It was a little box containing a Chinese puzzle, with the plans and keys belonging to it.

“Where do you think that comes from?”

Daisy looked up.  “I think—­perhaps—­from you, Mr. McFarlane.”

“Do you think I am anything like a puzzle?”

“I think—­perhaps—­you mean to be,”—­Daisy said innocently.  But a shout from the whole tableful answered to this chance hit.  Daisy didn’t know what they could mean.

“I have done!” said Gary.  “I have got more than my match.  But I know who will plague people worse than a puzzle, if she gets well educated.  There’s a pair of gloves, you little fencer.”

It was a nice little thick pair of riding or driving gloves; beautifully made and ornamented.  These came from Eloise, Daisy’s other cousin.  Mrs. Gary had brought her two beautiful toilet bottles of Bohemian glass.  Daisy’s end of the table was growing full.

“What is this?” said Mrs. Gary, taking from the epergne a sealed note directed to Daisy.

“That is Ransom’s present.  Give her mine first,” said Mr. Randolph.

“Which is yours?  I don’t see anything more.”

“That little Proserpine in the middle.”

“This?  Are you going to give this to Daisy?  But why is she called Proserpine?  I don’t see.”

“Nor I,” said Mr. Randolph, “only that everything must have a name.  And this damsel is supposed to have been carrying a basket, which might easily have been a basket of flowers, I don’t see how the statement could be disproved.  And Daisy is fonder of the little nymph, I believe, than any one else in the house.”

“O papa! thank you,” exclaimed Daisy, whose eyes sparkled.  “I like to have her very much!”

“Well, here she goes,” said Mrs. Gary.  “Hand her over.  You have a variety, Daisy.  Chinese playthings and Grecian art.”

“Some modern luxury,” said Gary McFarlane.  “Just a little.”

“Egyptian art, too,” said Capt.  Drummond.

“O where’s my spoon?” cried Daisy.  “Has papa got it?”

“Here is Ransom’s present,” said her aunt, handing the note.  “Nobody knows what it is.  Are we to know?”

Daisy opened and read, read over again, looked very grave, and finally folded the note up in silence.

“What is it?” said her aunt.

Daisy hesitated, wishing, but in doubt if she would be permitted to keep it to herself.  Her father answered for her.

“It is all of Ransom’s part, share, and possession in a certain small equipage known about these premises; the intent and understanding being, that henceforth the pony carriage and pony are Daisy’s sole property, and to be by her used and appropriated without any other person’s interference whatever.”

“But, papa—­” Ransom began.

“I think it is a very poor arrangement, Mr. Randolph,” said Ransom’s mother.  “Daisy cannot use the pony half enough for his good.”