“Preston, where is the Crimea?”

“The Crimea!” said Preston.

“Yes; where the English and the French were fighting with the Russians.”

“The Crimea!  Why Daisy, don’t you know where it is?  You’ll find it in the Black Sea somewhere.”

Daisy hesitated.

“But Preston, I don’t know where the Black Sea is.”

“Why Daisy, what has become of your geography?”

“I never had much,” said Daisy humbly, and looking serious;—­“and lately mamma hasn’t wanted me to do anything but run about.”

“Well, if you take the map of Europe, and set out from the north of Russia and walk down, you’ll find yourself in the Crimea after a while.  Just hold that, Daisy, will you?”

Daisy held the ends of silk he put in her fingers; but while he worked, she thought.  Might it not be possible that a good knowledge of geography might have something to do with the use or the improvement of her talents?  And if a knowledge of geography, why not also a knowledge of history, and of arithmetic,—­and of everything!  There could not be a reasonable doubt of it.  What would Preston be,—­what would Mr. Dinwiddie or Capt.  Drummond be,—­if they knew nothing?  And by the same reasoning, what would Daisy Randolph be?  What could she do with her talents, if she let them lie rusty with ignorance?  Now this was a very serious thought to Daisy, because she did not like study.  She liked knowledge right well, if she could get it without trouble, and if it was entertaining knowledge; but she did not think geography at all entertaining, nor arithmetic.  Yet—­Daisy forgot all about Preston’s artificial flies, and her face grew into a depth of sobriety.

“Preston—­” she began slowly,—­“is it hard?”

“Not just that,” said Preston, busy in finishing a piece of work,—­“it is a little ticklish to stroke this into order—­but it isn’t hard, if you have the right materials, and know how.”

“O no—­I don’t mean flies—­I mean geography.”

“Geography!” said Preston.  “O you are at the Crimea yet, are you?  I’ll shew it to you, Daisy, when we go in.”

“Preston, is the use of geography only to know where places are?”

“Well, that’s pretty convenient,” said Preston.  “Daisy, just look for that bunch of grey silk—­I had it here a minute ago.”

“But Preston, tell me what is the use of it?”

“Why, my dear little Daisy—­thank you!—­you’d be all abroad without it.”

“All abroad!” exclaimed Daisy.

“It comes to about that, I reckon.  You wouldn’t understand anything.  How can you?  Suppose I shew you my pictures of the North American Indians—­they’ll be as good as Chinese to you, if you don’t know geography.”

Daisy was silent, feeling puzzled.

“And,” said Preston, binding his fly, “when you talk of the Crimea you will not know whether the English came from the east or the west, nor whether the Russians are not living under the equator and eating ripe oranges.”