during the
next few days. I, for my part, had my own secret cherished plan, which
made my heart beat quicker whenever I thought of it. But I wanted
somebody's counsel and help; and on the whole I thought my Aunt Gary's
would be the safest. So after breakfast I consulted Preston only about
my mysterious little box, which would not open. Was it a paper weight?

Preston smiled, took up the box and performed some conjuration upon
it, and then--I cannot describe my entranced delight--as he set it
down again on the table, the room seemed to grow musical. Softest,
most liquid sweet notes came pouring forth one after the other,
binding my ears as if I had been in a state of enchantment; binding
feet and hands and almost my breath, as I stood hushed and listening
to the liquid warbling of delicious things, until the melody had run
itself out. It was a melody unknown to me; wild and dainty; it came
out of a famous opera, I was told afterward. When the fairy notes sunk
into silence, I turned mutely towards Preston. Preston laughed.

"I declare!" he said,--"I declare! Hurra! you have got colour in your
cheeks, Daisy; absolutely, my little Daisy! there is a real streak of
pink there where it was so white before."

"_What_ is it?" said I.

"Just a little good blood coming up under the skin."

"Oh no, Preston--_this_; what is it?"

"A musical box."

"But where does the music come from?"

"Out of the box. See, Daisy; when it has done a tune and is run out,
you must wind it up, so,--like a watch."

He wound it up and set it on the table again. And again a melody came
forth, and this time it was different; not plaintive and thoughtful,
but jocund and glad; a little shout and ring of merriment, like the
feet of dancers scattering the drops of dew in a bright morning; or
like the chime of a thousand little silver bells rung for laughter. A
sort of intoxication came into my heart. When Preston would have wound
up the box again, I stopped him. I was full of the delight. I could
not hear any more just then.

"Why, Daisy, there are ever so many more tunes."

"Yes. I am glad. I will have them another time," I answered. "How very
kind of mamma!"

"Hit the right thing this time, didn't she? How's the riding cap,
Daisy?"

"It is very nice," I said. "Aunt Gary is very good; and I like the
whip _very_ much, Preston."

"That fat little rascal will want it. Does the cap fit, Daisy?"

"I don't know," I said. "Oh yes, I suppose so."