"I'm so glad it is gone, so very glad," she said.
"Why, Daisy—you don't know what you're a-saying," protested Isaac. "Why, Daisy! you'd have been a rich woman one day, with lots of gold, and now there'll be near upon nothing for you, It's all gone!" and the last word sounded like a sob.
"I don't want to be rich," said Daisy. "I don't care about riches, father. They wouldn't make me happy. I'd a great great deal rather be poor now for a few years, than see you poor, up to the very end."
"See me poor!" said Isaac, perplexed.
"Father, having gold doesn't make a man rich," said Daisy. "You've had gold, but you have been poor. I want to see you free and rich now, able to think of something better."
"Something better!" repeated Isaac helplessly.
"Something better than gold," said Daisy. "That is what I mean. As long as you had the gold you didn't seem able to think of anything else. And, father, the gold wasn't really yours,—not yours for always, for ever. You only had it for a little while. And if it hadn't been stolen from you now, you would have had to leave it soon. You couldn't have taken it with you when you died."
"I'm not a-going to die yet. Whatever makes you talk about dying?" asked Isaac uneasily.
"I think about it often," said Daisy gently. "You and I have both been so near death lately, father. We are both getting well now, but it won't be for very long, you know. Father, I don't think I should have been afraid to die. Should you?"
Isaac's glances wandered about the room uncomfortably.