"Now if there are any more questions you would like answered, let me hear them."
"There is something I'd like to say, papa, but I'm—almost afraid."
"Afraid of what, daughter?" he asked, as she paused in some embarrassment, and with a half pleading look into his eyes.
"That you might think it saucy and be displeased with me.
"Do you mean it so, daughter?"
"Oh, no indeed, papa!"
"Then you need not be afraid to let me hear it."
"Papa, it is only that I—I think if you had talked to me this morning, when you called me to you, about the wickedness of being too proud to ask Alma's pardon, and reasoned with me as you did a little while ago, about it all, I—I'd have obeyed you at once; you know you do almost always show me the reasonableness of your commands before, or when, you lay them upon me."
"Yes, my child," he said in a kindly tone, "I have done so as a rule, and should in this instance, but that I was much hurried for time. That will sometimes happen, and you and all my children must always obey me promptly, whether you can or cannot at the moment see the reasonableness of the order given. Is your estimation of your father's wisdom and his love for you so low that you cannot trust him thus far?"
"O papa, forgive me!" she exclaimed, putting her arms about his neck and laying her cheek to his. "I do hope I'll never, never again hesitate one minute to obey any order from you; because I know you love me, and that you are very wise and would never bid me do anything but what I ought."