“Well, missy, as you please. Now put your hands in mine, and say all the other words.”
Daisy did so.
“That’s right, miss; now my mind’s easy. I have got your promise, miss, and I’ll keep the little birds a-watching to find out if ever you go near to breathing it. There’s a dark cellar, too, most handy for them children who turn out to be Dove’s enemies, and you know where the people who tell lies go to. Now, good-bye, miss—eat up your sweeties.”
A DELIGHTFUL PLAN.
Neither Primrose nor Jasmine could quite understand their little sister that night—her cold was worse, but that fact Primrose accounted for by Jasmine’s imprudence in taking her out; but what neither she nor Jasmine could understand was Daisy’s great nervousness—her shrinking fear of being left for a moment by herself, and the worried and anxious look which had settled down on her usually quiet little face. Primrose determined to do what she had never done yet since they had come to London—she would commit the unheard-of extravagance of calling in a doctor.
“I think Daisy is very feverish,” she said to Jasmine; “only that it seems impossible, I would say she has got some kind of shock, and was trying to conceal something. You are quite sure that you locked the door when you left her alone here this afternoon, Jasmine?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Jasmine, “and I found it locked all right when I came back. I was rather longer away than I meant to be, for I did such a venturesome thing, Primrose—I took my ‘Ode to Adversity’ to the Editor of The Downfall. I saw him, too—he was a red-faced man, with such a loud voice, and he didn’t seem at all melancholy—he said he would look at the poem, but he wasn’t very encouraging. I told him what Mrs. Dove said about his readers liking tearful things, and he gave quite a rude laugh; however, I shouldn’t be surprised if the poem was taken; if it fails in that quarter, I must only try one of the very best magazines. Oh, what was I saying about Daisy? I think she was asleep when I came back—she was lying very quiet, only her cheeks were rather flushed. Of course, Primrose, nothing happened to our little Daisy; if there did, she would tell us.”
“I will send for the doctor, at any rate,” said Primrose; “I don’t like her look. I will send for the doctor, and—and—”
But Primrose’s brave voice broke, and she turned her face away.
Jasmine ran up to her, and put her arms round her neck.
“What is it, Rose darling?—are you really troubled about Daisy? or are you thinking of the expense? I wonder what a London doctor will charge? Have you got any money to pay him, Primrose?”
“I’ve got Mr. Danesfield’s money,” said Primrose; “I have always kept it for an emergency. I had hoped never to need it, but if the real emergency comes it is right to spend it. Yes, Jasmine, I can pay the doctor and you had better go down and ask the Doves the name of one, for I don’t know a single doctor in London.”