was near
to hinder him.

"Ransom, you ought not to do it," pleaded Daisy. "You ought to wait your
turn. You are worse than Fido."

"Am I?" said Ransom fiercely. "Take that! Mind your own affairs, and
let mine alone. You are not queen here yet, if you think you are."

A tolerably smart box on the ear was the accompaniment to this speech.
Nobody was near. Alexander, after joining his friend in a meringue or
two with a cream cake, not feeling quite comfortable in the connection,
had moved off. So did Ransom now, but he carried his pie with him and
called the other two boys to bear him company in making lunch of it.
Preston was much too gentlemanly a fellow to take part even of a lark
pie in such circumstances; he walked off in disdain, leaving Ransom and
Alexander to do what they liked. And they liked the pie so well that I
am bound to say nothing of it remained very soon excepting the dish.
Even the bones were swallowed by Fido.

Daisy was left alone under the tree with her occupation gone; for Fido
was after the lark bones. Her ear rang a few minutes from the
application of Ransom's hand; but that effect had passed off long before
Daisy's mind was quieted. For gentle as she was, Daisy was a little lady
who had a very deep and particular sense of personal dignity; she felt
wronged as well as hurt. Her father and mother never indulged in that
method of punishment; and if they had, Ransom's hand was certainly not
another one to inflict it.

Daisy was quite as much stung by the insult as by the unkindness; but
she felt both. She felt both so much that she was greatly discomposed.
Her watch over the feast was entirely forgotten; luckily Fido had gone
off with his master, and chickens were no longer in immediate danger.
Daisy rubbed away first one tear and then another, feeling a sort of
bitter fire hot at her heart; and then she began to be dissatisfied at
finding herself so angry. This would not do; anger was something she had
no business with; how could she carry her Lord's message, or do anything
to serve him, in such a temper? It would not do; but there it was,
offended dignity and pride, hot at her heart. Nobody would have thought
perhaps that Daisy was proud; but you never can tell what is in a
person's heart till it is tried; and then the kinds of pride are
various. It does not follow because you have none of one sort that you
have not plenty of another sort. However, finding this fire at her heart
quite too much