"I don't see how you expected I could sleep when you let a dog lie outside my door, a dog with the nightmare, I should judge, snoring and snorting. Be sure he is not there to-night. He frightened me." "Too bad, too bad," returned Rufus; "but you see you slept, or you couldn't look like a fresh rosebud as you do this morning; and you'll get used to good old Sport. He's a splendid watchdog." Geraldine turned to her hostess. "I don't know what your hours are, Mrs. Carder--whether five, or six, or seven is over-sleeping, but I'm ashamed not to have been down here to help you get breakfast. It shan't happen again." "Don't fret about that," said Rufus, "Sleep as long as you want to, little girl. It's good for your complexion." Geraldine flatly refused to sit down to breakfast unless Mrs. Carder was also at the table, so the old woman wiped her hands on her apron and took her place between her son and the beautiful girl, and Geraldine jumped up and fetched and carried when anything was needed. Rufus watched this proceeding discontentedly. "We've got to start in new, Ma," he said. "The Princess Geraldine and me are goin' to do this house over, and we'll get some help, too--help that knows how; the stylish kind, you know. Geraldine thinks the time has come for you to hold your hands the rest o' your days." "Just as you say, Rufus," returned his mother meekly, nibbling away at the bacon on her plate and feeling vastly uncomfortable. "What she says goes; eh, Ma?" "Just as you say, Rufus," repeated the mother. A light was glowing in Geraldine's eyes. It was day. She was young and strong. The world was wide. She laughed at her fears of the night. The right moment to escape would present itself. Rufus would have to go to the city, and even if he refused to leave without her, once in town she could easily give him the slip. Perhaps that was going to prove the best solution after all. "Your trunk came last night," he said, when at last the three rose from the breakfast-table. "You can show Pete where you want it put." Geraldine tried not to betray the eagerness with which she received this permission. The dwarf's strong arms carried her modest trunk up the stairs as easily as if it had been a hatbox. She feared Carder might follow them, but he did not. "Pete," she said, low and excitedly, as soon as they reached her room and he had deposited his burden, "you _will_ help me! I know you are going to be the one to help me get away from here." The dwarf shook his head. "Then I'd be killed," he answered, but he gazed at her admiringly. "I've got the marks of his whip on me now." "Why do you stay?" asked Geraldine indignantly. "He says nobody else would give me work. I'm too ugly. He says I'd starve." "That isn't so!" exclaimed the girl. "I will help you." The consciousness of the futility of the promise swept over her even as she made it. Who was she to give help to another!