Daisy. Warner Susan

of the old world; and sometimes, I think, took both him and myself to rest and home where wanderings are over. After a few days this passed away. I was able to come downstairs, and both Preston and his mother did their best to take good care of me. Especially Preston. He brought me books, and fruit, and birds to tempt me to eat, and was my kind and constant companion when his mother was out, and indeed when she was in, too. So I got better by the help of oranges and rice-birds. I could have got better faster, but for my dread of a governess which was hanging over me. I heard nothing about her and could not bear to ask. One day Preston brought the matter up and asked if Daisy was going to have a school-mistress?

      "Certainly," my Aunt Gary said. "She must be educated, you know."

      "I don't know," said Preston; "but if they say so, I suppose she must. Who is it to be, mamma?"

      "You do not know anything about it," said Aunt Gary. "If my son was going to marry the greatest heiress in the State; and she is very nearly that – goodness! I did not see you were there, Daisy, my dear; but it makes no difference; – I should think it proper that she should be educated."

      "I can't see what her being an heiress should have to do with it," said Preston, "except rather to make it unnecessary as well as a bore. Who is it, mamma?"

      "I have recommended Miss Pinshon."

      "Oh, then, it is not fixed yet."

      "Yes, it is fixed. Miss Pinshon is coming as soon as we get to Magnolia."

      "I'll be off before that," said Preston. "Who is Miss Pinshon?"

      "How should you know? She has lived at Jessamine Bank, – educated the Dalzell girls."

      "What sort of a person, mamma!"

      "What sort of a person?" said my Aunt Gary; "why a governess sort of a person. What sort should she be."

      "Any other sort in the world," said Preston, "for my money. That is just the sort to worry poor little Daisy out of her life."

      "You are a foolish boy!" said Aunt Gary. "Of course if you fill Daisy's head with notions, she will not get them out again. If you have anything of that sort to say, you had better say it where she will not hear."

      "Daisy has eyes – and a head," said Preston.

      As soon as I was able for it Preston took me out for short walks; and as I grew stronger he made the walks longer. The city was a strange place to me; very unlike New York; there was much to see and many a story to hear; and Preston and I enjoyed ourselves. Aunt Gary was busy making visits, I think. There was a beautiful walk by the sea which I liked best of all; and when it was not too cold my greatest pleasure was to sit there looking over the dark waters and sending my whole soul across them to that unknown spot where my father and mother were. "Home," that spot was to me. Preston did not know what I liked the Esplanade for; he sometimes laughed at me for being poetic and meditative; when I was only sending my heart over the water. But he was glad to please me in all that he could; and whenever it was not too cold, our walks always took me there.

      One day, sitting there, I remember we had a great argument about studying. Preston began with saying that I must not mind this governess that was coming, nor do anything she bade me unless I liked it. As I gave him no answer, he repeated what he had said.

      "You know, Daisy, you are not obliged to care what she thinks."

      I said I thought I was.

      "What for?" said Preston.

      "I have a great deal to learn you know," I said, feeling it very gravely indeed in my little heart.

      "What do you want to know so much?" said Preston.

      I said, everything. I was very ignorant.

      "You are no such thing," said Preston. "Your head is full this minute. I think you have about as much knowledge as is good for you. I mean to take care that you do not get too much."

      "O Preston," said I, "that is very wrong. I have not any knowledge scarcely."

      "There is no occasion," said Preston stoutly. "I hate learned women."

      "Don't you like to learn things?"

      "That's another matter," said he. "A man must know things, or he can't get along. Women are different."

      "But I think it is nice to know things too," said I. "I don't see how it is different."

      "Why, a woman need not be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a professor," said Preston; "all she need do, is to have good sense and dress herself nicely."

      "Is dressing so important?" said I, with a new light breaking over me.

      "Certainly. Ribbons of the wrong colour will half kill a woman. And I have heard Aunt Randolph say that a particular lady was ruined by her gloves."

      "Ruined by her gloves!" said I. "Did she buy so many?"

      Preston went into such a laugh at that, I had to wait some time before I could go on. I saw I had made some mistake, and I would not renew that subject.

      "Do you mean to be anything of that sort?" I said, with some want of connection.

      "What sort? Ruined by my gloves? Not if I know it."

      "No, no! I mean, a lawyer or a doctor or a professor?"

      "I should think not!" said Preston, with a more emphatic denial.

      "Then, what are you studying for?"

      "Because, as I told you, Daisy, a man must know things, or he cannot get on in the world."

      I pondered the matter, and then I said, I should think good sense would make a woman study too. I did not see the difference. "Besides, Preston," I said, "if she didn't, they would not be equal."

      "Equal!" cried Preston. "Equal! O Daisy, you ought to have lived in some old times. You are two hundred years old, at least. Now don't go to studying that, but come home. You have sat here long enough."

      It was my last hour of freedom. Perhaps for that reason I remember every minute so distinctly. On our way home we met a negro funeral. I stopped to look at it. Something, I do not know what, in the long line of dark figures, orderly and even stately in their demeanour, the white dresses of the women, the peculiar faces of men and women both, fascinated my eyes. Preston exclaimed at me again. It was the commonest sight in the world, he said. It was their pride to have a grand funeral. I asked if this was a grand funeral. Preston said "pretty well; there must be several hundred of them and they were well dressed." And then he grew impatient and hurried me on. But I was thinking; and before we got to the hotel where we lodged, I asked Preston if there were many coloured people at Magnolia.

      "Lots of them," he said. "There isn't anything else."

      "Preston," I said presently, "I want to buy some candy somewhere."

      Preston was very much pleased, I believe, thinking that my thoughts had quite left the current of sober things. He took me to a famous confectioner's; and there I bought sweet things till my little stock of money was all gone.

      "No more funds?" said Preston. "Never mind – go on, and I'll help you. Why I never knew you liked sugarplums so much. What next? burnt almonds? this is good, Daisy – this confection of roses. But you must take all this sugar in small doses, or I am afraid it wouldn't be just beneficial."

      "O Preston!" I said – "I do not mean to eat all this myself."

      "Are you going to propitiate Miss Pinshon with it? I have a presentiment that sweets won't sweeten her, Daisy."

      "I don't know what 'propitiate' means," I said, sighing. "I will not take the almonds, Preston."

      But he was determined I should; and to the almonds he added a quantity of the delicate confection he spoke of, which I had thought too delicate and costly for the uses I had purposed; and after the rose he ordered candied fruits; till a great packet of varieties was made up. Preston paid for them – I could not help it – and desired them sent home; but I was bent on taking the package myself. Preston would not let me do that, so he carried it; which was a much more serious token of kindness, in him, than footing the bill. It was but a little way, however, to the hotel. We were in the