June accomplished both parts of her business.  The “cathedral” was a beautiful model of a famous one, made in ivory.  It was rather more than a foot long, and high, of course, in proportion.  Every window and doorway and pillar and arcade was there, in its exact place and size, according to the scale of the model; and a beautiful thing it was to look upon for any eyes that loved beauty.  Daisy’s eyes loved it well, and now for a long time she lay back on her pillow watching and studying the lights among those arcades, which the rich colour of the ivory, grown yellow with time, made so very pleasant to see.  Daisy studied and thought.  The Chinese puzzle got no attention.  At last she cried, “June, I should like to have my Egyptian spoon.”

[Illustration]

“What is that, Miss Daisy?”

“My Egyptian spoon—­it is a long, carved, wooden thing, with something like a spoon at one end; it is quite brown.  Look for it in the next drawer, June, you will find it there.  It don’t look like a spoon.”

“There is nothing like it in this drawer, Miss Daisy.”

“Yes, it is.  It is wrapped up in paper.”

“Nothing here wrapped in paper,” said June, rummaging.

“Aren’t my chessmen there? and my Indian canoe? and my moccasins?—­”

“Yes, Miss Daisy, all them’s here.”

“Well, the spoon is there too, then; it was with the canoe and the moccasins.”

“It ain’t here, Miss Daisy.”

“Then look in all the other drawers, June.”

June did so; no spoon.  Daisy half raised herself up for a frightened look towards her “cabinet.”

“Has anybody done anything to my drawers while I have been away?”

“No, Miss Daisy, not as I know of.”

“June, please look in them all—­every one.”

“’Taint here, Miss Daisy.”

Daisy lay down again and lay thinking.

“June, is mamma in her room?”

“Yes, Miss Daisy.”

“Ask her—­tell her I want to speak to her very much.”

Mrs. Randolph came.

“Mamma,” said Daisy, “do you know anything about my Egyptian spoon?”

“Do you want it, Daisy?”

“O yes, mamma!  I do.  June cannot find it.  Do you know where it is?”

“Yes—­it is not a thing for a child like you, Daisy, and I let your aunt Gary have it.  She wanted it for her collection.  I will get you anything else you like in place of it.”

“But mamma, I told aunt Gary she could not have it.  She asked me, and I told her she could not have it.”

“I have told her she might, Daisy.  Something else will give you more pleasure.  You are not an ungenerous child.”

“But, mamma! it was mine.  It belonged to me.”

“Hush, Daisy; that is not a proper way to speak to me.  I allow you to do what you like with your things in general; this was much fitter for your aunt Gary than for you.  It was something beyond your appreciation.  Do not oblige me to remind you that your things are mine.”