"What a thing it is, to have such short legs!" said Preston, watching
the movements of the pony.
"_You_ go over the road without seeing it," said Daisy.
"I don't want to see it. What I want to see is Hillsdale."
"So do I; but I want to see _everything_."
Preston smiled, he could not help it, at the very happy and busy little
face and spirit down in the pony chaise.
"What do you see, Daisy, that you have not seen a hundred times before?"
"That makes no difference," said Daisy. "I have seen _you_ a hundred
times before."
Preston laughed, set spurs to his horse, and went off for another
gallop.
Daisy enjoyed her morning's drive. The light was clear and the air was
fresh; Preston gallopping before and Sana jogging on behind; everything
was fine! Then it was quite true that she liked to see everything; those
grey eyes of hers were extremely busy. All the work going on in the
fields had interest for her, and all the passers-by on the road. A
strange interest, often, for Daisy was very apt to be wondering whether
any of them knew and loved the name she loved best; wondering who among
all those rough-looking, unknown people, might be her fellow-servants.
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