"
"My foot is getting well."
"Certainly. Don't be a Quaker, Daisy."
"What sort of doings are you going to have, Preston?"
"First thing — as soon as you are well enough for it — we are
going to have a grand pic-nic party to Silver Lake."
"Silver Lake? what, on the other side of the river?"
"Yes."
"Oh, how delightful! But I shall not be able to go in a long
time, Preston."
"Yes, you will. Aunt Felicia says you are coming back to
Melbourne now; and once we get you there, we'll cure you up.
Why, you must have moped half your wits away by this time. I
don't expect to find more than two-thirds of the original
Daisy left."
"I haven't moped at all."
"There! that is proof the first. When people are moping, and
do not know they are moping, that is the sign their wits are
departing. Poor Daisy! I don't wonder. We'll get you to rights
at Melbourne."
"Doctor Sandford will not let me be moved."
"Doctor Sandford cannot help himself. When aunt Felicia says
so, he will find ways and means."
"Preston," said Daisy, "I do not think you understand what
sort of a man Dr. Sandford is."
"Pray enlighten me, Daisy. I thought I did."
But Daisy was silent.
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Preston," said Daisy, abruptly, "I wish you would bring me
from Melbourne that tray filled with something, — plaster, — I
don't know what it is, — on which Captain Drummond and I
studied geography, and history.
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