ROSY

BY

MRS. MOLESWORTH

AUTHOR OF 'CARROTS, ' 'CUCKOO CLOCK, ' 'TELL ME A STORY. '

ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE

[Illustration: MANCHON]

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. ROSY, COLIN, AND FELIX

CHAPTER II. BEATA

CHAPTER III. TEARS

CHAPTER IV. UPS AND DOWNS

CHAPTER V. ROSY THINKS THINGS OVER

CHAPTER VI. A STRIKE IN THE SCHOOLROOM

CHAPTER VII. MR. FURNITURE'S PRESENT

CHAPTER VIII. HARD TO BEAR

CHAPTER IX. THE HOLE IN THE FLOOR

CHAPTER X. STINGS FOR BEE

CHAPTER XI. A PARCEL AND A FRIGHT

CHAPTER XII. GOOD OUT OF EVIL

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

MANCHON

"BEATA, DEAR, THIS IS MY ROSY, " SHE SAID

ROSY AND MANCHON

"WHAT IS ZE MATTER WIF YOU, BEE?" HE SAID

"DID YOU EVER SEE ANYTHING SO PRETTY, BEE?" ROSY REPEATED

"WHAT IS THERE DOWN THERE, DOES YOU FINK?" SAID FIXIE

BY STRETCHING A GOOD DEAL SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD REACH THEM

"IT'S A ROSE FROM ROSY"

CHAPTER I. 

ROSY, COLIN, AND FELIX. 

 "The highest not more Than the height of a counsellor's bag. "--WORDSWORTH. 

Rosy stood at the window. She drummed on the panes with her little fatfingers in a fidgety cross way; she pouted out her nice little mouthtill it looked quite unlike itself; she frowned down with her eyebrowsover her two bright eyes, making them seem like two small windows in ahouse with very overhanging roofs; and last of all, she stamped on thefloor with first her right foot and then with her left. But it was allto no purpose, and this made Rosy still more vexed. 

"Mamma, " she said at last, for really it was too bad--wasn't it?--whenshe had given herself such a lot of trouble to show how vexed she was, that no one should take any notice. "_Mamma_" she repeated. 

But still no one answered, and obliged at last to turn round, for herpatience was at an end, Rosy saw that there was no one in the room. Mamma had gone away! That was a great shame--really a _great_shame. Rosy was offended, and she wanted mamma to see how offended shewas, and mamma chose just that moment to leave the room. Rosy lookedround--there was no good going on pouting and frowning and drummingand stamping to make mamma notice her if mamma wasn't there, and allthat sort of going on caused Rosy a good deal of trouble. So she leftoff. But she wanted to quarrel with somebody. In fact, she felt thatshe _must_ quarrel with somebody. She looked round again. Theonly "somebody" to be seen was mamma's big, _big_ Persian cat, whose name was "Manchon" (_why_, Rosy did not know; she thoughtit a very stupid name), of whom, to tell the truth, Rosy was ratherafraid. For Manchon could look very grand and terrible when he rearedup his back, and swept about his magnificent tail; and though he hadnever been known to hurt anybody, and mamma said he was the gentlestof animals, Rosy felt sure that he could do all sorts of things topunish his enemies if he chose. And knowing in her heart that she didnot like him, that she was indeed sometimes rather jealous of him, Rosy always had a feeling that she must not take liberties with him, as she could not help thinking he knew what she felt. 

[Illustration: ROSY AND MANCHON]

No, Manchon would not do to quarrel with. She stood beside his cushionlooking at him, but she did not venture to pull his tail or pinch hisears, as she would rather have liked to do. And Manchon looked up ather sleepily, blinking his eyes as much as to say, "What a sillylittle girl you are, " in a way that made Rosy more angry still. 

"I don't like you, you ugly old cat, " she said, "and you know I don't. And I shan't like _her_. You needn't make faces at me, " asManchon, disturbed in his afternoon nap, blinked again and gave a sortof discontented mew. "I don't care for your faces, and I don't carewhat mamma says, and I don't care for all the peoples in the world, I_won't_ like her;" and then, without considering that there wasno one near to see or to hear except Manchon, Rosy stamped her littlefeet hard, and repeated in a louder voice, "No, I won't, I_won't_ like her. "

But some one had heard her after all. A little figure, smaller thanRosy even, was standing in the doorway, looking at her with a troubledface, but not seeming very surprised. 

"Losy, " it said, "tea's seady. Fix is comed for you. "

"Then Fix may go away again. Rosy doesn't want any tea. Rosy's toobovvered and vexed. Go away, Fix. "

But "Fix, " as she called him, and as he called himself, didn't move. Only the trouble in his delicate little face grew greater. 

"_Is_ you bovvered, Losy?" he said. "Fix is welly solly, " and hecame farther into the room. "Losy, " he said again, still more gentlythan before, "_do_ come to tea. Fix doesn't like having his teawhen Losy isn't there, and Fix is tired to-day. "

Rosy looked at him a moment. Then a sudden change came over her. Shestooped down and threw her arms round the little boy's neck and huggedhim. 

"Poor Fixie, dear Fixie, " she said. "Rosy will come if _you_ wanther. Fixie never bovvers Rosy. Fixie loves Rosy, doesn't he?"

"Ses, " said the child, kissing her in return, "but please don't skeeseFix _kite_ so tight, " and he wriggled a little to get out of hergrasp. Instantly the frown came back to Rosy's changeable face. 

"You cross little thing, " she said, half flinging her little brotheraway from her, "you don't love Rosy. If you did, you wouldn't call hercuddling you _skeesing_. "

Fix's face puckered up, and he looked as if he were going to cry. Butjust then steps were heard coming, and a boy's voice called out, "Fix, Fix, what a time you are! If Rosy isn't there, never mind her. Comealong. There's something good for tea. "

"There's Colin, " said Fix, turning as if to run off to his brother. Again Rosy's mood changed. 

"Don't run away from Rosy, Fix, " she said. "Rosy's not cross, she'sonly troubled about somefing Fix is too little to understand. TakeRosy's hand, dear, and we'll go up to tea togever. Never mindColin--he's such a big rough boy;" and when Colin, in his turn, appeared at the door, Rosy and Fix were already coming towards it, hand-in-hand, Rosy the picture of a model little elder sister. 

Colin just glanced at them and ran off. 

"Be quick, " he said, "or I'll eat it all before you come. There'sfluff for tea--strawberry fluff! At least I've been smelling it allthe afternoon, and I saw a little pot going upstairs, and Martha saidcook said it was for the children!"

Colin, however, was doomed to be disappointed. 

There was no appearance of anything "better" than bread and butter onthe nursery table, and in answer to the boy's questions, Martha saidthere was nothing else. 

"But the little pot, Martha, the little pot, " insisted Colin. "I heardyou yourself say to cook, 'Then this is for the children?'"

"Well, yes, Master Colin, and so I did, and so it is for you. But Ididn't say it was for to-day--it's for to-morrow, Sunday. "

"Whoever heard of such a thing, " said Colin. "Fluff won't keep. Itshould be eaten at once. "

"But it's jam, Master Colin. It's regular jam in the little pot. Idon't know anything about the fluff, as you call it. I suppose they'veeaten it in the kitchen. "

"Well, then, it's a shame, " said Colin. "It's all the new cook. I'vealways been accustomed, always, to have the fluff sent up to thenursery, " and he thumped impressively on the table. 

"In all your places, Master Colin, it was always so, wasn't it?" saidMartha, with a twinkle of fun in her eyes. 

"You're very impettnent, Martha, " said Rosy, looking up suddenly, andspeaking for the first time since she had come into the room. 

"Nonsense, Rosy, " said Colin. "_I_ don't mind. Martha was onlyjoking. "

Rosy relapsed into silence, to Martha's relief. 

"If Miss Rosy is going to begin!" she had said to herself with fearand trembling. She seldom or never ventured to joke with Rosy--fewpeople who knew her did--but Colin was the most good-natured ofchildren. She looked at Rosy rather curiously, taking care, however, that the little girl should not notice it. 

"There's something the matter with her, " thought Martha, for Rosylooked really buried in gloom; "perhaps her mamma's been telling herwhat she told me this morning. I was sure Miss Rosy wouldn't like it, and perhaps it's natural, so spoilt as she's been, having everythingher own way for so long. One would be sorry for her if she'd only letone, " and her voice was kind and gentle as she asked the little girlif she wouldn't like some more tea. 

Rosy shook her head. 

"I don't want nothing, " she said. 

"What's the matter, Rosy?" said Colin. 

"Losy's bovvered, " said Fixie. 

Colin gave a whistle. 

"Oh!" he said, meaningly, "I expect I know what it's all about. Iknow, too, Rosy. You're afraid your nose is going to be put out ofjoint, I expect. "

"Master Colin, don't, " said Martha, warningly, but it was too late. Rosy dashed off her seat, and running round to Colin's side of thetable, doubled up her little fist, and hit her brother hard with allher baby force, then, without waiting to see if she had hurt him ornot, she rushed from the room without speaking, made straight for herown little bedroom, and, throwing herself down on the floor with herhead on a chair, burst into a storm of miserable, angry crying. 

"I wish I was back with auntie--oh, I do, I do, " she said, among hersobs. "Mamma doesn't love me like Colin and Pixie. If she did, shewouldn't go and bring a nasty, horrible little girl to live with us. Ihate her, and I shall always hate her--_nasty_ little thing!"

The nursery was quiet after Rosy left it--quiet but sad. 

"Dear, dear, " said Martha, "if people would but think what they'redoing when they spoil children! Poor Miss Rosy, but she is naughty!Has it hurt you, Master Colin?"

"No, " said Colin, _one_ of whose eyes nevertheless was cryingfrom Rosy's blow, "not much. But it's so _horrid_, going on likethis. "

"Of course it is, and _why_ you can go on teasing your sister, knowing her as you do, I can't conceive, " said Martha. "If it was onlyfor peace sake, I'd let her alone, I would, if I was you, MasterColin. "

Martha had rather a peevish and provoking way of finding fault orgiving advice. Just now her voice sounded almost as if she was goingto cry. But Colin was a sensible boy. He knew what she said was true, so he swallowed down his vexation, and answered good-naturedly, "Well, I'll try and not tease. But Rosy isn't like anybody else. Sheflies into a rage for just nothing, and it's always those peoplesomehow that make one _want_ to tease them. But, I say, Martha, Ireally do _wonder_ how we'll get on when--"

A warning glance stopped him, and he remembered that little Felix knewnothing of what he was going to speak about, and that his mother didnot wish anything more said of it just yet. So Colin said no more--hejust whistled, as he always did if he was at a loss about anything, but his whistle sometimes seemed to say a good deal. 

How was it that Colin was so good-tempered and reasonable, Felix sogentle and obedient, and Rosy, poor Rosy, so very different? For theywere her very own brothers, she was their very own sister. There musthave been some difference, I suppose, naturally. Rosy had always beena fiery little person, but the great pity was that she had been sadlyspoilt. For some years she had been away from her father and mother, who had been abroad in a warm climate, where delicate little Felix wasborn. They had not dared to take Colin and Rosy with them, but Colin, who was already six years old when they left England, had had the goodfortune to be sent to a very nice school, while Rosy had stayedaltogether with her aunt, who had loved her dearly, but in wishing tomake her perfectly happy had made the mistake of letting her have herown way in everything. And when she was eight years old, and herparents came home, full of delight to have their children all togetheragain, the disappointment was great of finding Rosy so unlike whatthey had hoped. And as months passed, and all her mother's care andadvice and gentle firmness seemed to have no effect, Rosy's truefriends began to ask themselves what should be done. The little girlwas growing a misery to herself, and a constant trouble to otherpeople. And then happened what her mother had told her about, and whatRosy, in her selfishness and silliness, made a new trouble of, insteadof a pleasure the more, in what should have been her happy life. Iwill soon tell you what it was. 

Rosy lay on the floor crying for a good long while. Her fits of tempertired her out, though she was a very strong little girl. There is_nothing_ more tiring than bad temper, and it is such a stupidkind of tiredness; nothing but a waste of time and strength. Not likethe rather _nice_ tiredness one feels when one has been workinghard either at one's own business, or, _still_ nicer, at helpingother people--the sort of pleasant fatigue with which one lays one'shead on the pillow, feeling that all the lessons are learnt, and welllearnt, for to-morrow morning, or that the bit of garden is quite, quite clear of weeds, and father or mother will be so pleased to seeit! But to fall half asleep on the floor, or on your bed, withwearied, swollen eyes, and panting breath and aching head, feeling orfancying that no one loves you--that the world is all wrong, and thereis nothing sweet or bright or pretty in it, no place for you, and nouse in being alive--all these _miserable_ feelings that are thenatural and the right punishment of yielding to evil tempers, forgetting selfishly all the pain and trouble you cause--what_can_ be more wretched? Indeed, I often think no punishment thatcan be given can be half so bad as the punishment that comes ofitself--that is joined to the sin by ties that can never be undone. And the shame of it all! Rosy was not quite what she had been when shefirst came home to her mother--she was beginning to feel ashamed whenshe had yielded to her temper--and even this, though a smallimprovement, was always something--one little step in the right way, one little sign of better things. 

She was not asleep--scarcely half asleep, only stupid and dazed withcrying--when the door opened softly, and some one peeped in. It wasFixie. He came creeping in very quietly--when was Fixie anything butquiet?--and with a very distressed look on his tiny, white face. Something came over Rosy--a mixture of shame and sorrow, and also somecuriosity to see what her little brother would do; and these feelingsmixed together made her shut her eyes tighter and pretend to beasleep. 

Fixie came close up to her, peeped almost into her face, so that ifshe had been really asleep I rather think it would have awakened her, except that all he did was so _very_ gentle and like a littlemouse; and then, quite satisfied that she was fast asleep, he slowlysettled himself down on the floor by her side. 

"Poor Losy, " he said softly. "Fixie are so solly for you. PoorLosy--why can't her be good? Why doesn't God make Losy good all in aminute? Fixie always akses God to make her good"--he stopped in hiswhispered talk, suddenly--he had fancied for a moment that Rosy waswaking, and it was true that she had moved. She had given a sort ofwriggle, for, sweet and gentle as Fixie was, she did not at all likebeing spoken of as _not_ good. She didn't see why he need pray toGod to make _her_ good, more than other people, she said toherself, and for half a second she was inclined to jump up and tellPix to go away; it wasn't his business whether she was good ornaughty, and she wouldn't have him in her room. But she did _not_do so, --she lay still again, and she was glad she had, for poor Fixiestopped in his talking to pat her softly. 

"Don't wake, poor Losy, " he said. "Go on sleeping, Losy, if you are sotired, and Fix will watch aside you and take care of you. "

He seemed to have forgotten all about her being naughty--he sat besideher, patting her softly, and murmuring a sort of cooing "Hush, hush, Losy, " as if she were a baby, that was very touching, like the murmurof a sad little dove. And by and by, with going on repeating it sooften, his own head began to feel confused and drowsy--it droppedlower and lower, and at last found a resting-place on Rosy's knees. Rosy, who had really been getting sleepy, half woke up when she feltthe weight of her little brother's head and shoulder upon her--shemoved him a little so that he should lie more comfortably, and put onearm round him. 

"Dear Fixie, " she said to herself, "I do love him, and I'm sure heloves me, " and her face grew soft and gentle--and when Rosy's facelooked like that it was very pretty and sweet. But it quickly grewdark and gloomy again as another thought struck her. "If Fixie lovesthat nasty little girl better than me or as much--if he loves her_at all_, I'll--I don't know what I'll do. I'd almost hate him, and I'm sure I'll hate her, any way. Mamma says she's such a dear goodlittle girl--that means that everybody'll say _I'm_ naughtierthan ever. "

But just then Fixie moved a little and whispered something in hissleep. 

"What is it, Fix?" said Rosy, stooping down to listen. His ears caughtthe sound of her voice. 

"Poor Losy, " he murmured, and Rosy's face softened again. 

And half an hour later Martha found them lying there together. 

CHAPTER II. 

BEATA. 

 "How will she be--fair-haired or dark, Eyes bright and piercing, or rather soft and sweet? --All that I care not for, so she be no phraser. "--OLD PLAY. 

"What was it all about?" said Rosy's mother the next morning to Colin, She had heard of another nursery disturbance the evening before, andMartha had begged her to ask Colin to tell her all about it. "Andwhat's the matter with your eye, my boy?" she went on to say, as shecaught sight of the bluish bruise, which showed more by daylight. 

"Oh, that's nothing, " said Colin. "It doesn't hurt a bit, mother, itdoesn't indeed. I've had far worse lumps than that at school hundredsof times. It's nothing, only--" and Colin gave a sort of wriggle. 

"Only what?" said his mother. 

"I do so wish Rosy wouldn't be like that. It spoils everything. Justthis Easter holiday time too, when I thought we'd be so happy. "

His mother's face grew still graver. 

"Do you mean that it was _Rosy_ that struck you--that hit you inthe eye?" she said. 

Colin looked vexed. "I thought Martha had told you, " he said. "And Iteased her, mother. I told her she was afraid of having her nose putout of joint when Be--I can't say her name--when the little girlcomes. "

"O Colin, how could you?" said his mother sadly. "When I had explainedto you about Beata coming, and that I hoped it might do Rosy good! Ithought you would have tried to help me, Colin. "

Colin felt very vexed with himself. 

