de before I could recollect who it was. I remember I got
up then in a little hurry.

"It is Doctor Sandford!" I exclaimed, as his hand took mine.

"Is it, Daisy?" answered the doctor.

"I think so," I said.

"And I _think_ so," he said, looking at me after the old fashion. "Sit
down, and let me make sure."

"You must sit on the grass, then," I said.

"Not a bad thing, in such a pleasant place," he rejoined, sending his
blue eye all round my prospect. "But it is not so pleasant a place as
White Lake, Daisy."

Such a flood of memories and happy associations came rushing into my
mind at these words--he had not given them time to come in slowly. I
suppose my face showed it, for the doctor looked at me and smiled as
he said, "I see it _is_ Daisy; I think it is certainly Daisy. So you
do not like Magnolia?"

"Yes, I do," I said, wondering where he got that conclusion. "I like
the _place_ very much, if----"

"I should like to have the finishing of that 'if'--if you have no
objection."

"I like the _place_," I repeated. "There are some things about it I do
not like."

"Climate, perhaps?"

"I did not mean the climate. I do not think I meant anything that
belonged to the place itself."

"How do you do?" was the doctor's next question.

"I am very well, sir."

"How do you know it?"

"I suppose I am," I said. "I am not sick. I always say I am well."

"For instance, you are so well that you never get tired?"

"Oh I get tired very often. I always did."

"What sort of things make you tired? Do you take too long drives in
your pony-chaise?"

"I have no pony-chaise now, Dr. Sandford. Loupe was left at Melbourne.
I don't know what became of him."

"Why didn't you bring him along? But any other pony would do, Daisy."

"I don't drive at all, Dr. Sandford. My aunt and governess do not like
to have me drive as I used to do. I wish I could!"

"You would like to use your pony and chaise again?"

"Very much. I know it would rest me."

"And you have a governess, Daisy? That is something you had not at
Melbourne."

"No," I said.

"A governess is a very nice thing," said the doctor, taking off his
hat and leaning back against the iron railing, "if she knows properly
how to set people to play."

"To play!" I echoed. "I don't know whether Miss Pinshon approves of
play."

"Oh! She approves of work then, does she?"

"She likes work," I answered.

"Keeps you busy?"

"Most of the day, sir."

"The evenings