CHAPTER XIII.
A TRUCE
It is odd with what significance little things become endued, from their connection with other things which are not little. I remember the white dress mamma wore the next day, and the red cashmere scarf she had wrapped round her. I remember how happy and easy the folds of her drapery were, and how I noticed her graceful slow movements, Surely grace is a natural attribute of power, even though power be not always graceful; at least any uncertainty of meaning or manner is fatal to gracefulness. There was no uncertainty about mamma ever, unless the uncertainty of carelessness; and that itself belonged to power. There was no uncertainty in any fold of her cashmere that morning; in any movement of her person, slow and reposeful as every movement was. I knew by a sort of instinct what it all meant. Indeed these were mamma's ordinary characteristics; only appearing just now with the bloom of perfection upon them. She was powerful and she knew it; I knew myself naturally no match for her. It was always very hard for me to withstand mamma. Nothing but the sense of right ever gave me courage to do it. But striving for the right, the Christian is not at his own charges, and has other strength than his own to depend upon.
"You do not eat, my darling," papa said to me.
"Daisy has too much to think of," said mamma with a sort of careless significance. "I will have another bit of chicken, if you please, Mr. Randolph."
"What is she thinking of?"
"Girls' thoughts are unfathomable," said mamma.
"Is it thoughts, Daisy?" said my father.
"I suppose it may be, papa."
"Then I shall do something to break up thinking," he said.