"I won't do it any more, mother, I won't indeed, " he said. "I wish Icould leave off teasing; but at school, you know, one gets into theway, and one has to learn not to mind it. "

"Yes, " said his mother, "I know, and it is a very good thing to learnnot to mind it. But I don't think teasing will do Rosy any good justnow, especially not about little Beata. "

"Mother, " said Colin. 

"Well, my boy, " said his mother. 

"I wish she hadn't such a stupid name. It's so hard to say. "

"I think they sometimes have called her Bee, " said his mother; "Idaresay you can call her so. "

"Yes, that would be much better, " said Colin, in a more contentedtone. 

"Only, " said his mother again, and she couldn't help smiling a littlewhen she said it, "if you call her 'Bee, ' don't make it the beginningof any new teasing by calling Rosy 'Wasp. '"

"Mother!" said Colin. "I daresay I would never have thought of it. ButI promise you I won't. "

This was what had upset Rosy so terribly--the coming of little Beata. She--Beata--was the child of friends of Rosy's parents. They had beenmuch together in India, and had returned to England at the same time. So Beata was already well known to Rosy's mother, and Fixie, too, hadlearnt to look upon her almost as a sister. Beata's father and motherwere obliged to go back to India, and it had been settled that theirlittle girl was to be left at home with her grandmother. But just ashort time before they were to leave, her grandmother had a badillness, and it was found she would not be well enough to take chargeof the child. And in the puzzle about what they should do with her, ithad struck her father and mother that perhaps their friends, Rosy'sparents, might be able to help them, and they had written to ask them;and so it had come about that little Beata was to come to live withthem. It had all seemed so natural and nice. Rosy's mother was sopleased about it, for she thought it would be just what Rosy needed tomake her a pleasanter and more reasonable little girl. 

"Beata is such a nice child, " she said to Rosy's father when they weretalking about it, "and not one bit spoilt. I think it is _sure_to do Rosy good, " and, full of pleasure in the idea, she told Rosyabout it. 

But--one man may bring a horse to the water, but twenty can't make himdrink, says the old proverb--Rosy made up her mind on the spot, at thevery first instant, that she wouldn't like Beata, and that her comingwas on purpose to vex _her_, Rosy, as it seemed to her that mostthings which she had to do with in the world were. And this was whathad put her in such a temper the first time we saw her--when she wouldhave liked to put out her vexation on Manchon even, if she had dared!

Rosy's mother felt very disappointed, but she saw it was better to sayno more. She had told Colin about Beata coming, but not Felix, for ashe knew and loved the little girl already, she was afraid that hisdelight might rouse Rosy's jealous feelings. For the prettiest thingin Rosy was her love for her little brother, only it was often spoiltby her _exactingness_. Fixie must love her as much or better thananybody--he must be all hers, or else she would not love him at all. That was how she sometimes talked to him, and it puzzled andfrightened him--he was such a very little fellow, you see. And_mother_ had never told him that loving other people too made hislove for her less, as Rosy did! I think Rosy's first dislike to Beatahad begun one day when Fixie, wanting to please her, and yet afraid tosay what was not true, had spoken of Beata as one of the people Rosymust let him love, and it had vexed Rosy so that ever since he hadbeen afraid to mention his little friend's name to her. 

Rosy's mother thought over what Colin had told her, and settled in herown mind that it was better to take no notice of it in speaking toRosy. 

"If it had been a quarrel about anything else, " she said to herself, "it would have been different. But about Beata I want to say nothingmore to vex Rosy, or wake her unkind feelings. "

But Rosy's mother did not yet quite know her little girl. There wasone thing about her which was _not_ spoilt, and that was herhonesty. 

When the children came down that morning to see their mother, as theyalways did, a little after breakfast, Rosy's face wore a queer look. 

"Good morning, little people, " said their mother. "I was rather latethis morning, do you know? That was why I didn't come to see you inthe nursery. I am going to write to your aunt to-day. Would you liketo put in a little letter, Rosy?"

"No, thank you, " said Rosy. 

"Then shall I just send your love? and Fixie's too?" said her mother. She went on speaking because she noticed the look in Rosy's face, butshe wanted not to seem to do so, thinking Rosy would then graduallyforget about it all. 

"I don't want to send my love, " said Rosy. "If you say I _must_, I suppose I must, but I don't _want_ to send it. "

"Do you think your love is not worth having, my poor little girl?"said her mother, smiling a little sadly, as she drew Rosy to her. "Don't you believe we all love you, Rosy, and want you to love us?"

"I don't know, " said Rosy, gloomily. "I don't think anybody can loveme, for Martha's always saying if I do naughty things _you_ won'tlove me and father won't love me, and nobody. "

"Then why don't you leave off doing naughty things, Rosy?" said hermother. 

"Oh, I can't, " Rosy replied, coolly. "I suppose I was spoilt atauntie's, and now I'm too old to change. I don't care. It isn't myfault: it's auntie's. "

"Rosy, " said her mother, gravely, "who ever said so to you? Where didyou ever hear such a thing?"

"Lots of times, " Rosy replied. "Martha's said so, and Colin says sowhen he's vexed with me. He's always said so, " she added, as if shedidn't quite like owning it, but felt that she must. "He said I wasspoilt before you came home, but auntie wouldn't let him. _She_thought I was quite good, " and Rosy reared up her head as if shethought so too. 

"I am very sorry to hear you speak so, " said her mother. "I think ifyou ask _yourself_, Rosy, you will very often find that you arenot good, and if you see and understand that when you are not good itis nobody's fault but your own, you will surely try to be better. Youmust not say it was your aunt's fault, or anybody's fault. Your auntwas only too kind to you, and I will never allow you to blame her. "

"I wasn't good last night, " said Rosy. "I doubled up my hand and I hitColin, 'cos I got in a temper. I was going to tell you--I meant totell you. "

"And are you sorry for it now, Rosy dear?" asked her mother, verygently. 

Rosy looked at her in surprise. Her mother spoke so gently. She hadrather expected her to be shocked--she had almost, if you canunderstand, _wished_ her to be shocked, so that she could say toherself how naughty everybody thought her, how it was no use hertrying to be good and all the rest of it--and she had told over whatshe had done in a hard, _un_sorry way, almost on purpose. Butnow, when her mother spoke so kindly, a different feeling came intoher heart. She looked at her mother, and then she looked down on theground, and then, almost to her own surprise, she answered, almosthumbly, "I don't know. I don't think I was, but I think I am a little sorrynow. "

Seeing her so unusually gentle, her mother went a little further. "What made you so vexed with Colin?" she asked. Rosy's face hardened. 

"Mother, " she said, "you'd better not ask me. It was because ofsomething he said that I don't want to tell you. "

"About Beata?" asked her mother. 

"Well, " said Rosy, "if you know about it, it isn't my fault if you arevexed. I don't want her to come--I don't want _any_ little girlto come, because I know I shan't like her. I like boys better thangirls, and I don't like good little girls _at all_. "

"Rosy, " said her mother, "you are talking so sillily that if Fixieeven talked like that I should be quite surprised. I won't answer you. I will not say any more about Beata--you know what I wish, and what isright, and so I will leave it to you. And I will give you a kiss, mylittle girl, to show you that I want to trust you to try to do rightabout this. "

She was stooping to kiss her, when Rosy stopped her. 

"Thank you, mother, " she said. "But I don't think I can take the kisslike that--I don't _want_ to like the little girl. "

"Rosy!" exclaimed her mother, almost in despair. Then another thoughtstruck her. She bent down again and kissed the child. "I _give_you the kiss, Rosy, " she said, "hoping it will at least make you_wish_ to please me. "

"Oh, " said Rosy, "I do want to please you, mother, about everything_except_ that. "

But her mother thought it best to take no further notice, only in herown heart she said to herself, "Was there _ever_ such a child?"

In spite of all she had said Rosy felt, what she would not have ownedfor the world, a good deal of curiosity about the little girl who wasto come to live with them. And now and then, in her cross and unhappymoods, a sort of strange confused _hope_ would creep over herthat Beata's coming would bring her a kind of good luck. 

"Everybody says she's so good, and everybody loves her, " thought Rosy, "p'raps I'll find out how she does it. "

And the days passed on, on the whole, after the storm I have told youabout, rather more peaceably than before, till one evening when Rosywas saying good-night her mother said to her quietly, "Rosy, I had a letter this morning from Beata's uncle; he is bringingher to-morrow. She will be here about four o'clock in the afternoon. "

"To-morrow!" said Rosy, and then, without saying any more, she kissedher mother and went to bed. 

She went to sleep that evening, and she woke the next morning with astrange jumble of feelings in her mind, and a strange confusion ofquestions waiting to be answered. 

"What would Beata be like? She was sure to be pretty--all people thatother people love very much were pretty, Rosy thought. And shebelieved that she herself was very ugly, which, I may tell you, children, as Rosy won't hear what we say, was quite a mistake. Everybody is a _little_ pretty who is sweet and good, for thoughbeing sweet and good doesn't alter the colour of one's hair or theshape of one's nose, it does a great deal; it makes the cross linessmooth away, or, rather, prevents their coming, and it certainly givesthe eyes a look that nothing else gives, does it not? But Rosy's face, alas! was very often spoilt by frowns, and dark looks often took awaythe prettiness of her eyes, and this was the more pity as the goodfairies who had welcomed her at her birth had evidently meant her tobe pretty. She had very soft bright hair, and a very white skin, andlarge brown eyes that looked lovely when she let sweet thoughts andfeelings shine through them; but though she had many faults, she wasnot vain, and she really thought she was not pleasant-looking at all. 

"Beata is sure to be pretty, " thought Rosy. "I daresay she'll havebeautiful black hair, and blue eyes like Lady Albertine. " Albertinewas Rosy's best doll. "And I daresay she'll be very clever, and playthe piano and speak French far better than me. I don't mind that. Ilike pretty people, and I don't mind people being clever. What I don'tlike is, people who are dedfully _good_ always going on about howgood they are, and how naughty _other_ people is. If she doesn'tdo that way I shan't mind so much, but I'm sure she _will_ dothat way. Yes, Manchon, " she said aloud, "I'm sure she will, and youneedn't begin 'froo'in' about it. "

For Rosy was in the drawing-room when all these thoughts were passingthrough her mind--she was there with her afternoon frock on, and apretty muslin apron, all nice to meet Beata and her uncle, who wereexpected very soon. And Manchon was on the rug as usual, quitepeacefully inclined, poor thing, only Rosy could never believe anygood of Manchon, and when he purred, or, as she called it, "froo'ed, "she at once thought he was mocking her. She really seemed to fancy thecat was a fairy or a wizard of some kind, for she often gave him thecredit of reading her very thoughts!

The door opened, and her mother came in, leading Fixie by the hand andColin just behind. 

"Oh, you're ready, Rosy, " she said. "That's right. They should be herevery soon. "

"Welly soon, " repeated Fixie. "Oh, Fixie will be so glad to see Beenieagain!"

"What a stupid name, " said Rosy. "_We_'re not to call her that, are we, mother?"

She spoke in rather a grand, grown-up tone, but her mother knew sheput that on sometimes when she was not really feeling unkind. 

"_I_ shall call her Bee, " said Colin. "It would do very well, aswe've"--he stopped suddenly--"as we've got a wasp already, " he hadbeen going to say--it seemed to come so naturally--when his mother'swarning came back to his mind. He caught her eye, and he saw that shecouldn't help smiling and he found it so difficult not to burst outlaughing that he stuffed his pocket-handkerchief into his mouth, andwent to the window, where he pretended to see something veryinteresting. Rosy looked up suspiciously. 

"What were you going to say, Colin?" she asked. "I'm sure--" but shetoo stopped, for just then wheels were heard on the gravel driveoutside. 

"Here they are, " said mother. "Will you come to the door to welcomeBeata, Rosy?"

Rosy came forward, though rather slowly. Colin was already out in thehall, and Fixie was dancing along beside his mother. Rosy kept behind. The carriage, that had gone to the station to meet the travellers, wasalready at the door, and the footman was handing out one or twoumbrellas, rugs, and so on. Then a gray-haired gentleman, whom Rosy, peeping through a side window, did not waste her attention on--"He isquite old, " she said to herself--got out, and lifted down a muchsmaller person--smaller than Rosy herself, and a good deal smallerthan the Beata of Rosy's fancies. The little person sprang forward, and was going to kiss Rosy's mother, when she caught sight of the tinywhite face beside her. 

"O Fixie, dear little Fixie!" she said, stooping to hug him, and thenshe lifted her own face for Fixie's mother to kiss. At once, almostbefore shaking hands with the gentleman, Rosy's mother looked roundfor her, and Rosy had to come forward. 

"Beata, dear, this is my Rosy, " she said; and something in the tone ofthe "my" touched Rosy. It seemed to say, "I will put no one beforeyou, my own little girl--no stranger, however sweet--and you will, onyour side, try to please me, will you not?" So Rosy's face, thoughgrave, had a nice look the first time Beata saw it, and the firstwords she said as they kissed each other were, "O Rosy, how pretty youare! I shall love you very much. "

CHAPTER III. 

TEARS. 

 "'Twere most ungrateful. "--V. S. LAKDOH. 

Beata was not pretty. That was the first thing Rosy decided about her. She was small, and rather brown and thin. She had dark hair, certainlylike Lady Albertine's in colour, but instead of splendid curls it wascut quite short--as short almost as Colin's--and her eyes were neithervery large nor very blue. They were nice gray eyes, that could looksad, but generally looked merry, and about the rest of her face therewas nothing very particular. 

Rosy looked at her for a moment or two, and she looked at Rosy. Thenat last Rosy said, "Will you come into the drawing-room?" for she saw that her mother andBeata's uncle were already on their way there. 

"Thank you, " said Beata, and then they quietly followed the bigpeople. Rosy's father was not at home, but he would be back soon, hermother was telling the gray-haired gentleman, and then she went on toask him how "they" had got off, if it had been comfortably, and so on. 

"Oh yes, " he replied, "it was all quite right. Poor Maud!--"

"That's my mamma, " said Beata in a low voice, and Rosy, turningtowards her, saw that her eyes were full of tears. 

"What a queer little girl she is!" thought Rosy, but she did not sayso. 

"--Poor Maud, " continued the gentleman. "It is a great comfort to herto leave the child in such good hands. "

"I hope she will be happy, " said Rosy's mother. "I will do my best tomake her so. "

"I am very sure of that, " said Beata's uncle. "It is a greatdisappointment to her grandmother not to have her with her. She is adear child. Last week at the parting she behaved like a brick. "

Both little girls heard this, and Beata suddenly began speaking ratherfast, and Rosy saw that her cheeks had got very red. 

"Do you think your mamma would mind if I went upstairs to take off myhat? I think my face must be dirty with the train, " said Beata. 

"Don't you like staying here?" said Rosy, rather crossly. "_I_think you should stay till mother tells is to go, " for she wanted tohear what more her mother and the gentleman said to each other, thevery thing that made Beata uncomfortable. 

Beata looked a little frightened. 

"I didn't mean to be rude, " she said. Then suddenly catching sight ofManchon, she exclaimed, "Oh, what a beautiful cat! May I go and strokehim?"

"If you like, " said Rosy, "but he isn't _really_ a nice cat. " Andthen, seeing that Beata looked at her with curiosity, she forgot aboutlistening to the big people, and, getting up, led Beata to Manchon'scushion. 

"Everybody says he's pretty, " she went on, "but I don't think so, because _I_ think he's a kind of bad fairy. You don't know how hefroos sometimes, in a most horrible way, as if he was mocking you. Heknows I don't like him, for whenever I'm vexed he looks pleased. "

"Does he really?" said Beata. "Then I don't like him. I shouldn't lookpleased if you were vexed, Rosy. "

"Wouldn't you?" said Rosy, doubtfully. 

"No, I'm sure I wouldn't. I wonder your mamma likes Manchon if he hassuch an unkind dis--I can't remember the word, it means feelings, youknow. "

"Never mind, " said Rosy, patronisingly, "I know what you mean. Oh, itsonly _me_ Manchon's nasty to, and that doesn't matter. _I'm_not the favourite. I _was_ at my aunty's though, that I was--butit has all come true what Nelson told me, " and she shook her headdolefully. 

"Who is Nelson?" asked Beata. 

"Aunty's maid. She cried when I came away, and she said it was becauseshe was so sorry for me. It wouldn't be the same as _there_, shesaid. I shouldn't be thought as much of with two brothers, and Nelsonknew that my mamma was dreadfully strict. I daresay she'd be stillmore sorry for me if she knew--" Rosy stopped short. 

"Why don't you go on?" said Beata. 

"Oh, I was going to say something I don't want to say. Perhaps itwould vex you, " said Rosy. 

Beata considered a little. 

