she must not ask Mr. Dinwiddie. She went to bed, turning the
matter all over and over in her little head.


CHAPTER II.

THE PONY-CHAISE.


For some days after this time, Mrs. Randolph fancied that her
little daughter was less lively than usual; she "moped," her
mother said. Daisy was not moping, but it was true she had
been little seen or heard; and then it was generally sitting
with a book in the Belvedere or on a bank under a rose-bush,
or going out or coming in with a book under her arm. Mrs.
Randolph did not know that this book was almost always the
Bible, and Daisy had taken a little pains that she should not
know, guessing somehow that it would not be good for her
studies. But her mother thought Daisy was drooping; and Daisy
had been a delicate child, and the doctor had told them to
turn her out in the country and "let her run;" therefore it
was that she was hardly ever checked in any fancy that came
into her head. But therefore it was partly, too, that Mrs.
Randolph tried to put books and thinking as far from her as
she could.

"Daisy," she said one morning at the breakfast-table, "would
you like to go with June and carry some nice things down to
Mrs. Parsons?"