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.

"What are you going to do to-night, papa?" she said when the orange was
finished and he stood looking at her.

"Stay here with you."

"But papa, how can you sleep?"

"I can do without sleeping, if it is necessary. I will take a chair here
in the doorway, and be near if you want anything."

"O shall not want anything, papa, except what Juanita can give me."

He stood still watching her. Daisy looked up at him with a loving face;
a wise little face it always was; it was gravely considerate now.

"Papa, I am afraid you will be uncomfortable."

"Can nobody bear that but you?" said Mr. Randolph, stooping down to kiss
her.

"I am very happy, papa," said the child placidly; while a slight tension
of her forehead witnessed to the shooting pains with which the whole
wounded limb seemed to be filled.

"If Mr. Randolph pleases--" said the voice of Juanita,--"the doctor
recommended quiet, sir."

Off went Mr. Randolph at that, as if he knew it very well and had
forgotten himself. He took a chair and set it in the open doorway, using
the door-post as a rest for his head; and then the cottage was silent.
The wind breathed more gently; the stars shone out; the air was soft
after the storm; the moonlight made a bright flicker of light and shade
over all the outer world. Now and then a grasshopper chirruped, or a
little bird murmured a few twittering notes at being disturbed in its
sleep; and then came a soft sigh from Daisy.

On noiseless foot the black woman stole to the couch. Daisy was weeping;
her tears were pouring out and making a great wet spot on her pillow.

"Is my love in pain?" whispered the black woman.

"It's nothing--I can't help it," said Daisy.

"Where is it--in the foot?"

"It's all