"I'm not very easily vexed, " she said at last. "I think I'd like youto go on saying it if you don't mind--unless its anything naughty. "

"Oh no, " said Rosy, "it isn't anything naughty. I was going to sayNelson would be still more sorry for me if she knew _you_ hadcome. "

"_Me!_" said Beata, opening her eyes. "Why? She can't knowanything about me--I mean she couldn't know anything to make her thinkI would be unkind to you. "

"Oh no, it isn't that. Only you see some little girls would think thatif another little girl came to live with them it wouldn't be sonice--that perhaps their mammas and brothers and everybody would petthe other little girl more than them. "

"And do you think that?" said Beata, anxiously. A feeling like a coldchill seemed to have touched her heart. She had never before thoughtof such things--loving somebody else "better, " not being "thefavourite, " and so on. Could it all be true, and could it, _worst_ of all, be true that her coming might be the cause oftrouble and vexation to other people--at least to Rosy? She had comeso full of love and gratitude, so ready to like everybody; she hadsaid so many times to her mother, "I'm _sure_ I'll be happy. I'llwrite and tell you how happy I am, " swallowing bravely the grief ofleaving her mother, and trying to cheer her at the parting by tellingher this--it seemed very hard and strange to little Beata to be toldthat _anybody_ could think she could be the cause of unhappinessto any one. "Do _you_ think that?" she repeated. 

Rosy looked at her, and something in the little eager face gave herwhat she would have called a "sorry" feeling. But mixed with this wasa sense of importance--she liked to think that she was very good fornot feeling what she said "some little girls" would have felt. 

"No, " she said, rather patronisingly, "I don't think I do. I only said_some_ little girls would. No, I think I shall like you, if onlyyou don't make a fuss about how good you are, and set them all againstme. I settled before you came that I wouldn't mind if you were prettyor very clever. And you're not pretty, and I daresay you're not veryclever. So I won't mind, if you don't make everybody praise you up forbeing so _good_. "

Beata's eyes filled with tears. 

"I don't want anybody to praise me, " she said. "I only wanted you allto love me, " and again Rosy had the sorry feeling, though she did notfeel that she was to blame. 

"I only told her what I really thought, " she said to herself; butbefore she had time to reflect that there are two ways of telling whatone thinks, and that sometimes it is not only foolish, but wrong andunkind, to tell of thoughts and feelings which we should try to_leave off_ having, her mother turned round to speak to her. 

"I think we should take Beata upstairs to her room, Rosy, " she said. "You must be tired, dear, " and the kind words and tone, so like whather own mother's would have been, made the cup of Beata's distressoverflow. She gave a little sob and then burst into tears. Rosy halfsprang forward--she was on the point of throwing her arms round Beataand whispering, "I _will_ love you, dear, I _do_ love you;"but alas, the strange foolish pride that so often checked her goodfeelings, held her back, and jealousy whispered, "If you begin makingsuch a fuss about her, she'll think she's to be before you, and verylikely, if you seem so sorry, she'll tell your mother you made hercry. " So Rosy stood still, grave and silent, but with some trouble inher face, and her mother felt a little, just a very little vexed withBeata for beginning so dolefully. 

"It will discourage Rosy, " she said to herself, "just when I was soanxious for Beata to win her affection from the first. "

And Beata's uncle, too, looked disappointed. Just when he had beenpraising her so for her bravery!

"Why, my little girl, " he said, "you didn't cry like this even whenyou said good-bye at Southampton. "

"That must be it, " said Rosy's mother, who was too kind to feel vexedfor more than an instant; "the poor child has put too much force onherself, and that always makes one break down afterwards. Come, dearBeata, and remember how much your mother wanted you to be happy withus. "

She held out her hand, but to her surprise Beata still hung back, clinging to her uncle. 

"Oh, please, " she whispered, "let me go back with you, uncle. I don'tcare how dull it is--I shall not be any trouble to grandmother whileshe is ill. Do let me go back--I cannot stay here. "

Beata's uncle was kind, but he had not much experience of children. 

"Beata, " he said, and his voice was almost stern, "it is impossible. All is arranged here for you. You will be sorry afterwards for givingway so foolishly. You would not wish to seem _ungrateful_, mylittle girl, for all your kind friends here are going to do for you?"

The word ungrateful had a magical effect. Beata raised her head fromhis shoulder, and digging in her pocket for her little handkerchief, wiped away the tears, and then looking up, her face still quivering, said gently, "I won't cry any more, uncle; I _will_ be good. Indeed, I didn't mean to be naughty. "

"That's right, " he answered, encouragingly. And then Rosy's motheragain held out her hand, and Beata took it timidly, and followed byRosy, whose mind was in a strange jumble, they went upstairs to theroom that was to be the little stranger's. 

It was as pretty a little room as any child could have wishedfor--bright and neat and comfortable, with a pleasant look-out on thelawn at the side of the house, while farther off, over the trees, thevillage church, or rather its high spire, could be seen. For a momentBeata forgot her new troubles. 

"Oh, how pretty!" she said, "Is this to be my room? I never had such anice one. But when they come home from India for always, papa andmamma are going to get a pretty house, and choose all thefurniture--like here, you know, only not so pretty, I daresay, for ahouse like this would cost such a great deal of money. "

She was chattering away to Rosy's mother quite in her old way, greatlyto Rosy's mother's pleasure, when she--Mrs. Vincent, opened a doorBeata had not before noticed. 

"This is Rosy's room, " she said. "I thought it would be nice for youto be near each other. And I know you are very tidy, Bee, so you willset Rosy a good example--eh, Rosy?"

She said it quite simply, and Beata would have taken it in the sameway half an hour before, but looking round the little girl caught anexpression on Rosy's face which brought back all her distress. Itseemed to say, "Oh, you're beginning to be praised already, I see, "but Rosy's mother had not noticed it, for Rosy had turned quicklyaway. When, however, Mrs. Vincent, surprised at Beata's silence, looked at her again, all the light had faded out of the little face, and again she seemed on the point of tears. 

"How strangely changeable she is, " thought Mrs. Vincent, "I am sureshe used not to be so; she was merry and pleased just as she seemed amoment or two ago. "

"What is the matter, dear?" she said. "You look so distressed again. Did it bring back your mother--what I said, I mean?"

"I think--I suppose so, " Beata began, but there she stopped. "'So, "she said bravely, "it wasn't that. But, please--I don't want to berude--but, please, would you not praise me--not for being tidy oranything. "

How gladly at that moment would she have said, "I'm not tidy. Mammaalways says I'm not, " had it been true. But it was not--she was a veryneat and methodical child, dainty and trim in everything she had to dowith, as Rosy's mother remembered. 

"What _shall_ I do?" she said to herself. "It seems as if only mybeing naughty would make Rosy like me, and keep me from doing herharm. What _can_ I do?" and a longing came over her to throw herarms round Mrs. Vincent's neck, and tell her her troubles and ask herto explain it all to her. But her faithfulness would not let her thinkof such a thing. "That _would_ do Rosy harm, " she remembered, "andperhaps she meant to be kind when she spoke that way. It was kinderthan to have kept those feelings to me in her heart and never told me. But I don't know what to do. "

For already she felt that Mrs. Vincent thought her queer andchangeable, _rude_ even, perhaps, though she only smiled atBeata's begging not to be praised, and Rosy, who had heard what shesaid, gave her no thanks for it, but the opposite. 

"That's all pretence, " thought Rosy. "Everybody likes to be praised. "

Mrs. Vincent went downstairs, leaving the children together, andtelling Rosy to help Beata to take off her things, as tea would soonbe ready. Beata had a sort of fear of what next Rosy would say, andshe was glad when Martha just then came into the room. 

"Miss Rosy, " she said, "will you please to go into the nursery and putaway your dolls' things before tea. They're all over the table. I'dhave done it in a minute, but you have your own ways and I was afraidof doing it wrong. "

She spoke kindly and cheerfully. 

"What a nice nurse!" thought Beata, with a feeling of relief--a sortof hope that Martha might help to make things easier for her somehow, especially as there was something very kindly in the way the maidbegan to help her to unfasten her jacket and lay aside her travellingthings. To her surprise, Rosy made no answer. 

"Miss Rosy, please, " said Martha again, and then Rosy looked upcrossly. 

"'Miss Rosy, please, '" she said mockingly. "You're just putting on allthat politeness to show off. No, I won't please. You can put the dollsaway yourself, and, if you do them wrong, it's your own fault. You'veseen lots of times how I do them. "

"Miss Rosy!" said Martha, as if she wanted to beg Rosy to be good, andher voice was still kind, though her face had got very red when Rosytold her she was "showing off. "

Beata stood in shocked silence. She had had no idea that Rosy couldspeak so, and, sad as it was, Martha did not seem surprised. 

"I wonder if she is often like that, " thought little Bee, and inconcern for Rosy her own troubles began to be forgotten. 

They went into the nursery to tea. Martha had cleared away Rosy'sthings and had done her best to lay them as the little girl liked. Butbefore sitting down to the table, Rosy would go to the drawer wherethey were kept, and was in the middle of scolding at finding somethingdifferent from what she liked when Colin and Fixie came in to tea. 

"I say, Rosy, " said Colin, "you might let us have one tea-time inpeace, --Bee's first evening. "

Rosy turned round upon him. 

"_I_'m not a pretender, " she said. "_I_'m not going to shambeing good and all that, like Martha and you, because Bee has justcome. "

"I don't know what you've been saying to Martha, " said Colin, "but Ican't see why you need begin at me about shamming before Bee. You'venot seen me for two minutes since she came. What's the matter, Fix?Wait a minute and I'll help you, " for Fixie was tugging away at hischair, and could not manage to move it as he wanted. 

"I want to sit, aside Bee, " he said. 

Rosy threw an angry look at him--he understood what she meant. 

"I'll sit, aside you again to-morrow, Losy, " he hastened to say. Butit did no good. Rosy was now determined to find nothing right. Therecame a little change in their thoughts, however, for the kitchen-maidappeared at the door with a plate of nice cold ham and some of thefamous strawberry jam. 

"Cook thought the young lady would be hungry after her journey, " shesaid. 

"Yes, indeed, " cried Colin, "the young lady's very hungry, and so arethe young gentlemen, and so is the other young lady--aren't you, Rosy?" he said good-naturedly, turning to her. "He is really a verykind boy, " thought Beata. "Tell cook, with my best compliments, thatwe are very much obliged to her, and she needn't expect to see any ofthe ham or the strawberry jam again. "

It was later than the usual tea-hour, so all the children were hungryand, thanks to this, the meal passed quietly. Beata said little, though she could not help laughing at some of Colin's funny speeches. But for the shock of Rosy's temper and the confusion in her mind thatRosy's way of speaking had made, Bee would have been quite happy, ashappy at least, she would have said, "as I can be till mamma comeshome again, " but Rosy seemed to throw a cloud over everybody. Therewas never any knowing from one minute to another how she was going tobe. Only one thing became plainer to Bee. It was not only because_she_ had come that Rosy was cross and unhappy. It was easy tosee that she was at all times very self-willed and queer-tempered, and, though Bee was too good and kind to be glad of this, yet, as shewas a very sensible little girl, it made things look clearer to her. 

"I will not begin fancying it is because I am in her place, oranything like that, " she said to herself. "I will be as good as I canbe, and perhaps she will get to like me, " and Rosy was puzzled andperhaps, in her strange contradiction, a little vexed at the brighterlook that came over Bee's face, and the cheery way in which she spoke. For at the first, when she saw how much Bee had taken to heart whatshe said, though her _best_ self felt sorry for the littlestranger, she had liked the feeling that she would be a sort of masterover her, and that the fear of seeming to take _her_ place wouldprevent Bee from making friends with the others more than she, Rosy, chose to allow. 

Poor Rosy! She would have herself been shocked had she seen writtendown in plain words all the feelings her jealous temper caused her. But almost the worst of jealousy is that it hides itself in so manydresses, and gives itself so many names, sometimes making itself seemquite a right and proper feeling; often, very often making one thinkoneself a poor, ill-treated martyr, when in reality, the martyrs arethe unfortunate people that have to live with the foolish person whohas allowed jealousy to become his master. 

Beata's uncle left that evening, but before he went away he had thepleasure of seeing his little niece quite herself again. 

"That's right, " he said, as he bade her good-bye, "I don't know whatcame over you this afternoon. "

Beata did not say anything, but she just kissed her uncle, andwhispered, "Give my love to dear grandmother, and tell her I am goingto try to be very good. "

CHAPTER IV. 

UPS AND DOWNS. 

 "Mary, Mary, quite contrary. "--NURSERY RHYME. 

That night when Bee was in her little bed, though not yet asleep, forthe strangeness of everything, and all she had to think over of whathad happened in the day, had kept her awake longer than usual, sheheard some one softly open the door and look in. 

"Are you awake still, dear?" said a voice which Bee knew in a momentwas that of Rosy's mother. 

"Yes, oh yes. I'm quite awake. I'm not a bit sleepy, " Beata answered. 

"But you must try to go to sleep soon, " said Mrs. Vincent. "Rosy isfast asleep. I have just been in to look at her. It is getting latefor little girls to be awake. "

"Yes, I know, " said Bee. "But I often can't go to sleep so quick thefirst night--while everything is--different, you know--and new. "

"And a little strange and lonely, as it were--just at first. Don't beafraid I would be vexed with you for feeling it so. "

"But I don't think I do feel lonely, " said Bee, sitting up and lookingat Rosy's mother quite brightly. "It seems quite natural to be withyou and Fixie again. "

"I'm very glad of that, " said Mrs. Vincent. "And was it not then thestrange feeling that made you so unhappy this afternoon for a little?"

Beata hesitated. 

"Tell me, dear, " said Mrs. Vincent. "You know if I am to be a 'make-upmother' for a while, you must talk to me as much as you _can_, asif I were your own mother. "

She listened rather anxiously for Bee's answer, for two or threelittle things--among them something Colin had said of the bad temperRosy had been in at tea-time--had made her afraid there had been somereason she did not understand for Beata's tears. Bee lay still for aminute or two. Then she said gently and rather shyly, "I am so sorry, but I don't know what's right to do. Isn't itsometimes difficult to know?"

"Yes, sometimes it is. " Then Mrs. Vincent, in her turn, was silent fora minute, and at last she said, "Would you very much rather I did not ask you why you cried?"

"Oh yes, " cried Bee, "much, much rather. "

"Very well then, but you will promise me that if the same thing makesyou cry again, you _will_ tell me?"

"_Should_ I?" said Bee. "I thought--I thought it wasn't right totell tales, " she added so innocently that Mrs. Vincent could not helpsmiling to herself. 

"It is not right, " she said. "But what I ask you to promise is not totell tales. It is to tell me what makes you unhappy, so that I mayexplain it or put it right. I could not do my duty among you and myother children unless I knew how things were. It is the _spirit/_that makes tell-tales--the telling over for the sake of getting othersblamed or punished--_that_ is what is wrong. "

"I see, " said Beata slowly. "At least I think I see a little, and I'lltry to think about it. I'll promise to tell you if anything makes meunhappy, _really_ unhappy, but I don't think it will now. I thinkI understand better what things I needn't mind. "

"Very well, dear. Then good-night, " and Rosy's mother kissed Bee verykindly, though in her heart she felt sad. It was plain to her thatRosy had made Bee unhappy, and as she passed through Rosy's room shestopped a moment by the bed-side and looked at the sleeping child. Nothing could be prettier than Rosy asleep--her lovely fair hair madea sort of pale golden frame to her face, and her cheeks had abeautiful pink flush. But while her mother was watching her, a frowndarkened her white forehead, and her lips parted sharply. 

"I won't have her put before me. I tell you I _won't_, " shecalled out angrily. Then again, a nicer look came over her face andshe murmured some words which her mother only caught two or three of. 

"I didn't mean"--"sorry"--"crying, " she said, and her mother turnedaway a little comforted. 

"O Rosy, poor Rosy, " she said to herself. "You _do_ know what isright and sweet. When will you learn to keep down that unhappytemper?"

 * * * * *

The next morning was bright and sunny, the garden with its beautifultrees and flowers, which Beata had only had a glimpse of the nightbefore, looked perfectly delicious in the early light when she drew upthe window-blind to look out. And as soon as she was dressed she wasonly too delighted to join Rosy and Colin for a run before breakfast. Children are children all the world over--luckily for themselves andluckily for other people too--and even children who are sometimesill-tempered and unkind are sometimes, too, bright and happy andlovable. Rosy was after all only a child, and by no means_always_ a disagreeable spoilt child. And this morning seeing Beeso merry and happy, she forgot her foolish and unkind feelings abouther, and for the time they were all as contented and joyous aschildren should be. 

"Where is Fixie?" asked Beata. "May he not come out a little beforebreakfast too?"

"Martha won't let him, " said Rosy. "Nasty cross old thing. She says itwill make him ill, and I am sure it's much more likely to make him illkeeping him poking in there when he wanted so much to come out withus. "

"I don't see how you can call Martha cross, " said Colin. "Andcertainly she's never _cross_ to Fixie. "

"How do _you_ know?" said Rosy, sharply. "You don't see her halfas much as I do. And she can always pretend if she likes. "

Beata looked rather anxiously at Colin. He was on the point ofanswering Rosy crossly in his turn, and again Bee felt that sort ofnervous fear of quarrels or disagreeables which it was impossible tobe long in Rosy's company without feeling. But Colin suddenly seemedto change his mind. 

"Shall we run another race?" he said, without taking any notice ofRosy's last speech. 

"Yes, " said Bee, eagerly, "from here to the library window. But youmust give me a little start--I can't run half so fast as you andRosy. "

She said it quite simply, but it pleased Rosy all the same, and shebegan considering how much of a start it was fair for Bee to have. 

