance at the trouble it might bring upon him.  Nevertheless, he remembered the promise.  Daisy went on timidly.

“When you get up—­by and by, papa,—­may I shew you what is in the Bible?”

“You need not wait till I get up—­shew it to me now.”

“I cannot lift that big Bible, papa.”

Mr. Randolph rose up from the sofa, went to the shelves where it lay, and brought the great Bible to the library table.  Then stood and watched Daisy, who kneeled in a chair by the table and busily turned over the large leaves, her little face very wise and intent, her little hands small to manage the big book before her.  Had such a child and such a book anything to do with each other, Mr. Randolph thought?  But Daisy presently found her place, and looking up at him drew a little back that her father might see it.  He stooped over Daisy and read,

“In everything give thanks.”

“Do you see it, papa?”

“Yes.”

“Then here is another place—­I know where to find it—­”

She turned over more leaves, stopped again, and Mr. Randolph stooped and read,—­

“Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Mr. Randolph read, and went and threw himself on his sofa again.  Daisy came beside him.  A wistful earnestness in the one face; a careless sort of embarrassment on the other.

“You are led astray, little Daisy, by a common mistake of ignorant readers.  You fancy that these words are to be taken literally—­whereas they mean simply that we should cultivate a thankful spirit.  That, of course, I agree to.”

“But, papa,” said Daisy, “is a thankful spirit the same thing quite as giving thanks?”

“It is a much better thing, Daisy, in my opinion.”