e says, 'it's you that's ongrateful, and you'll find
it out, but if you comes back again you shall be forgiven, Sarah,' she
says. So I can go back for a week, Miss Daisy, and if you have lost
fifteen shillings, why, I can lend it to you, dearie."

"Oh, Poppy, you are a darling!" said little Daisy. "Oh, Poppy, how can
I ever, ever thank you? Yes, I have--lost--fifteen shillings. You
shall have it back again, Poppy, and Poppy, I will always love you,
and always remember that you were the best of good fairies to me, and
that you took me out of the power of a terrible ogre."

"All right, Miss Daisy," said Poppy, returning the child's embrace;
"here's the fifteen shilling, and welcome. Only I never would have
called sweet Miss Primrose an ogre, Miss Daisy."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE JOURNEY.

Poppy went away presently, and the moment she was gone Daisy began to
make some hasty little preparations.

"I'll take the Pink with me," she said to herself. "I'll empty all the
things out of my little work-basket, and my darling Pink can sleep in
it quite snugly, and she'll be great company to me, for I cannot help
feeling very shaky, and I do start so when I see any one the least
like Mr. Dove in the distance. I mustn't think about being frightened
now--this is the least I could do, and if I'm terrified all over I
must go through with it."

Then Daisy wrote a tiny note--a little note on half a sheet of
paper--which she tore out of her copy-book. It was blotted with tears
and almost illegible. This was what she said:--

"Primrose, darling, I and the Pink, we have gone away for a little
bit. Your money is lost, Primrose, and I cannot look you in the face
until I get it back again. Don't be a bit frightened about me--I and
the Pink will come back when we have got the money.

"Your loving little
"DAISY."

This note was left open on the table to greet Primrose when she came
in, and then Daisy buttoned on her little jacket, and put on her
strongest pair of boots, and the neat little hat which Primrose had
trimmed for her the week before, and popping the Pink into her
work-basket, she stole softly downstairs and out of the house without
old Bridget, who was busily engaged in the back kitchen, hearing her.

The poor little maid got into the street just when the shades of
evening were beginning to fall. She had the Pink in her basket, and
fifteen shillings clasped tightly inside one of her gloves. Fifteen
shillings