ase, why was
it not kind in your aunt to bestow this French doll upon you? it seems
to me very kind."

"Yes papa--you do not understand."

"Make me understand. Daisy, I command you to tell me all that you have
not told me. You need not think of anything now, except my command."

Daisy did, perhaps; for now her lip quivered slightly; and for a moment
she hid her face in her father's bosom. Mr. Randolph wrapped his arms
round her and stooped his head to hear the story which Daisy was
obliged to give. She gave it fully, and he heard it quite through in
silence. And he made no observation upon it when it was finished; he
only asked her,

"Was there no resentment in your refusal of thanks to your aunt just
now?"

"No, papa"--said Daisy; with too sweet and artless utterance for him to
doubt her.

"But then, Daisy, we come back to the cause of your mother's
displeasure. Good breeding requires that people should not be rude, even
by silence."

"Papa, I did not know how to be polite with truth."

"You could have said you were very much obliged to your aunt."

"But, I was _not_, papa."

"Not obliged to her?"

"No, sir."

"But, Daisy, that is a civil form, of expression which it is usual to
avail oneself of upon such occasions. It does not necessarily mean
much."

"But, papa, would she not have thought I meant it, if I had said so?"

"Very likely. That is the polite advantage gained."

"But papa. _I_ should have known that I did not mean it; and it would
not have been true."

"This is getting to be too deep a question for you to discuss
to-night--it is time for you to go to bed. But I cannot have you rude."

Daisy kissed her father, who had been extremely gentle and tender with
her, and went off to her room. Mr. Randolph's brow looked moody.

"Have you brought Daisy's ideas into order?" asked his wife, who had
been engaged in conversation with Dr. Sandford.

"She has rather brought confusion into mine," said the gentleman.

"What is the matter?"

"Truth and Daisy, versus civility and the world. And it is not easy to
make a child comprehend some of the fine distinctions we are accustomed
to draw. White and black are _very_ white and black, to such eyes, and
no allowance is made for a painter's lights and shades."

"She must make allowance for what your eyes see," said Mrs. Randolph.

Mr. Randolph made no answer.

"Daisy is entirely changed," her mother went on,--"and is become
utterly obstinate and