"Fortitude? Why, it is, let me see, it is the power of endurance."
"The power of bearing pain, Daisy," said Mr. Randolph, who was walking through the room.
"I do not think Fortitude ought to look stern."
"The old gentleman thought so. I suppose he knew. You must, anyhow, like the picture."
"But, Preston, how could I look like that? My dresses are not made so."
"I hope not!" said Preston, laughing. "But, Daisy, we'll get some of aunt Felicia's riggings and feathers, and set you out in style."
"But you can't put feathers on my head like those," said Daisy. "They wouldn't stay on. And I don't see why Fortitude should be dressed in feathers."
"Why, it is the crest of her helmet, Daisy! Fortitude must have something strong about her, somewhere, and I suppose her head is as good a place as any. We'll make a helmet for you. And I will make Dolce lie down at your feet for the lion."
"You couldn't, Preston."
"I could make him do anything." Dolce was Preston's dog; a great shaggy St. Bernard.