"But tell me first. Come, Daisy! I want to know why is it so much more wicked to sing a song than to make somebody else sing-song? for that's the way they all do the spelling-book, I know. Eh, Daisy?"
"How did you know anything about it, Mr. McFarlane?"
"Come, Daisy, explain. I am all in a fog or else you are.
This spelling-book seems to me a very wicked thing on Sunday."
"I will take it, if you please, Mr. McFarlane."
"Not if I know it! I want my ignorance instructed, Daisy. I am persuaded you are the best person to enlighten me but if not, I shall try this spelling-book on Mrs. Randolph. I regard it as a great curiosity, and an important question in metaphysics."
Poor Daisy! She did not know what to do; conscious that Gary was laughing at her all the while, and most unwilling that the story of the spelling-book should get to Mrs. Randolph's ears. She stood hesitating and troubled, when her eye caught sight of Preston near. Springing to him she cried, "Oh, Preston, get my little book from Mr. McFarlane he won't give it to me."
There began then a race of the most uproarious sort between the two young men springing, turning, darting round among the trees and bushes, shouting to and laughing at each other. Daisy another time would have been amused; now she was almost frightened, lest all this boisterous work should draw attention. At last, however, Preston got the spelling-book, or Gary let himself be overtaken and gave it up.
"It's mischief, Preston!" he said; "deep mischief occult mischief. I give you warning."
"What is it, Daisy?" said Preston. "What is it all about?"
"Never mind. Oh, Preston! don't ask anything, but let me have it!"