When that important point was settled, off they set. Bee was the firstto arrive. 

"You must have given me too much of a start, " she said, laughing. "Look here, Colin and Rosy, there's the big cat on the window-seat. Doesn't he look solemn?"

"He looks very cross and nasty--he always does, " said Rosy. Then, safely sheltered behind the window, she began tapping on the pane. 

"Manchon, Manchon, " she said, "you can't scratch me through the glass, so I'll just tell you what I think of you for once. You're a cross, mean, _pretending_ creature. You make everybody say you're sopretty and so sweet when _really_ you're--" she stopped in afright--"Bee, Bee, " she cried, "just look at his face. I believe he'sheard all I said. "

"Well, what if he did?" said Beata. "Cats don't understand what onemeans. "

"_Manchon_ does, " said Rosy. "Come away, Bee, do. Quick, quick. We'd better go in to breakfast. "

The two little girls ran off, but Colin stayed behind at the librarywindow. 

"I've been talking to Manchon, " he said when he came up to them. "Hetold me to give you his compliments, Rosy, and to say he is very muchobliged to you for the pretty things you said to him, and the nexttime he has the pleasure of seeing you he hopes to have the honour ofscratching you to show his gratitude. "

Rosy's face got red. 

"Colin, how _dare_ you laugh at me?" she called out in a fury. She was frightened as well as angry, for she really had a strange fearof the big cat. 

"I'm not laughing, " Colin began again, looking quite serious. "I hadto give you Manchon's message. "

 [Illustration: 'WHAT IS ZE MATTER WIF YOU, BEE?' HE SAID]

Rosy looked at Bee. If there had been the least shadow of a smile onBee's face it would have made her still more angry. But Beata lookedgrave, because she felt so. 

"Oh, I wish they wouldn't quarrel, " she was thinking to herself. "Itdoes so spoil everything. I can't _think_ how Colin can teaseRosy so. "

And sadly, feeling already tired, and not knowing what was best to do, Beata followed the others to the nursery. _They_ did not seem tocare--Colin was already whistling, and though Rosy's face was stillblack, no one paid any attention to it. 

But little Fixie ran to Bee and held up his fresh sweet face for akiss. 

"What is ze matter wif you, Bee?" he said. "You's c'ying. Colin, Losy, Bee's c'ying, " he exclaimed. 

"You're _not_, are you, Bee?" said Colin. 

"Are you, really?" said Rosy, coming close to her and looking into herface. 

The taking notice of it made Bee's tears come more quickly. All thechildren looked sorry, and a puzzled expression came into Rosy's face. 

"Come into my room a minute, Bee, " she said. "Do tell me, " she wenton, "what are you crying for?"

Beata put her arms round Rosy's neck. 

"I can't quite tell you, " she said, "I'm afraid of vexing you. But, oh, I do so wish--" and then she stopped. 

"What?" said Rosy. 

"I wish you would never get vexed with Colin or anybody, and I wishColin wouldn't tease you, " said Bee. 

"Was that all?" said Rosy. "Oh, _that_ wasn't anything--youshould hear us sometimes. "

"_Please_ don't, " entreated Beata. "I can't bear it. Oh, dearRosy, don't be vexed with me, but please do let us be all happy andnot have anything like that. "

Rosy did not seem vexed, but neither did she seem quite to understand. 

"What a funny girl you are, Bee, " she said. "I suppose it's becauseyou've lived alone with big people always that you're like that. Idaresay you'll learn to tease too and to squabble, after you've been awhile here. "

"Oh, I _hope_ not, " said Bee. "Do you really think I shall, Rosy?"

"I shall like you just as well if you do, " said Rosy, "at least if youdo a _little_. Anyway, it would be better than setting up to bebetter than other people, or _pretending_. "

"But I _don't_ want to do that, " said Beata. "I want to _be_good. I don't want to think about being better or not better thanother people, and I'm _sure_ I don't want to pretend. I don'tever pretend like that, Rosy. Won't you believe me? I don't know whatI can say to make you believe me. I can't see that you should think itsuch a very funny thing for me to want to be good. Don't _you_want to be good?"

"Yes, " said Rosy, "I suppose I do. I do just now, just at this minute. And just at this minute I believe what you say. But I daresay I won'talways. The first time Colin teases me I know I shall leave offwanting to be good. I shall want nothing at all except just to givehim a good hard slap--really to hurt him, you know. I do want to_hurt_ him when I am very angry--just for a little. And if youwere to say anything to me _then_ about being good, I'd verylikely not believe you a bit. "

Just then Martha's voice was heard calling them in to breakfast. 

"Be quiet, Martha, " Rosy called back. "We'll come when we're ready. Doleave us alone. Just when we're talking so nicely, " she added, turningto Bee. "What a bother she is"

"_I_ think she's very kind, " said Bee, "but I don't like to sayanything like that to you, for fear you should think I'm pretending or'setting up, ' or something like that. "

Rosy laughed. 

"I don't think that just now, " she said. "Well, let's go into thenursery, then, " and, as they came in, she said to Martha withwonderful amiability, "We aren't very hungry this morning, I don'tthink, for we had each such a big hunch of bread and some milk beforewe ran out. "

"That was quite right, Miss Rosy, " said Martha, and by the sound ofher voice it was easy to see she was pleased. "It is never a goodthing to go out in the morning without eating something, even if it'sonly a little bit. "

Breakfast passed most comfortably, and by good luck Fixie hadn'tforgotten his promise to sit "aside Losy. " "It was her turn, " he said, and he seemed to think the honour a very great one. 

"Do you remember on the steamer, Fixie?" said Bee, "how we liked tosit together, and how hot it was sometimes, and how we used to wish wewere in nice cool England?"

"Oh ses, " said Fixie, "oh it _were_ hot! And the poor young lady, Bee, that was so ill?"

"Oh, do you remember her, Fixie? What a good memory you have!"

Fixie got rather red. 

"I'm not sure that I 'membered her all of myself, " he said, "but mammatelled me about her one day. Her's quite welldened now. "

Bee smiled a little at Fixie's funny way of speaking, but she thoughtto herself it was very nice for him to be such an honest little boy. 

"How do you know she's got well?" said Rosy, rather sharply. 

"Mamma telled me, " said Fixie. 

"Yes, " said Colin, "it's quite true. And the young lady's father'sgoing to come to see us some day. I don't remember his name, do you, Bee?"

"Not quite, " said Bee, "yes, I think it was something like_furniture_. "

"Furniture, " repeated Colin, "it couldn't be that. Was it 'Ferguson'?"

"No, " said Bee, "it wasn't that. "

"Well, never mind, " said Colin. "It was something like it. We'll askmamma. He is going to come to see us soon. I'm sure of that. "

Later in the day Colin remembered about it, and asked his mother aboutit. 

"What was the name of the gentleman that you said was coming to see ussoon, mamma?" he said--"the gentleman whose daughter was so ill in theship coming home from India. "

"Mr. Furnivale, " replied his mother. "You must remember him and hisdaughter, Bee. She is much better now. They have been all these monthsin Italy, and they are going to stay there through next winter, butMr. Furnivale is in England on business and is coming to see us verysoon. He is a very kind man, and always asks for Fixie and Bee when hewrites. "

"That is very kind of him, " said Bee, gratefully. 

But a dark look came over Rosy's face. 

"It's just as if _she_ was mamma's little girl, and not me, " shesaid to herself. "I hate people mamma knew when Bee was with her and Iwasn't. "

"Mr. Furnivale doesn't know you are with us, " Mrs. Vincent went on;"he will be quite pleased to see you. He says Cecilia has neverforgotten you; Cecilia is his daughter, you know. "

"Yes, I remember _her_ name, " said Bee. "I wish she could come tosee us too. She was so pretty, wasn't she, Aunt--Lillias?" she added, stopping a little and smiling. Lillias was Mrs. Vincent's name, and ithad been fixed that Beata should call her "aunt, " for to say "Mrs. Vincent" sounded rather stiff. "You would think her pretty, Rosy, " shewent on again, out of a wish to make Rosy join in what they weretalking of. 

"No, " said Rosy, with a sort of burst, "I shouldn't. I don't knowanything about what you're talking of, and I don't want to hear aboutit, " and she turned away with a very cross and angry face. 

Bee was going to run after her, but Mrs. Vincent stopped her. 

"No, " she said. "When she is so very foolish, it is best to leave heralone. "

But though she said it as if she did not think Rosy's tempers of verymuch consequence, Beata saw the sad disappointed look on her face. 

"Oh, " thought the little girl, "how I _do_ wish I could doanything to keep Rosy from vexing her mother. "

It was near bed-time when they had been talking about Mr. Furnivaleand his daughter, and soon after the children all said good-night. Rather to Bee's surprise, Rosy, who had hidden herself in the windowwith a book, came out when she was called and said good-night quitepleasantly. 

"I wonder she doesn't feel ashamed, " thought Bee, "I'm sure I neverspoke like that to my mamma, but if ever I had, I couldn't have saidgood-night without saying I was sorry. "

And it was with a slight feeling of self-approval that Beata went upto bed. When she was undressed she went into the nursery for a momentto ask Martha to brush her hair. Fixie was not yet asleep, and thenurse looked troubled. 

"Is Fixie ill?" said Bee. 

"No, I hope not, " said Martha, "but he's troubled. Miss Rosy's been into say good-night to him, and she's set him off his sleep, I'm sure. "

"I'm so unhappy, Bee, " whispered Fixie, when Beata stooped over him tosay good-night. "Losy's been 'peaking to me, and she says nobody lovesher, not _nobody_. She's so unhappy, Bee. "

A little feeling of pain went through Bee. Perhaps Rosy _was_really unhappy and sorry for what she had said, though she had nottold any one so. And the thought of it kept Bee from going to sleep asquickly as usual. "Rosy is so puzzling, " she thought. "It is sodifficult to understand her. "

CHAPTER V. 

ROSY THINKS THINGS OVER. 

 "Whenever you find your heart despair Of doing some goodly thing, Con over this strain, try bravely again, And remember the spider and king. "--TRY AGAIN. 

She did go to sleep at last, and she slept for a while very soundly. But suddenly she awoke, awoke quite completely, and with the feelingthat something had awakened her, though what she did not know. She satup in bed and looked about her, if you can call staring out into thedark where you can see nothing "looking about you. " It seemed to be avery dark night; there was no chink of moonlight coming in at thewindow, and everything was perfectly still. Beata could not helpwondering what had awakened her, and she was settling herself to sleepagain when a little sound caught her ears. It was a kind of low, choking cry, as if some one was crying bitterly and trying to stufftheir handkerchief into their mouth, or in some way prevent the soundbeing heard. Beata felt at first a very little frightened, and then, as she became quite sure that it was somebody crying, very sorry anduneasy. What could be the matter? Was it Fixie? No, the sounds did notcome from the nursery side. Beata sat up in bed to hear more clearly, and then amidst the crying she distinguished her own name. 

"Bee, " said the sobbing voice, "Bee, I wish you'd come to speak to me. Are you asleep, Bee?"

In a moment Beata was out of bed, for there was no doubt now whosevoice it was. It was Rosy's. Bee was not a timid child, but the roomwas very dark, and it took a little courage to feel her way among thechairs and tables till at last she found the door, which she openedand softly went into Rosy's room. For a moment she did not speak, fora new idea struck her, --could Rosy be crying and talking in her sleep?It was so very unlike her to cry or ask any one to go to her. Therewas no sound as Beata opened the door; she could almost have believedit had all been her fancy, and for a moment she felt inclined to goback to her own bed and say nothing. But a very slight sound, a sortof little sobbing breath that came from Rosy's bed, made her changeher mind. 

"Rosy, " she said, softly, "are you awake? Were you speaking to me?"

She heard a rustle. It was Rosy sitting up in bed. 

"Yes, " she said, "I am awake. I've been awake all night. It's dedfulto be awake all night, Bee. I've been calling and calling you. I'm sounhappy. "

"Unhappy?" said Bee, in a kind voice, going nearer the bed. "What areyou so unhappy about, Rosy?"

"I'll tell you, " said Rosy, "but won't you get into my bed a little, Bee? There is room, if we scrudge ourselves up. One night Fixie sleptwith me, and you're not so very much bigger. "

"I'll get in for a little, " said Beata, "just while you tell me what'sthe matter, and why you are so unhappy. "

She was quite surprised at Rosy's way of speaking. She seemed so muchgentler and softer, that Bee could not understand it. 

"I'll tell you why I'm so unhappy, " said Rosy. "I can't be good, Bee. I never have cared to be good. It's such a lot of trouble, and lots ofpeoples that think they're very good, and that other peoples make afuss about, are very pretending. I've noticed that often. But when wehad been talking yesterday morning all of a sudden I thought it wouldbe nice to be good--not pretending, but _real_ good--never cross, and all that. And so I fixed I would be quite good, and I thought howpleased you'd be when I never quarrelled with Colin, or was cross toMartha, or anything like that. And it was all right for a while; butthen when mamma began talking about Mr. Furniture, and how nice hewas, and his daughter, and you knew all about them and I didn't, it_all went away_. I told you it would--all the wanting to begood--and I was as angry as angry. And then I said that, you remember, and then everybody thought I was just the same, and it was all nouse. "

"Poor Rosy, " said Bee. "No, I don't think it was no use. "

"Oh yes, " persisted Rosy, "it was all no use. But nobody knew, and Ididn't mean anybody to know. Mamma and Colin and nobody could see Iwas sorry when I said good-night--_could_ they?" she said, with atone of satisfaction. "No, I didn't mean anybody to know, only after Iwas in bed it came back to me, and I was so vexed and so unhappy. Ithought everybody would have been _so_ surprised at finding Icould be just as good as anybody if I liked. But I don't like; so justremember, Bee, to-morrow morning I'm not going to try a bit, and it'sno use saying any more about it. It's just the way I'm made. "

"But you do care, Rosy, " said Bee, "I know you care. If you didn't youwouldn't have been thinking about it, and been sorry after you were inbed. "

"Yes, I _did_ care, " said Rosy, with again a little sob. "I hadbeen thinking it would be very nice, But I'm not going to care--that'sjust the thing, Bee--that's what I wanted to tell you--I'm not goingto go on caring. "

"Don't you always say your prayers, Rosy?" asked Bee, rather solemnly. 

"Yes, _of course_ I do. But I don't think they're much good. I'vebeen just as naughty some days when I'd said them _beautifully_, as some days when I'd been in a hurry. "

Beata felt puzzled. 

"I can't explain about it properly, " she said. "But that isn't theway, I don't think. Mother told me if I thought just saying my prayerswould make me good, it was like thinking they were a kind of magic, and that isn't what we should think them. "

"What good are they then?" said Rosy. 

"Oh, I know what I mean, but it's very hard to say it, " said poor Bee. "Saying our prayers is like opening the gate into being good; it givesus a sort of feeling that _He_, you know, Rosy, that God issmiling at us all day, and makes us remember that He's _always_ready to help us. "

"_Is_ He?" said Rosy. "Well, I suppose there's something worserabout me than other peoples, for I've often said, 'Do make me good, domake me good, quick, quick, ' and I didn't get good. "

"Because you pushed it away, Rosy. You're always saying you're notgood and you don't care. But I think you _do_ care, only, " with asigh, "I know one has to try a great, great lot. "

"Yes, and I don't like the bother, " said Rosy, coolly. 

"There, now you've said it, " said Bee. "Then that shows it isn't thatyou can't be good but you don't like to have to try so much. Butplease, Rosy, don't say you'll leave off. _Do_ go on. It will geteasier. I know it will. It's like skipping and learning to play on thepiano and lots of things. Every time we try makes it a little easierfor the next time. "

"I never thought of that, " said Rosy, with interest in her tone. "Well, I'll think about it any way, and I'll tell you in the morningwhat I've settled. Perhaps I'll fix just to be naughty againto-morrow, for a rest you know. How would it do, I wonder, if I was tobe good and naughty in turns? I could settle the days, and then thenaughty ones you could keep out of my way. "

"It wouldn't do at all, " said Bee, decidedly. "It would be like goingup two steps and then tumbling back two steps. No, it would be worse, it would be like going up two and tumbling back three, for everynaughty day would make it still harder to begin again on the goodday. "

"Well, I won't do that way, then, " said Rosy, with wonderfulgentleness. "I'll either _go on_ trying to climb up the steps--how funnily you say things, Bee!--or I'll not try at all. I'll tell youto-morrow morning. But remember you're not to tell anybody. If I fix to be good I want everybody to be surprised. "

"But you won't get good all of a sudden, Rosy, " said Bee, feelingafraid that Rosy would again lose heart at the first break-down. 

"Well, I daresay I won't, " returned Rosy. "But don't you see if nobodybut you knows it won't so much matter. But if I was to tell everybodythen it would all seem pretending, and there's nothing so horrid aspretending. "

There was some sense in Rosy's ideas, and Bee did not go against them. She went back to her own bed with a curious feeling of respect forRosy and a warm feeling of affection also. 

