"No, papa."
"But suppose, by singing it, you could do a great deal of good, instead of harm?"
"How, papa?"
"I will give you a hundred dollars for singing it,—which you may spend as you please for all the poor people about Melbourne or Crum Elbow."
It was very singular to him to see the changes in Daisy's face. Light and shadow came and went with struggling quickness. He expected her to speak, but she waited for several minutes; then she said in a troubled voice,—"Papa, I will think of it."
"Is that all, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, disappointed.
"I am going to Mrs. Harbonner's, papa, and I will think, and tell you."
Mr. Randolph was inclined to frown and suspect obstinacy; but the meek little lips which offered themselves for a kiss disarmed him of any such thought. He clasped Daisy in his arms and gave her kisses, many a one, close and tender. If he had known it, he could have done nothing better for the success of his plan; under the pressure of conscience Daisy could bear trouble in doing right, but the argument of affection went near to trouble her conscience. Daisy was obliged to compound for a good many tears, before she could get away and begin her drive. And when she did, her mind was in a flutter. A hundred dollars! how much good could be done with a hundred dollars. Why would it not be right to do something, even sing such a song on Sunday, when it was sung for such a purpose and with such results? But Daisy could not feel quite sure about it; while at the same time the prospect of getting quit of her difficulties by this means—escaping her mother's anger and the punishment with which it was sure to be accompanied, and also pleasing her father—shook Daisy's very soul. What should she do? She had not made up her mind when she got to the little brown house where Mrs. Harbonner lived.
She found mother and daughter both in the little bare room; the child sitting on the floor and cutting pieces of calico and cloth into strips, which her mother was sewing together with coarse thread. Both looked just as when Daisy had seen them before—slim, and poor and uncombed; but the room was clean.
"I thought you warn't coming again," said Mrs. Harbonner.