it?"

"Is it?" said Daisy; "and what is a _lotus_, Capt. Drummond?"

"If you will put me in mind to-morrow, privately, I will tell you about
it," said he.

"Let me look at that, Capt. Drummond," said Mrs. Gary.--"Why, here's a
duck's head at the end of the handle. What a dear old thing! Who is this
Mr. Dinwiddie, pray?"

"The duck's bill makes the spoon, aunt Gary," said Daisy.

"If you asked me _what_ he is, I have told you," said Mrs. Randolph.

"He is a young man, of good family I believe, spending the summer with a
neighbour of ours who is his relation," Mr. Randolph answered.

"What is he a fanatic about?"

This question did not get an immediate answer; the conversation
diverged, and it was lost. Daisy's spoon made the round of the company.
It was greatly admired, both from its oddness and from the beauty of its
carving.

"Daisy, I will buy this spoon of you," said her aunt.

Daisy thought not; but she said, "With what, aunt Gary?"

"With anything you please. Do you set a high value on it? What is it