"Tell me some more stories," begged Rowena.
But Janet appeared with the tea, and the little girl turned her attention to the good things spread out before her.
"I like to know a prisoner," she said, munching a piece of cake thoughtfully; "there was a prisoner on a lake in Switzerland. We've got a picture of him. I think his name was Byron. Mr. Ferguson told me about him."
"You mean the prisoner of Chillon. Byron wrote about him. Who is Mr. Ferguson?"
"He's the schoolmaster over at Abertarlie. He teaches me lessons after school hours. Nan won't let me go to school with the other bairns—I'd like to. How long are you going to be in this prison, and is Niddy-Noddy a policeman?"
"I rather wish he was. Then I could run away from him. He's a wise old doctor who has tied me down to my bed, and told me to stay in it for a year! How would you like that? Never to be able to run about out-of-doors, or even change your room."
"It's horrible!" exclaimed Mysie. "Are you really tied to it?"
"By my honour," said Rowena.
"What's that?"
"Well, it's another word for duty. If you make a promise, you must keep it, or you lose your honour. And it's a mark of a true gentleman and lady to keep their honour unsoiled."