"And it was very horrid of me to be thinking of her that wayto-night, " said honest Bee to herself. "I'll never think of her thatway again. Poor Rosy, she has had no mother all these years that I'vehad my mother doing nothing but trying to make me good. But I am soglad Rosy is getting to like me. "

For Rosy had kissed her warmly as they bade each other good-night forthe second time. 

"It was very nice of Bee to get out of bed in the dark to come to me, "she said to herself. "She is good, but I don't think she ispretending, " and it was this feeling that made the beginning of Rosy'sfriendship for Beata--_trust_. 

The little girls slept till later than usual the next morning, forthey had been a good while awake in the night. Rosy began grumblingand declaring she would not get up, and there was very nearly thebeginning of a stormy scene with Martha when the sound of Bee's voicecalling out "Good-morning, Rosy, " from the next room reminded her oftheir talk in the night, and though she did not feel all at once ableto speak good-naturedly to Martha, she left off scolding. But her facedid not look as pleasant as Beata had hoped to see it when she cameinto the nursery. 

"Don't speak to me, please, " she said in a low voice, "I haven'tsettled yet what I'm going to do. I'm still thinking about it. "

Bee did not say any more, but the morning passed peacefully, and onceor twice when Colin began some of the teasing which seemed asnecessary to him as his dinner or his breakfast, Rosy contentedherself with a wriggle or a little growl instead of fiery words andsometimes even blows. And when Colin, surprised at her patience wentfurther and further, ending by tying a long mesh of her hair to theback of her chair, while she was busy fitting a frock on to one of thelittle dolls, and then, calling her suddenly, made her start up andreally hurt herself, Beata was astonished at her patience. She gave alittle scream, it is true--who could have helped it?--and then rushedout of the room, but not before the others had seen the tears thatwere running down her cheeks. 

"Colin, " said Bee, and, for a moment or two, it almost seemed to theboy as if Rosy's temper had passed into the quiet little girl, "I amashamed of you. You naughty, _cruel_ boy, just when poor Rosywas----"

She stopped suddenly--"just when poor Rosy was beginning to try to begood, " she was going to have said, forgetting her promise to tell noone of Rosy's plans, --"just when we were all quiet and comfortable, "she said instead. 

Colin looked ashamed. 

"I won't do it any more, " he said, "I won't really. Besides there's nofun in only making her cry. It was only fun when it put her into arage. "

"Nice _fun_, " said Bee, with scorn. 

"Well, you know what I mean. I daresay it wasn't right, but I nevermeant really to hurt her. And all the fellows at school tease likethat--one can't help getting into the way of it. "

"I never heard such a foolish way of talking, " answered Bee, who wasfor once quite vexed with Colin. "I don't think that's a reason fordoing wrong things--that other people do them. '"

"It's bad example--the force of bad example, " said Colin so gravelythat Beata, who was perhaps a little matter-of-fact, would haveanswered him gravely had she not seen a little twinkle in his eyes, which put her on her guard. 

"You are trying to tease _me_ now, Colin, " she said. "Well, Idon't mind, if you'll promise me to leave Rosy alone--any way for afew days; I've a very particular reason for asking it. Do promise, won't you?"

She looked up at him with her little face glowing with eagerness, herhonest gray eyes bright with kindly feeling for Rosy. "You may teaseme"--she went on--"as much as you like, if you must tease somebody. "

Colin could not help laughing. 

"There wouldn't be much fun in teasing you, Bee, " he said. "You're fartoo good-natured. Well, I will promise you--I'll promise you more thanyou ask--listen, what a grand promise--I'll promise you not to teaseRosy for three whole months--now, what do you say to that, ma'am?"

Bee's eyes glistened. 

"Three whole months!" she exclaimed. "Yes, that is a good promise. Why, by the end of the three months you'll have forgotten how totease! But, Colin, please, it must be a secret between you and meabout you promising not to tease Rosy. If she knew I had asked you itwouldn't do half as well. "

"Oh, it's easy enough to promise that, " said Colin. "Poor Bee, " he wenton, half ashamed of having taken her in, "you don't understand why Ipromised for three months. It's because to-morrow I'm going back toschool for three months. "

"_Are_ you?" said Beata, in a disappointed tone. "I'm very sorry. I had forgotten about you going to school with your being here when Ifirst came, you know. "

"Yes; and your lessons--yours and Rosy's and Fixie's, for he does alittle too--they'll be beginning again soon. We've all been havingholidays just now. "

"And who will give us lessons?" asked Beata. 

"Oh, Miss Pink, Rosy's governess. Her real name's Miss Pinkerton, butit's so long, she doesn't mind us saying Miss Pink, for short. "

"Is she nice?" asked Bee. She felt a little dull at the idea of havingstill another stranger to make friends with. 

"Oh yes, she's nice. Only she spoils Rosy--she's afraid of hertempers. You'll see. But you'll get on all right. I really think Rosyis going to be nicer, now you've come, Bee. "

"I'm so glad, " said Bee. "But I'm sorry you're going away, Colin. Inthree months you'll have forgotten how to tease, won't you?" she saidagain, smiling. 

"I'm not so sure of that, " he answered laughingly. In her heart Beethought perhaps it was a good thing Colin was going away for a while, for Rosy's sake. It might make it easier for her to carry out her goodplans. But for herself Bee was sorry, for he was a kind, merry boy, and even his teasing did not seem to her anything very bad. 

Rosy came back into the nursery with her eyes rather red, but theother children saw that she did not want any notice taken. She lookedat Colin and Bee rather suspiciously. "Have you been talking about_me_?" her look seemed to say. 

"I've been telling Bee about Miss Pink, " said Colin. "She hadn't heardabout her before. "

"She's a stupid old thing, " said Rosy respectfully. 

"But she's kind, isn't she?" asked Beata. 

"Oh yes; I daresay you'll think her kind. But I don't care forher--much. She's rather pretending. "

"I can't understand why you think so many people pretending, " saidBee. "I think it must be very uncomfortable to feel like that. "

"But if they _are_ pretending, it's best to know it, " said Rosy. 

Beata felt herself getting puzzled again. Colin came to the rescue. 

"I don't think it is best to know it, " he said, "at least not Rosy'sway, for she thinks it of everybody. "

"No, I don't, " said Rosy, "not _everybody_. "

"Well, you think it of great lots, any way. I'd rather think somepeople good who aren't good than think some people who _are_ good_not_ good--wouldn't you, Bee?"

Beata had to consider a moment in order to understand quite what Colinmeant; she liked to understand things clearly, but she was not alwaysvery quick at doing so. 

"Yes, " she said, "I think so too. Besides, there _are_ lots ofvery kind and good people in the world--really kind and good, notpretending a bit. And then, too, mother used to tell me that feelingkind ourselves made others feel kind to us, without their quiteknowing how sometimes. "

Rosy listened, though she said nothing; but when she kissed Beata insaying good-night, she whispered, "I did go on trying, Bee, and Ithink it does get a very little easier. But I don't want_anybody_ to know--you remember, don't you?"

"Yes, I won't forget, " said Bee. "But if you go on, Rosy, everybodywill find out for themselves, without _my_ telling. "

And in their different ways both little girls felt very happy as theyfell asleep that night. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A STRIKE IN THE SCHOOLROOM. 

 "Multiplication's my vexation, Division is as bad. "

Colin went off to school "the day after to-morrow, " as he had said. The house seemed very quiet without him, and everybody felt sorry hehad gone. The day after he left Miss Pinkerton came back, and thelittle girls' lessons began. 

"How do you like her?" said Rosy to Beata the first morning. 

"I think she is kind, " said Bee, but that was all she said. 

It was true that Miss Pinkerton meant to be kind, but she did notmanage to gain the children's hearts, and Bee soon came to understandwhy Rosy called her "pretending. " She was so afraid of vexing anybodythat she had got into the habit of agreeing with every one withoutreally thinking over what they meant, and she was so afraid also ofbeing blamed for Rosy's tempers that she would give in to her in anyway. So Rosy did not respect her, and was sometimes really rude toher. 

"Miss Pink, " she said one morning a few days after lessons had begunagain, "I don't want to learn any more arithmetic. "

"No, my dear?" said Miss Pink, mildly. "But what will you do when youare grown-up if you cannot count--everybody needs to know how tocount, or else they can't manage their money. "

"I don't want to know how to manage my money, " replied Rosy, "somebodymust do it for me. I won't learn any more arithmetic, Miss Pink. "

Miss Pink, as was a common way of hers in a difficulty with Rosy, pretended not to hear, but Beata noticed, and so, you may be sure, didRosy, that they had no arithmetic that morning, though Miss Pink saidnothing about it, leaving it to seem as if it were by accident. 

Beata liked sums, and did them more quickly than her other lessons. But she said nothing. When lessons were over and they were alone, Rosythrew two or three books up in the air, and caught them again. 

"Aha!" she said mischievously, "we'll have no more nasty sums--you'llsee. "

"Rosy, " said Bee, "you can't be in earnest. Miss Pink won't leave offgiving us sums for always. "

"Won't she?" said Rosy. "She'll have to. _I_ won't do them. "

"I will, " said Bee. 

"How can you, if she doesn't give you any to do?"

"If she really doesn't give us any to do I'll ask her for them, and ifshe still doesn't, then I'll tell your mother that we're not learningarithmetic any more. "

"You'll tell mamma, " said Rosy, standing before her and looking veryfierce. 

"Yes, " said Beata. "Arithmetic is one of the things my mother wants meto learn very well, and if Miss Pink doesn't teach it me I shall tellyour mother. "

"You mean tell-tale, " cried Rosy, her face getting red with anger. "That's what you call being a friend to me and helping me to be good, when you know there's nothing puts me in such a temper as those_horrible_ sums. I know now how much your kindness is worth, " andwhat she would have gone on to say there is no knowing had not Fixiejust then come into the room, and Rosy was not fond of showing hertempers off before her little brother. 

Beata was very sorry and unhappy. She said nothing more, hoping thatRosy would come to see how mistaken she was, and the rest of the daypassed quietly. But the next morning it was the same thing. When theycame to the time at which they usually had their arithmetic, Rosylooked up at Miss Pink with a determined air. 

"No arithmetic, Miss Pink, you know, " she said. 

Miss Pink gave a sort of little laugh. 

"My dear Rosy, " she said, "you are so very comical! Come now, get yourslate--see there is dear Beata all ready with hers. You shall not havevery hard sums to-day, I promise you. "

"Miss Pink, " said Rosy, "I won't do _any_ sums. I told you soyesterday, and you know I mean what I say. If Bee chooses to telltales, she may, but _I_ won't do any sums. "

Miss Pink looked from one to the other. 

"There is no use my doing sums without Rosy, " said Bee. "We are at thesame place and it would put everything wrong. "

"Yes, " said Miss Pink. "I cannot give you separate lessons. It wouldput everything wrong. But I'm sure you're only joking, Rosy dear. Wewon't say anything about the sums to-day, and then to-morrow we'll goon regularly again, and dear Beata will see it will all be right. "

"No, " said Rosy, "it won't be all right if you try to make me do anysums to-morrow or any day. "

Bee said nothing. She did not know what to say. She could hardlybelieve Rosy was the same little girl as the Rosy whom she had heardcrying in the night, who had made her so happy by talking about tryingto be good. And how many days the silly dispute might have gone on, there is no telling, had it not happened that the very next morning, just as they came to the time for the arithmetic lesson, the dooropened and Mrs. Vincent came in. 

"Good morning, Miss Pinkerton, " she said. "I've come to see how youare all getting on, "--for Miss Pinkerton did not live in the house, she only came every morning at nine o'clock--"you don't find your newpupil _very_ troublesome, I hope?" she went on, with a smile atBeata. 

"Oh dear, no! oh, certainly not, " said Miss Pinkerton nervously; "ohdear, no--Miss Beata is very good indeed. Everything's very nice--ohwe're very happy, thank you--dear Rosy and dear Beata and I. "

"I am very glad to hear it, " said Mrs. Vincent, but she spoke rathergravely, for on coming into the room it had not looked to her as ifeverything _was_ "very nice. " Beata looked grave and troubled, Miss Pinkerton flurried, and there was a black cloud on Rosy's facethat her mother knew only too well. "What lessons are you at now?" shewent on. 

"Oh, ah!" began Miss Pinkerton, fussing among some of the books thatlay on the table. "We've just finished a chapter of our Englishhistory, and--and--I was thinking of giving the dear children adictation. "

"It's not the time for dictation, " said Rosy. And then to Bee'ssurprise she burst out, "Miss Pink, I wonder how you can tell suchstories! Everything is not quite nice, mamma, for I've just beentelling Miss Pink I won't do any sums, and it's just the time forsums. I wouldn't do them yesterday, and I won't do them to-day, or anyday, because I hate them. "

"You 'won't' and you 'wouldn't, ' Rosy, " said her mother, so sternlyand coldly that Bee trembled for her, though Rosy gave no signs oftrembling for herself. "Is that a way in which I can allow you tospeak? You must apologise to Miss Pinkerton, and tell her you will beready to do _any_ lessons she gives you, or you must go upstairsto your own room. "

"I'll go upstairs to my own room then, " said Rosy at once. "I'd'pologise to you, mamma, if you like, but I won't to Miss Pink, because she doesn't say what's true. "

"Rosy, be silent, " said her mother again. And then, turning to MissPinkerton, she added in a very serious tone, "Miss Pinkerton, I do notwish to appear to find fault with you, but I must say that you shouldhave told me of all this before. It is most mistaken kindness to Rosyto hide her disobedience and rudeness, and it makes things much moredifficult for me. I am _particularly_ sorry to have to punishRosy to-day, for I have just heard that a friend is coming to see uswho would have liked to find all the children good and happy. "

Rosy's face grew gloomier and gloomier. Beata was on the point ofbreaking in with a request that Rosy might be forgiven, but somethingin Mrs. Vincent's look stopped her. Miss Pinkerton grew very red andlooked very unhappy--almost as if she was going to cry. 

"I'm--I'm very sorry--very distressed. But I thought dear Rosy wasonly joking, and that it would be all right in a day or two. I'm sure, dear Rosy, you'll tell your mamma that you did not mean what you said, and that you'll do your best to do your sums nicely--now won't you, dear?"

"No, " said Rosy, in a hard, cold tone, "I won't. And you might know bythis time, Miss Pink, that I always mean what I say. I'm not likeyou. "

After this there was nothing for it but to send Rosy up to her ownroom. Mrs. Vincent told Miss Pinkerton to finish the morning lessonswith Beata, and then left the schoolroom. 

Bee was very unhappy, and Miss Pink by this time was in tears. 

"She's so naughty--so completely spoilt;" she said. "I really don'tthink I can go on teaching her. She's not like you, dear Beata. Howhappily and peacefully we could go on doing our lessons--you andI--without that self-willed Rosy. "

Bee looked very grave. 

"Miss Pink, " she said, "I don't like you to speak like that at all. You don't say to Rosy to her face that you think her so naughty, andso I don't think you should say it to me. I think it would be betterif you said to Rosy herself what you think. "

"I couldn't, " said Miss Pink. "There would be no staying with her if Ididn't give in to her. And I don't want to lose this engagement, forit's so near my home, and my mother is so often ill. And Mr. And Mrs. Vincent have been very kind--very kind indeed. "

"I think Rosy would like you better if you told her right out what youthink, " said Bee, who couldn't help being sorry for Miss Pinkertonwhen she spoke of her mother being ill. And Miss Pink was reallykind-hearted, only she did not distinguish between weak indulgence andreal sensible kindness. 

When lessons were over Mrs. Vincent called Bee to come and speak toher. 

"It is Mr. Furnivale who is coming to see us to-day, " she said. "It isfor that I am so particularly sorry for Rosy to be again in disgrace. And she has been so much gentler and more obedient lately, I am really_very_ disappointed, and I cannot help saying so to you, Bee, though I don't want you to be troubled about Rosy. "

"I do think Rosy wants--" began Bee, and then she stopped, rememberingher promise. "Don't you think she will be sorry now?" she said. "MightI go and ask her?"

"No, dear, I think you had better not, " said Mrs. Vincent. "I will seeher myself in a little while. Yes, I believe she is sorry, but shewon't let herself say so. "

Beata felt sad and dull without Rosy; for the last few days had reallypassed happily. And Rosy shut up in her own room was thinking with asort of bitter vexation rather than sorrow of how quickly herresolutions had all come to nothing. 

"It's not my fault, " she kept saying to herself, "it's all MissPink's. She knew I hated sums--that horrid kind of long rows worst ofall--and she just gave me them on purpose; and then when I said Iwouldn't do them, she went on coaxing and talking nonsense--that waythat just _makes_ me naughtier. I'd rather do sums all day thanhave her talk like that--and then to go and tell stories to mamma--Ihate her, nasty, pretending thing. It's all her fault; and then she'llbe going on praising Bee, and making everybody think how good Bee isand how naughty I am. I wish Bee hadn't come. I didn't mind it so muchbefore. I wonder if _she_ told mamma as she said she would, andif that was why mamma came in to the schoolroom this morning. I_wonder_ if Bee could be so mean;" and in this new idea Rosyalmost forgot her other troubles. "If Bee did do it I shall neverforgive her--never, " she went on to herself; "I wouldn't have mindedher doing it right out, as she said she would, but to go and tellmamma that sneaky way, and get her to come into the room just at thatminute, no, I'll never--"

A knock at the door interrupted her, and then before she had time toanswer, she heard her mother's voice outside. "I'll take it in myself, thank you, Martha, " she was saying, and in a moment Mrs. Vincent camein, carrying the glass of milk and dry biscuit which the childrenalways had at twelve, as they did not have dinner till two o'clockwith their father's and mother's luncheon. 

