"So I should think,--very poor!--looks so indeed! How came she here?" "She came by my orders, Mr. McFarlane." "By your orders! What have you got there, Daisy? Let's see! As sure as I'm alive!--a spelling book. Keeping school, Daisy? Don't say no!" Daisy did not say no, nor anything. She had taken care not to let Gary get hold of her Bible; the rest she must manage as she could. "This _is_ benevolence!" went on the young man. "Teaching a spelling lesson in a Belvidere with the thermometer at 90° in the shade? What sinners all the rest of us are! I declare, Daisy, you make me feel bad." "I should not think it, Mr. McFarlane." "Daisy, you have _à plomb_ enough for a princess, and gravity enough for a Puritan! I should like to see you when you are grown up,--only then I shall be an old man, and it will be of no consequence. What _do_ you expect to do with that little red head?--now do tell me." "She don't know anything, Mr. McFarlane." "No more don't I! Come Daisy--have pity on me. You never saw anybody more ignorant than I am. There are half a dozen things at this moment which I don't know--and which you can tell me. Come, will you?" "I must go in, Mr. McFarlane." "But tell me first. Come, Daisy! I want to know why _is_ it so much more wicked to sing a song than to make somebody else singsong?--for that's the way they all do the spelling book, _I_ know. Hey, Daisy?" "How did you know anything about it, Mr. McFarlane?" "Come, Daisy,--explain. I am all in a fog--or else you are. This spelling book seems to me a very wicked thing on Sunday." "I will take it, if you please, Mr. McFarlane." "Not if I know it! I want my ignorance instructed, Daisy. I am persuaded you are the best person to enlighten me--but if not, I shall try this spelling book on Mrs. Randolph. I regard it as a great curiosity, and an important question in metaphysics." Poor Daisy! She did not know what to do; conscious that Gary was laughing at her all the while, and most unwilling that the story of the spelling book should get to Mrs. Randolph's ears. She stood hesitating and troubled, when her eye caught sight of Preston near. Springing to him she cried, "O Preston, get my little book from Mr. McFarlane--he won't give it to me." There began then a race of the most uproarious sort between the two young men--springing, turning, darting round among the trees and bushes, shouting to and laughing at each other. Daisy another time would have been amused; now she was almost frightened, lest all this boisterous work should draw attention. At last, however, Preston got the spelling book, or Gary let himself be overtaken and gave it up. "It's mischief, Preston!" he said;--"deep mischief--occult mischief. I give you warning." "What is it, Daisy?" said Preston. "What is it all about?" "Never mind. Oh Preston! don't ask anything, but let me have it!"