"What do you mean by a Sunday song?"
"I mean" Daisy was on dangerous ground, and she knew it, "I mean, one of those songs that God likes to hear people sing on His day."
"Who is to be judge?" said Mrs. Randolph, "you or I?"
"Mamma," said Daisy, "I will do everything else in the world you tell me!"
"You will have to do everything else and this too. Isn't there a commandment about children obeying their mothers."
"Yes, ma'am."
"That is the very first commandment I mean you shall obey," said Mrs. Randolph, rousing herself enough to bring one foot to the floor. "You have no business to think whether a thing is right or wrong, that I order you to do; if I order it, that makes it right; and anybody but a fool would tell you so. You will sing that song from the 'Camp in Silesia' for me next Sunday evening, or I will whip you, Daisy you may depend upon it. I have done it before, and I will again; and you know I do not make believe. Now go to your father."
"Where is he, mamma?" said Daisy, with a perceptible added paleness in her cheek.
"I don't know. In the library, I suppose."
To the library Daisy went, with trembling steps, in great uncertainty what she was to expect from her father. It was likely enough that he would say the same as her mother, and insist on the act of submission to be gone through next Sunday; but Daisy had an inward consciousness that her father was likely to come to a point with her sooner than that. It came even sooner than she expected.