"Here is your milk, Rosy, " said her mother, gravely, as she put itdown on the table. "Have you anything to say to me?"

Rosy looked at her mother. 

"Mamma, " she said, quickly, "will you tell me one thing? Was it Beethat made you come into the schoolroom just at sums time? Was itbecause of her telling you what I had said that you came?"

Mrs. Vincent in her turn looked at Rosy. Many mothers would haverefused to answer--would have said it was not Rosy's place to beginasking questions instead of begging to be forgiven for their naughtyconduct; but Rosy's mother was different from many. She knew that Rosywas a strange character to deal with; she hoped and believed that inher real true heart her little girl _did_ feel how wrong she was;and she wished, oh, how earnestly, to _help_ the little plant ofgoodness to grow, not to crush it down by too much sternness. And inRosy's face just now she read a mixture of feelings. 

"No, Rosy, " she answered very gently, but so that Rosy never for oneinstant doubted the exact truth of what she said, "no, Beata had notsaid one word about you or your lessons to me. I came in just thenquite by accident. I am very sorry you are so suspicious, Rosy--youseem to trust no one--not even innocent-hearted, honest little Bee. "

Rosy drew a long breath, and grew rather red. Her best self was gladto find Bee what she had always been--not to be obliged to keep to herterrible resolutions of "never forgiving, " and so on; but her_worst_ self felt a strange kind of crooked disappointment thather suspicions had no ground. 

"Bee _said_ she would tell you, " she murmured, confusedly, "shesaid if I wouldn't go on with sums she'd complain to you. "

"But she would have done it in an open, honest way, " said her mother. "You _know_ she would never have tried to get you into disgracein any underhand way. But I won't say any more about Bee, Rosy. I musttell you that I have decided not to punish you any more to-day, and Iwill tell you that the reason is greatly that an old friend ofours--of your father's and mine----"

"Mr. Furniture!" exclaimed Rosy, forgetting her tempers in theexcitement of the news. 

"Yes, Mr. Furnivale, " said her mother, and she could not keep back alittle smile; "he is coming this afternoon. It would be punishing notonly you, but your father and Bee and myself--all of us indeed--if wehad to tell our old friend the moment he arrived that our Rosy was indisgrace. So you may go now and ask Martha to dress you neatly. Mr. Furnivale _may_ be here by luncheon-time, and no more will besaid about this unhappy morning. But Rosy, listen--I trust to yourhonour to try to behave so as to please me. I will say no more aboutyour arithmetic lessons; will you act so as to show me I have not beenfoolish in forgiving you?"

The red flush came back to Rosy's face, and her eyes grew bright; shewas not a child that cried easily. She threw her arms round hermother's neck, and whispered in a voice which sounded as if tears werenot very far off, "Mamma, I _do_ thank you. I will try. I will do my sums as muchas you like to-morrow, only--"

"Only what, Rosy?"

"Can you tell Miss Pink that it is to please _you_ I want to dothem, not to please _her_, mamma--she isn't like you. I don'tbelieve what she says. "

"I will tell Miss Pink that you want to please me certainly, but youmust see, Rosy, that obeying her, doing the lessons she gives you bymy wish, _is_ pleasing me, " said her mother, though at the sametime in her own mind she determined to have a little talk with MissPink privately. 

"Yes, " said Rosy, "I know that. "

She spoke gently, and her mother felt happier about her little girlthan for long. 

Mr. Furnivale did arrive in time for luncheon. He had just come whenthe little girls and Fixie went down to the drawing-room at the soundof the first gong. He came forward to meet the children with kindlyinterest in his face. 

"Well, Fixie, my boy, and how are you?" he said, lifting the fragilelittle figure in his arms. "Why, I think you are a little bit fatterand a little bit rosier than this time last year. And this is yoursister that I _don't_ know, " he went on, turning to Rosy, "and--why, bless my soul! here's another old friend--my busy Bee. Ihad no idea Mrs. Warwick had left her with you, " he exclaimed to Mrs. Vincent. 

Mrs. Warwick was Beata's mother. I don't think I have before told youBee's last name. 

"I was just going to tell you about it, when the children came in, "said Rosy's mother. "I knew Cecilia would be so glad to know Bee waswith us, and not at school, when her poor grandmother grew too ill tohave her. "

"Yes, indeed, " said Mr. Furnivale, "Cecy will be glad to hear it. Shehad no idea of it. And so when you all come to pay us that famousvisit we have been talking about, Bee must come too--eh, Bee?"

Bee's eyes sparkled. She liked kind, old Mr. Furnivale, and she hadbeen very fond of his pretty daughter. 

"Is Cecy much better?" she asked, in her gentle little voice. 

"_Much_ better. We're hoping to come back to settle in Englandbefore long, and have a nice house like yours, and then you are all tocome to see us, " said Mr. Furnivale. 

They went on talking for a few minutes about these pleasant plans, andin the interest of hearing about Cecilia Furnivale, and hearing allher messages, Rosy, who had never seen her, and who was quite astranger to her father too, was naturally left a little in thebackground. It was quite enough to put her out again. 

"I might just as well have been left upstairs in my own room, " shesaid to herself. "Nobody notices me--nobody cares whether I am here ornot. _I_ won't go to stay with that ugly old man and his stupiddaughter, just to be always put behind Bee. "

And when Beata, with a slight feeling that Rosy might be feelingherself neglected, and full of pleasure, too, at Mrs. Vincent's havingforgiven her, slipped behind the others and took Rosy's hand in hers, saying brightly, "_Won't_ it be nice to go and stay with them, Rosy?" Rosy pulled away her hand roughly, and, looking very cross, went back to her old cry. 

"I wish you'd leave me alone, Bee. I hate that sort of pretending. Youknow quite well nobody would care whether _I_ went or not. "

And poor Bee drew back quite distressed, and puzzled again by Rosy'schangeableness. 

CHAPTER VII. 

MR. FURNITURE'S PRESENT. 

 "And show me any courtly gem more beautiful than these. "--SONG OF THE STRAWBERRY GIRL. 

"Your little girl is very pretty, unusually pretty, " Mr. Furnivale wassaying to Rosy's mother, as he sat beside her on the sofa during thefew minutes they were waiting for luncheon, "and she looks so strongand well. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Vincent, "she is very strong. I am glad you think herpretty, " she went on. "It is always difficult to judge of one's ownchildren, I think, or indeed of any face you see constantly. I thoughtRosy very pretty, I must confess, when I first saw her again after ourthree years' separation, but now I don't think I could judge. "

Mrs. Vincent gave a little sigh as she spoke, which made Mr. Furnivalewonder what she was troubled about. The truth was that she wasthinking to herself how little she would care whether Rosy was prettyor not, if only she could feel more happy about her really trying tobe a good little girl. 

"Your little girl was with Miss Vincent while you were away, was shenot?" said Mr. Furnivale. 

"Yes, " said Rosy's mother, "her aunt is very fond of her. She gaveherself immense trouble for Rosy's sake. "

"By-the-bye, she is coming to see you soon, is she not?" said Mr. Furnivale. "She is, as of course you know, an old friend of ours, andshe writes often to ask how Cecy is. And in her last letter she saidshe hoped to come to see you soon. "

"I have not heard anything decided about it, " replied Mrs. Vincent. "Ihad begun to think she would not come this year--she was speaking ofgoing to some seaside place. "

"Ah, but I rather think she has changed her mind, then, " said Mr. Furnivale, and then he went on to talk of something else to him ofmore importance. But poor Mrs. Vincent was really troubled. 

"I should not mind Edith herself coming, " she said to herself. "She is_really_ good and kind, and I think I could make her understandhow cruel it is to spoil Rosy. But it is the maid--that Nelson--Icannot like or trust her, and I believe she did Rosy more harm thanall her aunt's over-indulgence. And Edith is so fond of her; I cannotsay anything against her, " for Miss Vincent was an invalid, and verydependent on this maid. 

Little Beata noticed that during luncheon Rosy's mother lookedtroubled, and it made her feel sorry. Rosy perhaps would have noticedit too, had she not been so very much taken up with her own fanciedtroubles. She was running full-speed into one of her cross jealousmoods, and everything that was said or done, she took the wrong way. Her father helped Bee before her--that, she could not but allow wasright, as Bee was a guest--but now it seemed to her that he chose thenicest bits for Bee, with a care he never showed in helping her. Rosywas not the least greedy--she would have been ready and pleased togive away anything, _so long_ as she got the credit of it, andwas praised and thanked, but to be treated second-best in the way inwhich she chose to imagine she was being treated--_that_, shecould not and would not stand. She sat through luncheon with a blacklook on her pretty face; so that Mr. Furnivale, whom she was beside, found her much less pleasant to talk to than Bee opposite, though Beeherself was less bright and merry than usual. 

Mrs. Vincent felt glad that no more was said about Aunt Edith'scoming. She felt that she did not wish Rosy to hear of it, and yet shedid not like to ask Mr. Furnivale not to mention it, as it seemedungrateful to think or speak of a visit from Miss Vincent except withpleasure. After luncheon, when they were again in the drawing-room, Mr. Furnivale came up to her with a small parcel in his hand. 

"I am so sorry, " he began, with a little hesitation, "I am so sorrythat I did not know Beata Warwick was with you. Cecy had no idea ofit, and she begged me to give _your_ little girl this present webought for her in Venice, and now I don't half like giving it to theone little woman when I have nothing for the other. "

He opened the parcel as he spoke; it contained a quaint-looking littlebox, which in its turn, when opened, showed a necklace of glass beadsof every imaginable colour. They were not very large--each beadperhaps about the size of a pea--of a large pea, that is to say. Andsome of them were long, not thicker, but twice as long as the others. I can scarcely tell you how pretty they were. Every one was different, and they were beautifully arranged so that the colours came togetherin the prettiest possible way. One was pale blue with little tinyflowers, pink or rose-coloured raised upon it; one was white with asort of rainbow glistening of every colour through it; two or threewere black, but with a different tracery, gold or red or bright green, on each; and some were a kind of mixture of colours and patterns whichseemed to change as you looked at them, so that you could _fancy_you saw flowers, or figures, or tiny landscapes even, which againdisappeared--and no two the same. 

"Oh how lovely, " exclaimed Rosy's mother, "how very, very pretty. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Furnivale, "they _are_ pretty. And they are nowrare. These are really old, and the imitation ones, which they make inplenty, are not half so curious. Cecy thought they would take achild's fancy. "

"More than a _child's_, " said Mrs. Vincent, smiling. "I thinkthey are lovely--and what a pretty ornament they will be--fancy themon a white dress!"

"I am only sorry I have not two of them, " said Mr. Furnivale, "or atleast _something_ else for the other little girl. You would notwish me, I suppose, to give the necklace to Beata instead of to Rosy?"he added. 

Now Mrs. Vincent's own feeling was almost that she _would_ betterlike it to be given to Beata. She was very unselfish, and her naturalthought was that in anything of the kind, Bee, the little stranger, the child in her care, whose mother was so far away, should comefirst. But there was more to think of than this feeling of hers--

"It would be doing no real kindness to Bee, " she said to herself, "tolet Mr. Furnivale give it to her. It would certainly rouse thatterrible jealousy of Rosy's, and it might grow beyond my power to undothe harm it would do. As it is, seeing, as I know she will, how simplyand sweetly Beata behaves about it may do her lasting good, and drawthe children still more together. "

So she looked up at Mr. Furnivale with her pretty honest eyes--Rosy'seyes were honest too--and like her mother's when she was sweet andgood--and said frankly, "You won't think me selfish I am sure--I think you will believe that Ido it from good motives--when I ask you not to change, but still togive it to Rosy. I will take care that little Bee does not suffer forit in the end. "

"And I too, " said Mr. Furnivale, "If I _can_ find anothernecklace when I go back to Venice. I shall not forget to sendit--indeed, I might write to the dealer beforehand to look out forone. I am sure you are right, and on the whole I am glad, for Cecy didbuy it for your own little girl. "

"Would you like to give it her now?" said Mrs. Vincent, and as Mr. Furnivale said "Yes, " she went to the window opening out on to thelawn where the three children were now playing, and called Rosy. 

"I wonder what mamma wants, " thought Rosy to herself, as she walkedtowards the drawing-room rather slowly and sulkily, leaving Bee andFixie to go on running races (for when I said "the children" wereplaying, I should have said Beata and Felix--not Rosy). "I daresay shewill be going to scold me, now luncheon's over. I wish that ugly oldMr. Furniture would go away, " for all the cross, angry, jealousthoughts had come back to poor Rosy since she had taken it into herhead again about Bee being put before her, and all her good wishes andplans, which had grown stronger through her mother's gentleness, hadagain flown away, like a flock of frightened white doves, looking backat her with sad eyes as they flew. 

Rosy's good angel, however, was very patient with her that day. Againshe was to be tried with _kindness_ instead of harshness; surelythis time it would succeed. 

"Rosy dear, " said her mother, quite brightly, for she had not noticedRosy's cross looks at dinner, and she felt a natural pleasure in thethought of her child's pleasure, "Mr. Furnivale--or perhaps I shouldsay _Miss_ Furnivale--whom we all speak of as "Cecy, " you know, has sent you such a pretty present. See, dear--you have never, Ithink, had anything so pretty, " and she held up the lovely beadsbefore Rosy's dazzled eyes. 

"Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed the little girl, her whole face lightingup, "O mamma, how very pretty! And they are for _me_. Oh, howvery kind of Miss Furni--of Miss Cecy, " she went on, turning to theold gentleman, "Will you please thank her for me _very_ much?"

No one could look prettier or sweeter than Rosy at this moment, andMr. Furnivale began to think he had been mistaken in thinking thelittle Vincent girl a much less lovable child than his old friendBeata Warwick. 

"How very, very pretty, " she repeated, touching the beads softly withher little fingers. And then with a sudden change she turned to hermother. 

"Is there a necklace for Bee, too?" she said. 

Mrs. Vincent's first feeling was of pleasure that Rosy should think ofher little friend, but there was in the child's face a look that madeher not sure that the question _was_ quite out of kindness toBee, and the mother's voice was a little grave and sad, as sheanswered. 

"No, Rosy. There is not one for Bee. Mr. Furnivale brought it for youonly. "

Then Rosy's face was a curious study. There was a sort of pleasure init--and this, I must truly say, was not pleasure that Bee had_not_ a present also, for Rosy was not greedy or even selfish inthe common way, but it was pleasure at being put first, and joined tothis pleasure was a nice honest sorrow that Bee was left out. Now thatRosy was satisfied that she herself was properly treated she foundtime to think of Bee. And though the necklace had been six times aspretty, though it had been all pearls or diamonds, it would not havegiven Mrs. Vincent half the pleasure that this look of real unselfishsorrow in Rosy's face sent through her heart. More still, when thelittle girl, bending to her mother, whispered softly, "Mamma, would it be right of me to give it to Bee? I wouldn't mindvery much. "

"No, darling, no; but I am _very_ glad you thought of it. We willdo something to make up for it to Bee. " And she added aloud, "Mr. Furnivale may _perhaps_ be able to get one something like itfor Bee, when he goes back to Italy. "

"Then I may show it to her. It won't be unkind to show it her?" askedRosy. And when her mother said "No, it would not be unkind, " feelingsure, with her faith in Bee's goodness that Rosy's pleasure would bemet with the heartiest sympathy--for "sympathy, " dears, can be shownto those about us in their joys as well as in their sorrows--Rosy ranoff in the highest spirits. Mr. Furnivale smiled as he saw herdelight, and Mrs. Vincent was, oh so pleased to be able to tell him, that Rosy, of herself, had offered to give it to Bee, that that waswhat she had been whispering about. 

"Not that Beata would have been willing to take it, " she added, "sheis the most unselfish child possible. "

[Illustration: 'DID YOU EVER SEE ANYTHING SO PRETTY, BEE?' ROSYREPEATED. ]

"And unselfishness is sometimes, catching, luckily for poor humannature, " said the old gentleman, laughing. And Mrs. Vincent laughedtoo--the whole world seemed to have grown brighter to her since thelittle gleam she believed she had had of true gold at the bottom ofRosy's wayward little heart. 

And Rosy ran gleefully off to her friend. 

"Bee, Bee, " she cried, "stop playing, do. I have something to showyou. And you too, Fixie, you may come and see it if you like. See, " asthe two children ran up to her breathlessly, and she opened the box, "see, " and she held up the lovely necklace, lovelier than ever as itglittered in the sunshine, every colour seeming to mix in with theothers and yet to stand out separate in the most beautiful way. "Didyou _ever_ see anything so pretty, Bee?" Rosy repeated. 

"_Never_, " said Beata, with her whole heart in her voice. 

"Nebber, " echoed Fixie, his blue eyes opened twice as wide as usual. 

"And is it _yours_, Rosy?" asked Bee. 

"Yes mine, my very own. Mr. Furniture brought it me from--fromsomewhere. I don't remember the name of the place, but I know it'ssomewhere in the country that's the shape of a boot. "

"Italy, " said Bee, whose geography was not quite so hazy as Rosy's. 

