The riding party had got home. Daisy sat up and rubbed her eyes and
looked out.

The sun was low, and shining from the western mountains over the tops of
all the trees. It was certainly near dinner-time; the cool glittering
look of the light on the trees and shrubs could not be earlier than
that. What had become of the strawberry feast? It seemed like a dream.
Daisy shook off the remains of her sleep and hurried out by one of the
glass doors to go and see. She ran down to the bank where the table was
spread. It was a feast over. The company were gone, so were the baskets
of strawberries; yes, and the very bouquets of flowers had been taken
away. That was a sign of pleasure. Nothing was left but the disordered
table. Daisy hoped the people had had a good time, and slowly went back
towards the house. As she came near the library window she saw her
father, standing in it.

"Well, Daisy?"

"Well, papa."

"How has the feast gone off?"

"I don't know, papa. There's nothing left but the boards and the cups
and saucers."

Mr. Randolph sat down and drew his little daughter up to his side.

"Have you enjoyed it, Daisy?"

"Yes, papa--I have enjoyed it pretty well."