“The old gentleman thought so.  I suppose he knew.  You must, anyhow,—­like the picture.”

“But Preston, how could I look like that?  My dresses are not made so.”

“I hope not!” said Preston laughing.  “But Daisy, we’ll get some of aunt Felicia’s riggings and feathers and set you out in style.”

“But you can’t put feathers on my head like those,” said Daisy.  “They wouldn’t stay on.  And I don’t see why Fortitude should be dressed in feathers.”

“Why it is the crest of her helmet, Daisy!  Fortitude must have something strong about her, somewhere, and I suppose her head is as good a place as any.  We’ll make a helmet for you.  And I will make Dolce lie down at your feet for the lion.”

“You couldn’t, Preston.”

“I could make him do anything.”  Dolce was Preston’s dog; a great shaggy St. Bernard.

“Well!—­” said Daisy with a half sigh.

“I think you’ll make a beautiful Fortitude.  Now let us see what next.  That is for one.”

“How many pictures do you want?” said Daisy.

“O a good many.  Plenty, or it wouldn’t be worth taking all the trouble, and shutting the people up in a dark room.  ’Alfred in the neat-herd’s cottage’—­getting a scolding for his burnt cakes.  How splendid that would be if we could get Dr. Sandford to be Alfred!”

“Who would be that scolding old woman?”

“No matter, because we can’t get Dr. Sandford.  We are not to have grown folks at all.  It is a pity Ransom is not here.  We shall have to get Alexander Fish—­or Hamilton!  Hamilton will do.  He’s a good looking fellow.”

“You would do a great deal better,” said Daisy.  “And Alexander would not do at all.  He has not a bit the look of a king about him.”

“I must be that old man with the bundle of sticks on his head,” said Preston, who was however immensely flattered.

“But his beard?” said Daisy.

“O I’ll put that on.  A false beard is easy.  You won’t know me, Daisy.  That will be an excellent picture.  See that girl blowing the burnt cakes and making her face into a full moon!”

“Will you have her in the picture?”

“Certainly!  Most assuredly.”

“But, who will you get to do that, Preston?”

“Nora Dinwiddie, I reckon.”

“Will she come?”

“We shall want all we can get.  All Mrs. Stanfield’s young ones, and Mrs. Fish’s and Linwood’s and everybody.  Now Daisy, here you are!  This is the very thing.”

“For what?” said Daisy.

“Don’t you see?  For you.  This is Queen Esther before Ahasuerus—­you know the story?”

“O yes!—­when he stretched out the golden sceptre to her.  She is fainting, isn’t she?”

“Exactly.  You can do that glorious, because you have always a pair of pale cheeks on hand.”

“I?”—­said Daisy again.  “Do you want me to be two things?”

“A dozen things, perhaps.  You must be Queen Esther at any rate.  Nobody but you.”