When Poppy arrived at Miss Egerton's she was told by Bridget that Miss
Jasmine was out, but that she would find Miss Daisy by herself
upstairs. Poppy ran nimbly up the stairs, and knocked at the
sitting-room door; there was no answer, and turning the handle, she
went in. Daisy was lying with her face downwards on the sofa--sobs and
quivers shook her little frame, and for a time she did not even hear
Poppy, who bent over her in some alarm.

"Now, Miss Daisy, darling, I'm real glad I has come in--why, what is
the matter, missie?"

"Nothing, Poppy; nothing indeed," said Daisy, "except that I'm most
dreadfully unhappy. If I was a really quite unselfish little girl I'd
go and live in a dungeon, but I couldn't do it--I couldn't, really."

Whatever Poppy was, she was practical--she wasted no time trying to
find out what Daisy meant, but bringing some cold water, she bathed
the child's face and hands, and then she made her take a drink of
milk, and finally, she lifted her off the sofa, and sitting down in an
arm-chair, took her in her arms, and laid her head on her breast.

"There now, pretty little dear, you're better, aren't you?"

"My body is better, thank you, Poppy--I like to feel your arms holding
me very tight. My mind will never, never be well again, dear Poppy."

"Would it ease it to unburden?" said Poppy. "Sometimes it's a
wonderful soother to speak out about what worries one. At Aunt Flint's
I used to let fly my worries to the walls for want of a better