Mr. Randolph read, and went and threw himself on his sofa again. Daisy
came beside him. A wistful earnestness in the one face; a careless sort
of embarrassment on the other.

"You are led astray, little Daisy, by a common mistake of ignorant
readers. You fancy that these words are to be taken literally--whereas
they mean simply that we should cultivate a thankful spirit. That, of
course, I agree to."

"But, papa," said Daisy, "is a thankful spirit the same thing quite as
giving thanks?"

"It is a much better thing, Daisy, in my opinion."

"But, papa, would not a thankful spirit like to _give_ thanks?"

"I have no objection, Daisy."

The tears came into Daisy's eyes. Her mother _had_.

"Papa--"

"Well? Let us get to the end of this difficulty if we can."

"I am afraid we cannot, papa. Because if you had told me to do a thing
so, you would mean it just so, and I should do it."

Mr. Randolph wrapped his arms round Daisy and brought her close to his
breast. "Look here, Daisy," said he--"tell me. Do you really try to give
thanks everywhere, and for all things, as the word says?"