McFarlane. "Any
message with the goods, Mrs. Gary?"
"I believe they carry their own message with them," said the
lady; — "or else I don't see what is the use of these little
white tickets. Where shall I begin, Mr. Randolph?"
"I do not think the order of proceedings will be criticized,
provided it does not delay," said Daisy's father.
"Then transmit this, Gary."
"Literary freight" —said Gary McFarlane, handing over to Daisy
a little parcel of books. Five or six little volumes, in
pretty binding — Daisy looked eagerly to see what they might
be. "Marmion" — "The Lady of the Lake" — "Scott's Poetical
Works."
"Oh, thank you, papa!" said Daisy, looking delighted.
"Not me," said Mr. Randolph. "I am not to be thanked."
"There's no name in them —" said Daisy.
"That's Preston's gift," said her aunt. Preston was Daisy's
oldest cousin; a fine boy of sixteen.
"I like it so much, Preston!" said Daisy, sending a grateful
look down the table to where he sat.
"Is Daisy fond of poetry?" inquired Mr. McFarlane, with a
grave look.
"Very fond," Mrs. Randolph said.
"Dangerous taste!" said Gary. "What is this new consignment?"
"Something valuable — take care of it.
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