"Yes, I suppose it's Italy, but I don't care where it came from aslong as I've got it. Oh, isn't it lovely? I may wear it for best. Won't it be pretty with a quite white frock? And, Bee, they saidsomething, but perhaps I shouldn't tell. "

"Don't tell it then, " said Bee, whose whole attention was given to thenecklace. "O Rosy, I _am_ so glad you've got such a pretty thing. Don't you feel happy?" and she looked up with such pleasure in hereyes that Rosy's heart was touched. 

"Bee, " she said quickly, "I do think you're very good. Are you not theleast bit vexed, Bee, that _you_ haven't got it, or at least thatyou haven't got one like it?"

Beata looked up with real surprise. 

"Vexed that I haven't got one too, " she repeated, "of course not, Rosydear. People can't always have everything the same. I never thought ofsuch a thing. And besides it is a pleasure to me even though it's notmy necklace. It will be nice to see you wearing it, and I know you'lllet me look at it in my hand sometimes, won't you?" touching the beadsgently as she spoke. "See, Fixie, " she went on, "what lovely colours!Aren't they like fairy beads, Fixie?"

"Yes, " said Fixie, "they is welly _pitty_. I could fancy I sawfairies looking out of some of them. I think if we was to listen wellykietly p'raps we'd hear fairy stories coming out of them. "

"Rubbish, Fixie, " said Rosy, rather sharply. She was too fond ofcalling other people's fancies "rubbish. " Fixie's face grew red, andthe corners of his mouth went down. 

"Rosy's only in fun, Fixie, " said Bee. "You shouldn't mind. We'll trysome day and see if we can hear any stories--any way we could fancythem, couldn't we? Are you going to put on the beads now, Rosy? Ithink I can fasten the clasp, if you'll turn round. Yes, that's right. Now don't they look lovely? Shall we run back to the house to let yourmother see it on? O Rosy, you can't _think_ how pretty it looks. "

Off ran the three children, and Mrs. Vincent, as she saw them coming, was pleased to see, as she expected, the brightness of Rosy's facereflected in Beata's. 

"Mother, " whispered Rosy, "I didn't say anything to Bee about herperhaps getting one too. It was better not, wasn't it? It would benicer to be a surprise. "

"Yes, I think it would. Any way it is better to say nothing about itjust yet, as we are not at all _sure_ of it, you know. Does Beethink the beads very pretty, Rosy?"

"_Very_, " said Rosy, "but she isn't the least _bit_ vexedfor me to have them and not her. She's _quite_ happy, mamma. "

"She's a dear child, " said Mrs. Vincent, "and so are you, my Rosy, when you let yourself _be_ your best self. Rosy, " she went on, "Ihave a sort of feeling that this pretty necklace will be a kind of_talisman_ to you--perhaps it is silly of me to say it, but theidea came into my mind--I was so glad that you offered to give it upto Bee, and I am so glad for you really to see for yourself how sweetand unselfish Bee is about it. Do you know what a talisman is?"

"Yes, mamma, " said Rosy, with great satisfaction. "Papa explained itto me one day when I read it in a book. It is a kind of charm, isn'tit, mamma?--a kind of nice fairy charm. You mean that I should be sopleased with the necklace, mamma, that it should make me feel happyand good whenever I see it, and that I should remember, too, how niceBee has been about it. "

"Yes, dear, " said her mother. "If it makes you feel like that, it_will_ be a talisman. "

And feeling remarkably pleased with herself and everybody else, Rosyran off. 

Mr. Furnivale left the next day, but not without promises of anothervisit before very long. 

"When Cecy will come with you, " said Mrs. Vincent. 

"And give her my bestest love, " said Fixie. 

"Yes, indeed, my little man, " said Mr. Furnivale, "and I'll tell hertoo that she would scarcely know you again--so fat and rosy!"

"And my love, please, " said Beata, "I would _so_ like to see heragain. "

"And mine, " added Rosy. "And please tell her how _dreadfully_pleased I am with the beads. "

And then the kind old gentleman drove away. 

For some time after this it really seemed as if Rosy's mother's halffanciful idea was coming true. There was such a great improvement inRosy--she seemed so much happier in herself, and to care so much moreabout making other people happy too. 

"I really think the necklace _is_ a talisman, " said Mrs. Vincent, laughing, to Rosy's father one day. 

Not that Rosy always wore it. It was kept for dress occasions, but toher great delight her mother let her take care of it herself, insteadof putting it away with the gold chain and locket her aunt had givenher on her last birthday, and the pearl ring her other godmother hadsent her, which was much too large for her small fingers at present, and her ivory-bound prayer-book, and various other treasures to beenjoyed by her when she should be "a big girl. " And many an hour thechildren amused themselves with the lovely beads, examining them tillthey knew every one separately. They even, I believe, had a name foreach, and Fixie had a firm belief that inside each crystal ball alittle fairy dwelt, and that every moonlight night all these fairiescame out and danced about Rosy's room, though he never could manage tokeep awake to see them. 

Altogether, there was no end to the pretty fancies and amusement whichthe children got from "Mr. Furniture's present. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

HARD TO BEAR. 

 "Give unto me, made lowly-wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice. "--ODE TO DUTY. 

For some weeks things went on very happily. Of course there werelittle troubles among the children sometimes, but compared with awhile ago the nursery was now a very comfortable and peaceful place. 

Martha was quietly pleased, but she had too much sense to say muchabout it. Miss Pink was so delighted, that if Bee had not been amodest and sensible little girl, Miss Pink's over praise of her, asthe cause of all this improvement, might have undone all the good. Notthat Miss Pink was not ready to praise Rosy too, and in a way thatwould have done her no good either, if Rosy had cared enough for herto think much of her praise or her blame. But one word or look evenfrom her mother was getting to be more to Rosy than all thegood-natured little governess's chatter; a nice smile from Marthaeven, she felt to mean _really_ more, and one of Beata's sweet, bright kisses would sometimes find its way straight to Rosy's queerlyhidden-away heart. 

"You see, Rosy, it _does_ get easier, " Bee ventured to say oneday. She looked up a little anxiously to see how Rosy would take it, for since the night she had found Rosy sobbing in bed they had neveragain talked together quite so openly. Indeed, Rosy was not a personwhose confidence was easy to gain. But she was honest--that was thebest of her. 

She looked up quickly when Bee spoke. 

"Yes, " she said, "I think it's getting easier. But you see, Bee, therehave only been nice things lately. If anything was to come to vex mevery much, I daresay it would be just like it used to be again. There's not even been Colin to tease me for a long time!"

Rosy's way of talking of herself puzzled Bee, though she couldn'tquite explain it. It was right, she knew, for Rosy not to feel toosure of herself, but still she went too far that way. She almosttalked as if she had nothing to do with her own faults, that they mustcome or not come like rainy days. 

"What are you thinking, Bee?" she said, as Bee did not answer at once. 

"I can't tell you quite how I mean, for I don't know it myself, " saidBee. "Only I think you are a little wrong. You should try to say, 'Ifthings come to vex me, I'll _try_ not to be vexed. '"

Rosy shook her head. 

"No, " she said, "I can't say that, for I don't think I should_want_ to try, " and Beata felt she could not say any more, onlyshe very much hoped that things to vex Rosy would _not_ come!

The first thing at all out of the common that did come was, or wasgoing to be, perhaps I should say, a very nice thing. A note came oneday to Rosy's mother to say that a lady, a friend of hers living a fewmiles off, wanted to see her, to talk over a plan she had in her headfor a birthday treat to her two little daughters. These two childrenwere twins; they were a little younger than Rosy, and she did not knowthem _very_ well, as they lived some way off; but Mrs. Vincenthad often wished they could meet oftener, as they were very nice andgood children. 

And when Lady Esther had been, and had had her talk with Rosy'smother, she looked in at the schoolroom a moment in passing, andkissed the little girls, smiling, and seeming very pleased, for shewas so kind that nothing pleased her so much as to give pleasure toothers. 

"Your mother will tell you what we have been settling, " she said, nodding her head and looking very mysterious. 

And that afternoon Mrs. Vincent told the children all about it. LadyEsther was going to have a fête for the twins' birthday--agarden-fête, for it was to be hoped by that time the weather could becounted upon, and all the children were to have fancy dresses! Thatwas to be the best fun of it all. Not very grand or expensive dresses, and nothing which would make them uncomfortable, or prevent theirrunning about freely. Lady Esther's idea was that the children shouldbe dressed in _sets_, which would look very pretty when they cameinto the big hall to dance before leaving. Lady Esther had proposedthat Rosy and Bee should be dressed as the pretty French queen, MarieAntoinette, whom no doubt you have heard of, and her sister-in-law thegood princess, Madame Elizabeth. Fixie was to be the little prince, and Lady Esther's youngest little girl the young princess, while thetwins were to be two maids of honour. But Rosy's mother had said shewould like better for her little girls to be the maids of honour, andthe twins to be the queen and princess, which seemed quite right, asthe party was to be in their house. And so it was settled. 

A few days later Lady Esther sent over sketches of the dresses sheproposed to have, and the children were greatly pleased andinterested. 

"May I wear my beads, mamma?" asked Rosy. 

Mrs. Vincent smiled. 

"I daresay you can, " she said, and Rosy clapped her hands withdelight, and everything seemed as happy as possible. 

"But remember, " said Mrs. Vincent, "it is still quite a month off. Donot talk or think about it _too_ much, or you will tire yourselvesout in fancy before the real pleasure comes. "

This was good advice. Bee tried to follow it by doing her lessons asusual, and giving the same attention to them. But Rosy, with some ofher old self-will, would not leave off talking about the promisedtreat. She was tiresome and careless at her lessons, and Miss Pink wasnot firm enough to check her. Morning, noon, and night, Rosy went onabout the fete, most of all about the dresses, till Bee sometimeswished the birthday treat had never been thought of, or at least thatRosy had never been told of it. 

One morning when the children came down to see Mr. And Mrs. Vincent attheir breakfast, which they often were allowed to do, though theystill had their own breakfast earlier than the big people, in thenursery with Martha, Beata noticed that Rosy's mother looked grave andrather troubled. Bee took no notice of it, however, except that whenshe kissed her, she said softly, "Are you not quite well, auntie?" for so Rosy's mother liked her tocall her. 

"Oh yes, dear, I am quite well, " she answered, though rather wearily, and a few minutes after, when Mr. Vincent had gone out to speak tosome of the servants, she called Rosy and Bee to come to her. 

"Rosy and Bee, " she said kindly but gravely, "do you remember myadvising you not to talk or to think too much about Lady Esther'streat?"

"Yes, " said Bee, and "Yes, " said Rosy, though in a rather sulky toneof voice. 

"Well, then, I should not have had to remind you both of my advice. Iam really sorry to have to find fault about anything to do with thebirthday party. I wanted it to have been nothing but pleasure to you. But Miss Pink has told me she does not know what to do with you--thatyou are so careless and inattentive, and constantly chattering aboutLady Esther's plan, and that at last she felt she must tell me. "

Bee felt her cheeks grow red. Mrs. Vincent thought she felt ashamed, but it was not shame. Poor Bee, she had _never_ before felt asshe did just now. It was not true--how could Miss Pink have said so ofher? She knew it was not true, and the words, "I _haven't_ beencareless--I did do just what you said, " were bursting out of her lipswhen she stopped. What good would it do to defend herself except tomake Mrs. Vincent more vexed with Rosy, and to cause fresh badfeelings in Rosy's heart? Would it not be better to say nothing, tobear the blame, rather than lose the kind feelings that Rosy wasgetting to have to her? All these thoughts were running through hermind, making her feel rather puzzled and confused, for Bee did notalways see things very quickly; she needed to think them over, when, to her surprise, Rosy looked up. 

"It isn't true, " she said, not very respectfully it must be owned, "itisn't true that Bee has been careless. If Miss Pink thinks tellingstories about Bee will make me any better, she's very silly, and Ishall just not care what she says about anything. "

"Rosy, " said Mrs. Vincent sternly, "you shall care what _I_ say. Go to your room and stay there, and you, Beata, go to yours. I amsurprised that you should encourage Rosy in her naughty contradiction, for it is nothing else that makes her speak so of what Miss Pink feltobliged to say of you. "

Rosy turned away with the cool sullen manner that had not been seenfor some time. Bee, choking with sobs--never, _never_, she saidto herself, not even when her mother went away, had she felt somiserable, never had Aunt Lillias spoken to her like that before--poorBee rushed off to her room, and shutting the door, threw herself onthe floor and wondered _what_ she should do!

Mrs. Vincent, if she had only known it, was nearly as unhappy as she. It was not often she allowed herself to feel worried and vexed, as shehad felt that morning, but everything had seemed to go wrong--MissPink's complaints, which were _not_ true, about Bee had reallygrieved her. For Miss Pink had managed to make it seem that it wasmostly Bee's fault---and she had said little things which had madeMrs. Vincent really unhappy about Bee being so very sweet and goodbefore people, but not _really_ so good when one saw more of her. 

Mrs. Vincent would not let Miss Pink see that she minded what shesaid; she would hardly own it to herself. But for all that it had lefta sting. 

"_Can_ I have been mistaken in Bee?" was the thought that keptcoming into her mind. For Miss Pink had mixed up truth with untruths. 

"_Rosy, _" she had said, "whatever her faults, is so very honest, "which her mother knew to be true, but Mrs. Vincent did not--for shewas too honest herself to doubt other people--see that Miss Pink likedbetter to throw the blame on Bee, not out of ill-will to Bee, butbecause she was so very afraid that if there was any more troubleabout Rosy, she would have to leave off being her governess. 

Then this very morning too had brought a letter from Rosy's aunt, proposing a visit for the very next week, accompanied, of course, bythe maid who had done Rosy so much harm! Poor Mrs. Vincent--it reallywas trying--and she did not even like to tell Rosy's father how muchshe dreaded his sister's visit. For Aunt Edith had meant and wished tobe so truly kind to Rosy that it seemed ungrateful not to be glad tosee her. 

Rosy and Bee were left in their rooms till some time later than theusual school-hour, for Mrs. Vincent, wanting them to think over whatshe had said, told Miss Pink to give Fixie his lessons first, andthen, before sending for the little girls to come down, she had a talkwith Miss Pink. 

"I have spoken to both Rosy and Bee very seriously, and told them ofyour complaints, " she said. 

Miss Pink grew rather red and looked uncomfortable. 

"I should be sorry for them to think I complained out of anyunkindness, " she said. 

"It is not unkindness. It is only telling the truth to answer me whenI ask how they have been getting on, " said Mrs. Vincent, rathercoldly. "Besides I myself saw how very badly Rosy's exercises werewritten. I am very disappointed about Beata, " she added, looking MissPink straight in the face, and it seemed to her that the littlegoverness grew again red. "I can only hope they will both do betternow. "

Then Rosy and Bee were sent for. Rosy came in with a hard look on herface. Bee's eyes were swollen with crying, and she seemed as if shedared not look at her aunt, but she said nothing. Mrs. Vincentrepeated to them what she had just said about hoping they would dobetter. 

"I will do my best, " said Beata tremblingly, for she felt as ifanother word would make her burst out crying again. 

"Oh, I am sure they are both going to be very good little girls now, "said Miss Pink, in her silly, fussy way, as if she was in a hurry tochange the subject, which indeed she was. 

Bee raised her poor red eyes, and looked at her quietly, and Mrs. Vincent saw the look. Rosy, who had not yet spoken, mutteredsomething, but so low that nobody could quite hear it; only the words"stories" and "not true" were heard. 

"Rosy, " said her mother very severely, "be silent!" and soon after sheleft the room. 

The schoolroom party was not a very cheerful one this morning, butthings went on quietly. Miss Pink was plainly uncomfortable, and madeseveral attempts to make friends, as it were, with Bee. Bee answeredgently, but that was all, and as soon as lessons were over she wentquietly upstairs. 

Two days after, Miss Vincent arrived. Rosy was delighted to hear shewas coming, and her pleasure in it seemed to make her forget aboutBee's undeserved troubles. So poor Bee had to try to forget themherself. Her lessons were learnt and written without a fault--it wasimpossible for Miss Pink to find anything to blame; and indeed she didnot wish to do so, or to be unkind, to Beata, so long as things wentsmoothly with Rosy. And for these two days everything was very smooth. Rosy did not want to be in disgrace when her aunt came, and she, too, did her best, so that the morning of the day when Miss Vincent wasexpected, Miss Pink told the children, with a most amiable face, thatshe would be able to give a very good report of them to Rosy's mother. 

Bee said nothing. Rosy, turning round, saw the strange, half-sad lookon Bee's face, and it came back into her mind how unhappy her littlefriend had been, and how little she had deserved to be so. And in herheart, too, Rosy knew that in reality it was owing to _her_ thatBeata had suffered, and a sudden feeling of sorrow rushed over her, and, to Miss Pink's and Bee's astonishment, she burst out, "You may say what you like of me to mamma, Miss Pink. It is true Ihave done my lessons well for two days, and it is true I did thembadly before. But if you can't tell the truth about Bee, it would bemuch better for you to say nothing at all. "

Miss Pink grew pinker than usual, and she was opening her lips tospeak, when Beata interrupted her. 

