pretty much the same thing!"

"Dr. Sandford is a Yankee," I remarked.

"Did you get it from _him_?" Preston asked, fiercely.

"What?" said I, opening my eyes.

"Your nonsense. Has he taught you to turn Abolitionist?"

"I have not _turned_ at all," I said. "I wish you would. It is only
the people who are in the wrong that ought to turn."

"Daisy," said Preston, "you ought never to be away from Aunt Felicia
and my uncle. Nobody else can manage you. I don't know what you will
become or what you will do, before they get back."

I was silent; and Preston, I suppose, cooled down. He waited awhile,
and then again begged that I would kiss and be friends. "You see, I am
going away to-morrow morning, little Daisy."

"I wish you had gone two days ago," I said.

And my mind did not change, even when the morning came.

CHAPTER V.

IN THE KITCHEN.

I was ill for days. It was not due to one thing, doubtless, nor one
sorrow, but the whole together. My aunt sent to Baytown for the old
family physician. He came up and looked at me, and decided that I
ought to "play" as much as possible!

"She isn't a child that likes play," said my aunt.

"Find some play that she does like, then. Where are her father and
mother?"

"Just sailed for Europe, a few weeks ago."

"The best thing would be for her to sail after them," said the old
doctor. And he went.

"We shall have to let her do just as they did at Melbourne," said my
aunt.

"How was that?" said Miss Pinshon.

"Let her have just her own way."

"And what was that?"

"Oh, queer," said my aunt. "She is not like other children. But
anything is better than to have her mope to death."

"I shall try and not have her mope," said Miss Pinshon.

But she had little chance to adopt her reforming regimen for some
time. It was plain I was not fit for anything but to be let alone,
like a weak plant struggling for its existence. All you can do with it
is to put it in the sun; and my aunt and governess tacitly agreed upon
the same plan of treatment for me. Now, the only thing wanting was
sunshine; and it was long before that could be had. After a day or two
I left my bed, and crept about the house, and out of the house under
the great oaks, where the material sunshine was warm and bright
enough, and caught itself in the grey wreaths of moss that waved over
my head, and seemed to come bodily to woo me to life and cheer. It lay
in the carpet under my feet, it lingered in t