"Cannot you sleep?" The question was very tenderly put.
"I did sleep, papa."
"I did not wake you?"
"No, papa. I was awake, looking at the moonlight."
"Pain would not let you sleep, my poor darling?"
The sympathy was a little too trying. Tears started to the child's eyes. She said with a most gentle, loving accent, "I don't mind, papa. It will be better by and by. I am very happy."
An indignant question as to the happiness which had been so rudely shaken, was on Mr. Randolph's lips. He remembered Daisy must not be excited; nevertheless he wondered, for he saw the child's eyes full, and knew that the brow was drawn with pain; and the poor little thin face was as white as a sheet. What did she mean by talking about being happy?
"Daisy, I have brought you some oranges."
"Thank you, papa!—May I have one now?"
Silently and almost sternly Mr. Randolph stood and pared the orange with a fruit knife—he had thought to bring that too—and fed Daisy with it, bit by bit. It was pleasant and novel to Daisy to have her father serve her so; generally others had done it when there had been occasion. Mr. Randolph did it nicely, while his thoughts worked.