"Have you been in other Sunday-schools?" asked Daisy.
"Yes, in two."
"What were they like?"
"Oh, they were in a church, or in some sort of a room. I like being out-of-doors best; don't you?"
"Yes, I think so. But was the school just like this in other things?"
"Oh, yes; only once I had a teacher who always asked us what we thought about everything. I didn't like that."
"What you thought about everything?" said Daisy.
"Yes; every verse and question, she would say, 'What do you think about it?' and I didn't like that, because I never thought anything."
Whereat Daisy fell into a muse. Her question recurred to her; but it was hardly likely, she felt, that her little companion could enlighten her. Nora was a bright, lively, spirited child, with black eyes and waves of beautiful black hair; neither at rest; sportive energy and enjoyment in every motion. Daisy was silent.
"What is supposed to be going on here?" said a stronger voice behind them, which brought both their heads round. It was to see another head just making its way up above the level of their platform; a head that looked strong and spirited as the voice had sounded; a head set with dark hair, and eyes that were too full of light to let you see what colour they were. Both children came to their feet, one saying, "Marmaduke!" the other, "Mr. Dinwiddie!"