CHAPTER XT.
A WREATH OF WHITE ROSES.

<3 RIMROSE’S first eager impulse was to go back to
\, the cottage.

“I always felt that Convolvulus was wicked,”
thought the little girl; “the moment I looked at
her I knew that she was both beautiful and wicked,
and I didn’t want to go in. How is it that the
other children could not see with my eyes? Oh,
but I will rescue them!” thought the brave little
girl, “I won’t be a bit afraid. I don’t think the lady can
hurt me, for I have not eaten her food, nor given her a
lock of my hair. I won’t take a minute reaching the
cottage, and then dear little Buttercup will be saved.”

Primrose ran quickly back. She thought she would
reach the cottage in a moment, but to her horror it had completely
vanished. What was the matter? What dreadful, dreadful thing
had happened ?

After some little time she reached a stream which ran between two
deep banks on which no flowers grew, and which were very steep and
gloomy. The little stream which ran between them was dark in
colour, and made a melancholy sort of moaning sound as it gureled
past. Primrose, who was half distracted with fright and misery, began
to hope that if she could only cross this narrow stream she might find
the cottage and so rescue her brother. The night was coming on
now, and as she looked down into the water, which flowed so fast and
so gloomily between the steep and ugly banks, she fancied she saw
some of the same wicked faces that had looked up at her when she