Mr. Goodman frowned, while the child laughed and Rover barked. But presently the toast to the society was duly honored, after which the visitor proceeded to speak of several cruel sports which he hoped would soon be put a stop to. “Turkey-matches on Thanksgiving day must be legislated against, Mr. President.” Mr. President bowed and waved his hand. “And there is talk, sir, of introducing fox-chases, as in England. This sport must likewise be prevented by law.” Another bow and wave of the hand. “Well, pa, you sha’n’t stop me killing flies; for flies plague Rover,” put in Daisy, with a malicious twinkle in her eye. Again the poodle barked. Then, clapping her hands, off she flew to get her hat and gloves, leaving the gentlemen smiling at this childish remark. “My darling,” said Mr. Goodman a quarter of an hour later, as they were driving down Fifth Avenue together――“my darling, I have been placed at the head of another society――a society to prevent cruelty to animals.” “I am glad,” replied Daisy, looking up in his face. “Everybody likes you, pa; don’t they?” Daisy, let us here observe, was the rich man’s only child. His wife was dead; but whenever he gazed upon the little fairy at this moment seated beside him, he seemed to behold his dear Margaret anew: the same black eyes, the same wilful, imperious, yet withal tenderly affectionate ways. No wonder that Richard Goodman idolized his daughter. To no other living being did he unbend, did his heart ever quicken. But to Daisy he did unbend. He loved to caress her, to talk to her, too, about matters and things which she could hardly understand. And she would always listen and appear very pleased and interested. Search the whole city of New York, and you would not have found another of her age with so much tact when she chose to play the little lady, nor a better child, either, considering how thoroughly she had been spoilt. If Daisy was a tyrant, she was a very loving one indeed, and none knew this better than her father and the poodle, who is now perched on the front cushion of the barouche, looking scornfully down at the curs whom he passes, and saying to himself: “What a lucky dog I am!” “I am sure the Society to prevent Cruelty to Animals will do good,” observed Daisy, after holding up her finger a moment and telling Rover to sit straight. “But, pa, is Flywheel Bob an animal or a toy? Or is he really a little boy, as I guessed awhile ago?” “There it comes again,” murmured Mr. Goodman. Then, with a slight gesture of impatience, he answered: “A boy, my love, a boy.” “Well, what a funny name, pa! Oh! I’m glad we’re going to see him.” “No, dear, we are going to Tiffany’s――to Tiffany’s, in order to have your darling ears pierced and elegant earrings put in them.” “I know it, pa, but I ordered James to drive first to the factory.”