As soon as she was gone Mr. Goodman drew a long breath. Yet he could not bear to be without his daughter, even for ever so short a time; and now she was scarcely out of sight when he felt tempted to hobble after her. He worshipped Daisy. But who did not? She was the life of his home. Without her it would have been sombre indeed; for No. ―― Fifth Avenue was a very large mansion, and no other young person was in it besides herself. But Daisy made racket enough for six, despite her French governess, who would exclaim fifty times a day: “Mademoiselle Marguerite, vous vous comportez comme une bourgeoise.” If an organ-grinder passed under the window, the window was thrown open in a trice, and down poured a handful of coppers; and happy was the monkey who climbed up to that window-sill, for the child would stuff his red cap with sugar and raisins, and send him off grinning as he had never grinned before. “O darling! do hurry back,” murmured Mr. Goodman, while he waited in the carriage, longing for her to reappear. At length she came, and the moment she was beside him again he gave her an embrace; then the rich man drove home, feeling very, very happy. But not so Daisy. And this afternoon she stood a whole hour by the window, looking silently out. In vain the itinerant minstrel played his finest tunes; she seemed deaf to the music. Rover, too, looked moody and not once wagged his tail; nor when dinner-time came would he touch a mouthful of anything――which, however, did not surprise the governess, who observed: “Ma foi! l’animal ne fait que manger.” But when a whole week elapsed, and Daisy still remained pensive, her father said: “You need change of air, my love; so get your things ready. To-morrow we’ll be off for Long Branch.” “So soon!” exclaimed Daisy. It was only the first of June. “Why, my pet, don’t you long to throw my cane into the waves, to see Rover swim after it?” Then, as she made no response, “Daisy,” he went on, “why do you not laugh and sing and be like you used to be? Tell me what is the matter.” Without answering, Daisy looked down at the poodle, who turned his eyes up at her and faintly moved his tail. “Yes, yes; I see you need a change,” continued Mr. Goodman. “So to-morrow we’ll be off for the seaside. There I know you will laugh and be happy.” “Is Flywheel Bob happy?” murmured the child under her breath. “A little louder, dear one, a little louder. I didn’t catch those last words.” “You asked me, pa, not to speak of Flywheel Bob to you; so I only spoke about him to myself.” “Well, I do declare!” exclaimed Mr. Goodman in a tone of utter amazement; then, after staring at her for nearly a minute, he rose up and passed into his private room, thinking what a very odd being Daisy was. “She is her poor, dear mother over again,” he muttered. “I never could quite understand Margaret, and now I cannot understand Daisy.”