“I suppose they liked the picture better than they liked any of the others,” said Ella Stanfield.  “I know they did, for I was in the other room.  Come, let’s go see this picture!”

“Not you, Daisy,” said Mrs. Sandford as the children were running off—­“I want you.  Priscilla comes next.”

So Daisy had to stay and be dressed for Priscilla.  She missed Portia and Bassanio.  It was not much missed, for her little heart began to be beating with excitement; and she wished very much that Priscilla might be as much liked as Fortitude.  The dressing was an easy matter, for the costume had been prepared for her and a gown and vandyke made on purpose.  Would Alexander dare to wink this time, she wondered?  And then she remembered, to her great joy, that he could not; because his face would be in full view of the people behind the scenes in the library.  The little brown spinning-wheel was brought on the platform; a heap of flax at which Priscilla is supposed to have been working, was piled together in front of it; and she and Alexander took their places.  The curtain was drawn aside, and a cry of pleasure from the company testified to the picturesque prettiness of the representation.  It was according to the fact, that Priscilla should be looking in John Alden’s face; it was just at the moment when she is supposed to be rebuking him for bringing to her his friend’s suit and petition.  Thinking herself safe, and wishing to have the picture as good as possible, Daisy had ventured to direct her eyes upon the face of Alexander Fish, who personified the Puritan suitor.  To her horror, Alexander, wholly untouched by the poetry of the occasion and unawed by its hazards, dared to execute a succession of most barefaced and disagreeable winks right at Priscilla’s eyes.  Poor Daisy could not stand this.  Forgetting her character and the picture and everything, her eyes went down; her eyelids drooped over them; and the expression of grave displeasure would have done for a yet more dissatisfied mood of mind than Priscilla is supposed to have known at the time.  The company could not stand this, either; and there burst out a hearty chorus of laughter and cheers together, which greatly mortified Daisy.  The curtain was drawn, and she had to face the laughing comments of the people in the library.  They were unmerciful, she thought.  Daisy grew very pink in the face.

Cinderella was the next picture, in which she had also to play.  Dresses were changed in haste; but meanwhile Daisy began to think about herself.  Was she all right?  Mortified at the breaking of her picture; angry at Alexander; eager to get back praise enough to make amends for this loss;—­whom was little Daisy trying to please?  Where was the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit now? was it on?