Yet--Daisy forgot all about Preston's artificial flies, and her face grew into a depth of sobriety.
"Preston--" she began slowly,--"is it hard ?" "Not just that," said Preston, busy in finishing a piece of work,--"it is a little ticklish to stroke this into order--but it isn't hard, if you have the right materials, and know how." "O no--I don't mean flies--I mean geography." "Geography!" said Preston.

"O you are at the Crimea yet, are you?
I'll shew it to you, Daisy, when we go in." "Preston, is the use of geography only to know where places are ?" "Well, that's pretty convenient," said Preston.

"Daisy, just look for that bunch of grey silk--I had it here a minute ago." "But Preston, tell me what _is_ the use of it ?" "Why, my dear little Daisy--thank you!--you'd be all abroad without it." "All abroad!" exclaimed Daisy.
"It comes to about that, I reckon.

You wouldn't understand anything.

How can you?
Suppose I shew you my pictures of the North American Indians--they'll be as good as Chinese to you, if you don't know geography." Daisy was silent, feeling puzzled.
"And," said Preston, binding his fly, "when you talk of the Crimea you will not know whether the English came from the east or the west, nor whether the Russians are not living under the equator and eating ripe oranges." "Don't they eat oranges ?" said Daisy seriously.