"Wasn't what?" asked Nellie.
"Messeltome. Mamma said to touch what wasn't ours, or to peek, was messeltome; but I didn't do it. Tell me about that messeltome girl, Nellie. Mamma said you would."
"Very well," said Nellie, understanding Daisy's definition.
"Tell it a long, long story,—tell me till your tongue is tired, will you?" pleaded Daisy, for whom no story could ever be too long.
"I'll see," said Nellie; and she began her tale, but had made but little headway in it when a servant came and told Daisy that Master Frankie Bradford was waiting to see her.
"What shall I do?" said Daisy, in a state of painful indecision between the conflicting claims of business and society. "The torks are not done, and I didn't have my sugar."
"You can take the corks with you, and the sugar too: perhaps Frankie would like to help you," said Nellie, dismounting from her perch, and fishing out the largest lump from the sugar-barrel. "There, I suppose you will want a lump for Frankie too."
"No," said Daisy, "mamma said only one lump. If Frankie does half the torks he shall have half my sugar;" and away she ran, carrying corks and sugar with her.
"What a dear, honest little thing Daisy is!" said Nellie, when she was gone. "I don't believe she could be tempted to do the least thing she thought mamma would not like, or take any thing she thought was not quite fair. And she's so sweet and thoughtful about mamma. Just see how much pains she's taken not to cry for little things since I told her it troubled her."