DELIVERED FROM THE OGRE.
“Here’s the money, Primrose—here’s all the money,” said little Daisy, in a weak, weak voice, when her sister came up to her bedside, and bent over her. “It was lost and the Prince brought it back; you won’t ask me any questions about it, will you, Primrose?”
“No,” exclaimed Primrose, in her very quiet and matter-of-fact voice—the kind of voice which was most soothing to the excitable and nervous child at the present moment.
“I’m glad to have it back, Daisy, dear, for I have missed it; but of course, I shan’t ask you any questions about it. I shall just put it into my purse, and you shall see what a nice fat purse I have got once more.”
Then Primrose held her little sister’s hand, and shook up her pillows, and tended her as only she knew how, but all that night Daisy grew more and more restless. The drowsy state in which she had hitherto been had changed to one of wakefulness. All through the long night the little creature’s bright eyes remained open, and her anxious face had a question on it which yet she never spoke. At last, as the bright summer’s morning broke, she turned to Primrose and said eagerly—
“Kneel down, Primrose, and ask God what a very ignorant, very unhappy little girl ought to do. Oh, Primrose, it’s all about a promise—a promise that was most faithfully given. What shall I do about it?”
“Do you want to keep it, or to break it?” asked Primrose.
“It seems to me I ought to keep it, Primrose, because a promise, faithfully given, ought always to be kept; but Mr. Noel says I ought to break this promise; oh, I don’t know what to do!”
“Your heart won’t be at rest, Daisy, and you won’t really get better, until you do know what to do,” answered Primrose. “Of course, I will kneel down and ask God to tell you.”