There's nothing like knowing
the ins and outs."

"Have a coach uptown, sir? Take you to any part of the city. Coach,
sir?" cried innumerable hackmen, gathering about them.

Daisy tightened her hold on John's arm. She quite believed they
intended to pick her up and put her in the coach by main force. One of
them was actually walking off with her reticule.

"Hold there, young man," cried John, quickly, recovering the satchel.
"Don't make yourself uneasy on our account. We would be pleased to
ride in your conveyance if you don't charge anything. We have no
money."

The loquacious hackmen fell back as if by magic. Daisy was blushing
like a rose, terribly embarrassed. John Brooks laughed long and
heartily.

"That's the quickest way in the world to rid yourself of those
torments," he declared, enjoying his little joke hugely. "Why, Daisy,
if you had come on alone some of those chaps would have spirited you
away without even saying so much as 'by your leave.'"

Mme. Whitney's Seminary for Young Ladies was a magnificent structure,
situated in the suburbs of Baltimore. On either side of the pebbled
walk which led to the main entrance were tall fountains tossing their
rainbow-tinted sprays up to the summer sunshine. The lawn in front was
closely shaven, and through the trees in the rear of the building
could be seen the broad rolling Chesapeake dancing and sparkling in
the sunlight. The reputation of this institution was second to none.
Young ladies were justly proud of being able to say they finished
their education at Mme. Whitney's establishment.

As a natural consequence, the school was composed of the _elite_ of
the South. Clang! clang! clang! sounded the great bell from the belfry
as Daisy, with a sinking, homesick feeling stealing over her, walked
slowly up the paved walk by John Brooks' side toward the imposing,
aristocratic structure.

Poor little Daisy never forgot that first day at boarding-school; how
all the dainty young girls in their soft white muslins glanced in
surprise at her when Mme. Whitney brought her into the school-room,
but she could have forgiven them for that if they had not laughed at
her poor old uncle John, in his plain country garb, and they giggled
behind their handkerchiefs when she clung to his neck and could not
say good-bye through her tears, but sunk down into her seat, leaning
her head on her desk, bravely trying to keep back the pearly drops
that would fall.

When recess came Da