whom the little girl used to call the Prince.  It is believed, though of course nothing is certainly known, nor will be until the little girl is taken out of the thraldom of the ogre and confesses what has happened, that this wicked man has also stolen a good deal of money from an envelope which the elder sister used to consider her ‘Emergency Fund’ envelope.  In short, it is thought that his one object in frightening the poor little girl was simply to rob her and her sisters.  Now that he is in prison, however, and quite out of the way of harming any one, it is greatly hoped by those who love her that the poor little one, who was made to suffer so cruelly, will be released from the thraldom of the wicked ogre, and be made to see that there are times and circumstances during which even the most truthful little girl would do better to break her word than to keep it.  Now, Daisy, that is the end of my story; I’ve got nothing more to say about it, for at present I know nothing more.  Good-night, dear—­I will send Primrose to you.  I will come to you when you want me again.”

CHAPTER XLVI.

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.”