“She always told him to be brave, and continue the search.

“At last came a day when there was a fearful battle in the woods!” Polly’s eyes were bright, and she leaned forward in her excitement.

Her rhubarb leaf parasol had wilted, and she cast it aside.

“There was a gale that broke the great branches of the trees, and pulled up shrubs by the roots, and when the wind was blowing hardest, the ogre rushed out from his cave, right into the pathway in front of the prince’s horse.

“The horse pranced, and pawed the dirt, because he was scared, but the prince was brave.

“He thought only of the beautiful nymph, and he slashed at the big ogre, and with the third blow from his sword the ogre fell dead.

“Then the prince rode back to the fountain, and there stood the nymph, only she wasn’t a nymph any more, but a real, truly princess.

“She ran to meet him, and he swung her up into his saddle, and they rode back to his castle.

“There she told him that he need never leave her to seek his fortune, because she had more gold than they could ever spend, and so they lived happy ever after.”

“Oh, I love to have the fairy tales end like that,” said Lena, with a happy sigh.

“And when a fellow hears of a prince who is daring, he wants to start right out, and do something just as brave,” said Rob, his brown eyes looking out across to the distant hills.  “There isn’t the chance to save nymphs, and princesses, now!”

“Oh, Rob, it doesn’t matter,” said Polly, “for if there was a nymph to fight for, I just know you’d be brave!”

“I’m sure I would mean to be, but I haven’t had the chance to try!” said Rob, with a sudden fit of shyness, “but if it was you, Polly, I’d—­I’d do most anything!”

“I know you would,” Polly answered gently.

“That was a lovely story,” said Lena, “did you make it up?”

“Yes, and I got so excited when the ogre came out, and rushed at the prince, that I was all out of breath just telling it,” said Polly.

“And when you told about the gale you frightened me,” said Lena, “because I was sure that the ogre was coming!”

Polly had a charming way of telling her stories, and those who listened, remembered them, and thought of them again and again.

Perhaps Rob thought oftener of them, than did any other of her friends.  He was very fond of Polly, and never thought of her as Polly Sherwood, but always as Princess Polly.

He would not have told his thoughts to anyone, but in his heart he longed to do something brave that she might know that he had not boasted idly, when he had said that her fairy tales had made him long to do valiant deeds.

For days after the morning spent at Sherwood Hall, Rob dreamed of the story that Polly had told.

“Oh, pshaw!  Those things don’t happen nowadays,” he muttered, in disgust.  “Not that fairy things ever happened,” he added, “but knights really lived, and they did things that proved their courage.”