got out since,--'_Then_ shall the righteous shine
forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father.'"

"When, Mr. Dinwiddie?" said Daisy, after a timid silence.

"When the King comes!" said the young man, still looking off to the
glowing west,--"the time when he will put away out of his kingdom all
things that offend him. You may read about it, if you will, in the
thirteenth chapter of Matthew, in the parable of the tares."

He turned round to Daisy as he spoke, and the two looked steadily into
one another's faces; the child wondering very much what feeling it could
be that had called an additional sparkle into those bright eyes the
moment before, and brought to the mouth, which was always in happy play,
an expression of happy rest. He, on his part, queried what lay under the
thoughtful, almost anxious, search of the little one's quiet grey eyes.

"Do you know," he said, "that you must go home? The sun is almost down."

So home they went--Mr. Dinwiddie and Nora taking care of Daisy quite to
the house. But it was long after sundown then.

"What has kept you?" her mother asked, as Daisy came in to the
tea-table.

"I didn't know how late it was, mamma."

"Where have you been?"

"I was picking wintergreens with Nora Dinwiddie."

"I hope you brought me some," said Mr. Randolph.

"O I did, papa; only I have not put them in order yet."

"And where did you and Nora part?"

"Here, at the door, mamma."

"Was she alone?"

"No, ma'am--Mr. Dinwiddie found us in the wood, and he took her home,
and he brought me home first."

Daisy was somewhat of a diplomatist. Perhaps a little natural reserve of
character might have been the beginning of it, but the habit had
certainly grown from Daisy's experience of her mother's somewhat
capricious and erratic views of her movements. She could not but find
out that things which to her father's sense were quite harmless and
unobjectionable, were invested with an unknown and unexpected character
of danger or disagreeableness in the eyes of her mother; neither could
Daisy get hold of any chain of reasoning by which she might know
beforehand what would meet her mother's favour and what would not. The
unconscious conclusion was, that reason had little to do with it; and
the consequence, that without being untrue, Daisy had learned to be very
uncommunicative about her thoughts, plans, or wishes. To her mother,
that is; she was more free with her father, though the habit, once a
habit