After breakfast she was
at her own disposal, as of old. Nobody wished her to do
anything but please herself.
At this moment nothing pleased Daisy better than to go on with
English history. With Preston, if she could get him; if not,
alone, with her book and her tray map. Poring over it, Daisy
would lie on the sofa, or sit on a little bench with the tray
on the floor; planting her towns and castles, or going back to
those already planted with a fresh interest from new
associations. Certain red-headed and certain black-headed and
certain green-headed pins came to be very well known and
familiar in the course of time. And in course of time, too,
the soil of England came to be very much overspread with
little squares of pink blotting-paper. To Daisy it grew to be
a commentary on the wickedness of mankind. Preston remarked on
the multitude there was of Egyptian spoons.
"What do you mean by that, Preston?" said his aunt.
"Causes of quarrel, ma'am."
"Why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"
"Causes of trouble, I should say, ma'am."
"And again I say, why do you call them Egyptian spoons?"
"I beg your pardon, aunt Felicia. Egypt was always a cause of
trouble to the faithful; and I was afraid little Daisy had had
just a spoonful of it lately.
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