“No, no,—­it is not to come down on you; but that is the picture; they will hold it just so; it will not come down.”

“But suppose they should let it fall?”

“They will not let it fall.  The picture is to have it held just so, as if they were going to smother the poor little princes the next minute.”

“I think it is a horrid picture!” said Nora.

“But it will only last a little while.  All you will have to do will be to make believe you are asleep.”

“I don’t want to make believe I am asleep.  I would rather have my eyes open.  What else am I going to be, Daisy?”

“Preston will tell.  I believe—­you are to be one of Queen Esther’s women, to hold her up when she fainted, you know.”

“Let me see.  Where is it?”

Daisy obtained the picture.  Nora examined it critically.

“I would like to be the king, he is so handsome.  Who will be the queen?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Daisy.

“Are you going to have any part where you will be dressed up?”

“We shall have to be dressed for them all.  We cannot wear our own dresses, you know; it would not be a picture.”

“But, I mean, are you going to be dressed up with nice things?—­not like this.”

“This will be dressed up,” said Daisy; “she will be very nicely dressed—­to be one of the queen’s ladies, you know.”

“Daisy!  Daisy!—­” was now called from the larger group of counsel-takers, Daisy and Nora having separated themselves for their private discourse.  “Daisy! look here—­come here! see what you are to be.  You are to be an angel.”

“You are to be an angel, Daisy,” Theresa repeated,—­“with wonderful wings made of gauze on a light frame of whalebone.”

Daisy came near, looking very attentive; if she felt any more she did not shew it in her face.

“Daisy, you will do it delightfully,” said Mrs. Sandford.  “Come and look.  It is this beautiful picture of the Game of Life.”

“What is it, ma’am?” said Daisy.

“These two figures, you see, are playing a game of chess.  The stake they are playing for, is this young man’s soul; he is one of the players, and this other player is the evil one.  The arch-fiend thinks he has got a good move; the young man is very serious but perplexed; and there stands his guardian angel watching how the game will go.”

Daisy looked at the picture in silence of astonishment.  It seemed to her impossible that anybody could play at such a subject as that.

“Whom will you have for the fiend, Preston?” the lady went on.

“I will do it myself, ma’am, I think.”

Daisy’s “Oh no, Preston!”—­brought down such a shower of laughter on all sides, that she retreated into herself a little further than ever.  They pursued the subject for a while, discussing the parts and the making of the angel’s wings; deciding that Daisy would do excellently well for the angel and would look the part remarkably.