"Don't say anything, Miss Pink, " she said. "It's no good. _I_have said nothing, and--and I'll try to forget--you know what. I don'twant there to be any more trouble. It doesn't matter for me. O Rosydear, " she went on entreatingly, "_don't_ say anything more thatmight make more trouble, and vex your mamma with you, just as youraunt's coming. Oh, _don't_. "

She put her arms round Rosy as if she would have held her back, Rosyonly looking half convinced. But in her heart Rosy _was_ veryanxious not to be in any trouble when her aunt came. She didn't quiteexplain to herself why. Some of the reasons were good, and some werenot very good. One of the best was, I think, that she didn't want hermother to be more vexed, or to have the fresh vexation of her auntseeming to think--as she very likely would, if there was any excusefor it--that Rosy was less good under her mother's care than she hadbeen in Miss Vincent's. 

Rosy was learning truly to love, and what, for her nature, was almostof more consequence, really to _trust_ her mother, and a feelingof _loyalty_--if you know what that beautiful word means, dearchildren, --I hope you do--was beginning for the first time to grow inher cross-grained, suspicious little heart. Then, again, for her ownsake, Rosy wished all to be smooth when her aunt and Nelson arrived, which was not a _bad_ feeling, if not a very good or unselfishone. And then, again, she did not want to have any trouble connectedwith Bee. She knew her Aunt Edith had not liked the idea of Beecoming, and that if she fancied the little stranger was the cause ofany worry to her darling she would try to get her sent away. And Rosydid not now _at all_ want Bee to be sent away!

These different feelings were all making themselves heard ratherconfusedly in her heart, and she hardly knew what to answer to Bee'sappeal, when Miss Pink came to the rescue. 

"Bee is right, Rosy, " she said, her rather dolly-looking face flushingagain. "It is much better to leave things. You may trust me to--tospeak very kindly of--of you _both_. And if I was--at allmistaken in what I said of you the other day, Bee--perhaps you hadbeen trying more than I--than I gave you credit for--I'm very sorry. If I can say anything to put it right, I will. But it is verydifficult to--to tell things quite correctly sometimes. I had beenworried and vexed, and then Mrs. Vincent rather startled me by askingme about you, Rosy, and by something she said about my not managingyou well. And--oh, I don't know _what_ we would do, my mother andI, if I lost this nice situation!" she burst out suddenly, forgettingeverything else in her distress. "And poor mamma has been _so_ill lately, I've often scarcely slept all night. I daresay I've beencross sometimes"--and Miss Pink finished up by bursting into tears. Her distress gave the finishing touch to Bee's determination to bearthe undeserved blame. 

"No, poor Miss Pink, " she said, running round to the littlegoverness's side of the table, "I _don't_ think you are cross. Ishouldn't mind if you were a little sometimes. And I know we are oftentroublesome--aren't we, Rosy?" Rosy gave a little grunt, which was agood deal for her, and showed that her feelings, too, were touched. "But just then I _had_ been trying. Aunt Lillias had spoken to usabout it, and I _did_ want to please her"--and the unbidden tearsrose to Bee's eyes. "Please, Miss Pink, don't think I don't know whenI _am_ to blame, but--but you won't speak that way of me anothertime when I've not been to blame. " A sort of smothered sob here camefrom Miss Pink, as a match to Rosy's grunt. "And _please_, " Beewent on, "don't say _anything_ more about that time to AuntLillias. It's done now, and it would only make fresh trouble. "

That it would make trouble for _her_, Miss Pink felt convinced, and she was not very difficult to persuade to take Bee's advice. 

"It would indeed bring _me_ trouble, " she thought, as she walkedhome more slowly than usual that the fresh air might take away theredness from her eyes before her mother saw her. "I know Mrs. Vincentwould never forgive me if she thought I had exaggerated ormisrepresented. I'm sure I didn't want to blame Bee; but I was sostartled; and Mrs. Vincent seemed to think so much less of it when Ilet her suppose they had _both_ been careless and tiresome. Butit has been a lesson to me. And Beata is _very_ good. I couldnever say a word against her again. "

Miss Vincent arrived, and with her, of course, her maid Nelson. Everything went off most pleasantly the first evening. Aunt Edithseemed delighted to see Rosy again, and that was only kind andnatural. And she said to every one how well Rosy was looking, and howmuch she was grown, and said, too, how nice it was for her to have acompanion of her own age. She had been so pleased to hear about littleMiss Warwick from Cecy Furnivale, whom she had seen lately. 

Bee stared rather at this. She hardly knew herself under the name oflittle Miss Warwick; but she answered Miss Vincent's questions in herusual simple way, and told Rosy, when they went up to bed, that shedid not wonder she loved her aunt--she seemed so very kind. 

"Yes, " said Rosy. Then she sat still for a minute or two, as if shewas thinking over something very deeply. "I don't think I'd like to goback to live with auntie, " she said at last. 

"To leave your mother! No, _of course_ you wouldn't, " exclaimedBee, as if there could be no doubt about the matter. 

"But I did think once I would, " said Rosy, nodding her head--"I did. "

"I don't believe you really did, " said Bee calmly. "Perhaps you_thought_ you did when you were vexed about something. "

"Well, I don't see much difference between wanting a thing, and_thinking_ you want it, " said Rosy. 

This was one of the speeches which Bee did not find it very easy toanswer all at once, so she told Rosy she would think it over in herdreams, for she was very sleepy, and she was sure Aunt Lillias wouldbe vexed if they didn't go to bed quickly. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE HOLE IN THE FLOOR. 

 "And the former called the latter 'little Prig. '"--EMERSON. 

"And how well that sweet child is looking, Nelson, " said Miss Vincentthat evening to her maid as she was brushing her hair. 

"I am glad you think so, ma'am, " replied Nelson, in a rather queertone of voice. 

"Why, what do you mean?" said Miss Vincent. "Do _you_ not thinkso? To be sure it was by candlelight, and I am very near-sighted, butI don't think any one could say that she looks ill. She is both tallerand stouter. "

"Perhaps so, ma'am. I wasn't thinking so much of her healthfulness. With the care that _was_ taken of her, she couldn't but be a finechild. But it's her _feelin's_, ma'am, that seems to be sochanged. All her spirits, her lovely high spirits, gone! Why, thisevening, that Martha--or whatever they call her--a' upsetting thing_I_ call her--spoke to her that short about having left thenursery door open because Master Fixie chose to fancy he was cold, that I wonder any young lady would take it. And Miss Rosy, bless her, up she got and shut it as meek as meek, and 'I'm very sorry, Martha--Iforgot, ' she said. I couldn't believe my ears. I could have cried tosee her so kept down like. And she's so quiet and so grave. "

"She is certainly quieter than she used to be, " said Miss Vincent, "but surely she can't be unhappy. She would have told me--and Ithought it was so nice for her to have that little companion. "

"Umph, " said Nelson. She had a way of her own of saying "umph" that itis impossible to describe. Then in a minute or two she went on again. "Well, ma'am, you know I'm one as must speak my mind. And the truth isI _don't_ like that Miss Bee, as they call her, at all. She's fartoo good, by way of being too good, I mean, for a child. Give me MissRosy's tempers and fidgets--I'd rather have them than thosesmooth-faced ways. And she's come round Miss Rosy somehow. Why, ma'am, you'd hardly believe it, she'd hardly a word for me when she first sawme. It was 'Good-evening, Nelson. How do you do?' as cool like ascould be. And it was all that Miss Bee's doing. I saw Miss Rosy lookround at her like to see what she thought of it. "

"Well, well, Nelson, " said Miss Vincent, quite vexed and put out, "Idon't see what is to be done. We can't take the child away from herown parents. All the same, I'm very glad to have come to see formyself, and if I find out anything not nice about that child, I shallstand upon no ceremony, I assure you, " and with this Nelson had to becontent. 

It was true that Rosy had met Nelson very coldly. As I have told youbefore, Rosy was by no means clever at _pretending_, and a verygood thing it is _not_ to be so. She had come to take a disliketo Nelson, and to wonder how she could ever have been so under her. Especially now that she was learning to love and trust Beata, she didnot like to let her know how many wrong and jealous ideas Nelson hadput in her head, and so before Beata she was very cold to the maid. But in this Rosy was wrong. Nelson had taught her much that had doneher harm, but still she had been, or had meant to be, very good andkind to Rosy, and Rosy owed her for this real gratitude. It was apity, too, for Bee's sake that Rosy had been so cold and stiff toNelson, for on Bee, Nelson laid all the blame of it, and the harm didnot stop here, as you will see. 

Miss Vincent never got up early, and the next morning passed as usual. But she sent for Rosy to come to her room while she was dressing, after the morning lessons were over, which prevented the two littlegirls having their usual hour's play in the garden, and Beata wanderedabout rather sadly, feeling as if Rosy was being taken away from her. At luncheon Rosy came in holding her aunt's hand and looking verypleased. 

"You don't know what lovely things auntie's been giving me, " she saidto Bee as she passed her. "And Nelson's making me such a_beautiful_ apron--the newest fashion. "

Nelson had managed to get into Rosy's favour again--that was clear. Beata did not think this to herself. She was too simple andkind-hearted to think anything except that it was natural for Rosy tobe glad to see her old nurse again, though Bee had a feeling somehowthat she didn't much care for Nelson and that Nelson didn't care forher!

"By-the-bye, Rosy, " said Mrs. Vincent, in the middle of luncheon, "didyou show your aunt your Venetian beads?"

"Yes, " said Miss Vincent, answering for Rosy, "she did, and greatbeauties they are. "

"_Nelson_ didn't think so--at least not at first, " said Rosy, rather spitefully. She had always had a good deal of spite at Nelson, even long ago, when Nelson had had so much power of her. "Nelson saidthey were glass trash, till auntie explained to her. "

"She didn't understand what they were, " said Miss Vincent, seeming alittle annoyed. "She thinks them beautiful now. "

"Yes _now_, because she knows they must have cost a lot ofmoney, " persisted Rosy. "Nelson never thinks anything pretty thatdoesn't cost a lot. "

These remarks were not pleasant to Miss Vincent. She knew that Mrs. Vincent thought Nelson too free in her way of speaking, and she didnot like any of her rather impertinent sayings to be told over. 

"Certainly, " she thought to herself, "I think it is quite a mistakethat Rosy is too much kept down, " but just as she was thinking this, Rosy's mother looked up and said to her quietly, "Rosy, I don't thinkyou should talk so much. And you, Bee, are almost too silent!" sheadded, smiling at Beata, for she had a feeling that since MissVincent's arrival Bee looked rather lonely. 

"Yes, " said Rosy's aunt, "we don't hear your voice at all, Miss Beata. You're not like my chatter-box Rosy, who always must say out what shethinks. "

The words sounded like a joke--there was nothing in them to vex Bee, but something in the tone in which they were said made the little girlgrow red and hot. 

"I--I was listening to all of you, " she said quietly. She was anxiousto say something, not to seem to Mrs. Vincent as if she was cross orvexed. 

"Yes, " said Rosy's mother. "Rosy and her aunt have a great deal to sayto each other after being so long without meeting, " and Miss Vincentlooked pleased at this, as Rosy's mother meant her to be. 

"By-the-bye, " continued Mrs. Vincent, "has Rosy told you all about thefête there is going to be at Summerlands?" Summerlands was the name ofLady Esther's house. 

"Oh yes, " said Miss Vincent, "and very charming it will be, no doubt, only _I_ should have liked my pet to be the queen, as she tellsme was at first proposed. "

This was what Mrs. Vincent thought one of Aunt Edith's silly speeches, and Rosy could not help wishing when she heard it that she had nottold her aunt that her being the queen had been thought of at all. Shelooked a little uncomfortable, and her mother, glancing at her, understood her feelings and felt sorry for her. 

"I think it is better as it is, " she said. "Would you like to hearabout the dresses Rosy and Bee are to wear?" she went on. "I thinkthey will be very pretty. Lady Esther has ordered them in London withher own little girls'. " And then she told Miss Vincent all about thedresses, so that Rosy's uncomfortable feeling went away, and she feltgrateful to her mother. 

After luncheon the little girls went out together in the garden. 

"I'm so glad to be together again, " said Bee, "it seems to me as if Ihad hardly seen you to-day, Rosy. "

"What nonsense!" said Rosy. "Why, I was only in auntie's room forabout a quarter of an hour after Miss Pink went. "

"A quarter of an hour, " said Bee. "No indeed, Rosy. You were more thanan hour, I am sure. I was reading to Fixie in the nursery, for he'sgot a cold and he mayn't go out, and you don't know what a great lot Iread. And oh, Rosy, Fixie wants so to know if he may have your beadsthis afternoon, just to hold in his hand and look at. He can't hurtthem. "

"Very well, " said Rosy. "He may have them for half an hour or so, butnot longer. "

"Shall I go and give them to him now?" said Bee, ready to run off. 

"Oh no, he won't need them just yet. Let's have a run first. Let's seewhich of us will get to the middle bush first--you go right and I'llgo left. "

This race round the lawn was a favourite one with the children. Theywere playing merrily, laughing and calling to each other, when amessenger was seen coming to them from the house. It was Samuel thefootman. 

"Miss Rosy, " he said as he came within hearing, "you must please tocome in _at onst_. Miss Vincent is going a drive and you are togo with her. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Rosy, "I don't think I want to go. "

"I think you must, " said Bee, though she could not help sighing alittle. 

"Miss Vincent is going to Summerlands, " said Samuel. 

"Oh, then I _do_ want to go, " said Rosy. "Never mind, Bee--I wishyou were going too. But I'll tell you all I hear about the party whenI come' back. But I'm sorry you're not going. "

She kissed Bee as she ran off. This was a good deal more than Rosywould have done some weeks ago, and Bee, feeling this, tried to becontent. But the garden seemed dull and lonely after Rosy had gone, and once or twice the tears would come into Bee's eyes. 

"After all, " she said to herself, "those little girls are much thehappiest who can always live with their own mammas and have sistersand brothers of their own, and then there can't be strange aunts whoare not their aunts. " But then she thought to herself how much betterit was for her than for many little girls whose mothers had to be awayand who were sent to school, where they had no such kind friend asMrs. Vincent. 

"I'll go in and read to Fixie, " she then decided, and she made her wayto the house. 

Passing along the passage by the door of Rosy's room, it came into hermind that she might as well get the beads for Fixie which Rosy hadgiven leave for. She went in--the room was rather in confusion, forRosy had been dressing in a hurry for her drive--but Bee knew wherethe beads were kept, and, opening the drawer, she found them easily. She was going away with them in her hand when a sharp voice startledher. It was Nelson. Bee had not noticed that she was in a corner ofthe room hanging up some of Rosy's things, for, much to Martha'svexation, Nelson was very fond of coming into Rosy's room and helpingher to dress. 

"What are you doing in Miss Rosy's drawers?" said Nelson; and Bee, from surprise at her tone and manner, felt herself get red, and hervoice trembled a little as she answered. 

"I was getting something for Master Fixie--something for him to playwith. " And she held up the necklace. 

Nelson looked at her still in a way that was not at all nice. "And whosaid you might?" she said next. 

"Rosy--_of course_, Miss Rosy herself, " said Bee, opening hereyes, "I would not take anything of hers without her leave. "

Nelson gave a sort of grunt. But she had an ill-will at the prettybeads, because she had called them rubbish, not knowing what theywere; so she said nothing more, and Bee went quietly away, not hearingthe words Nelson muttered to herself, "Sly little thing. I don't likethose quiet ways. "

When Bee got to the nursery, she was very glad she had come. Fixie wassitting in a corner looking very desolate, for Martha was busy lookingover the linen, as it was Saturday, and his head was "a'tingdedfully, " he said. He brightened up when he saw Bee and what she hadbrought, and for more than an hour the two children sat perfectlyhappy and content examining the wonderful beads, and making up littlefanciful stories about the fairies who were supposed to live in them. Then when Fixie seemed to have had enough of the beads, Bee and hetook them back to Rosy's room and put them carefully away, and thenreturned to the nursery, where they set to work to make a house withthe chairs and Fixie's little table. The nursery was not carpeted allover--that is to say, round the edge of the room the wood of the floorwas left bare, for this made it more easy to lift the carpet often andshake it on the grass, which is a very good thing, especially in anursery. The house was an old one, and so the wood floor was not verypretty; here and there it was rather uneven, and there were queercracks in it. 

"See, Bee, " said Fixie, while they were making their house, "see whata funny place I've found in the f'oor, " and he pointed to a small, dark, round hole. It was made by what is called a knot in the woodhaving dried up and dropped out long, long ago probably, for, as Itold you, the house was very old. 

"What is there down there, does you fink?" said Fixie, looking up atBee and then down again at the mysterious hole. "Does it go down intothe middle of the world, p'raps?"

Beata laughed. 

"Oh no, Fixie, not so far as that, I am sure, " she said. "At the most, it can't go farther than the ceiling of the room underneath. "

Fixie looked puzzled, and Bee explained to him that there was a smallspace left behind the wood planking which make the floor of one roomand the thinner boards which are the ceiling of an under room. 

[Illustration: 'WHAT IS THERE DOWN THERE, DOES YOU FINK?' SAID FIXIE]

"The ceiling doesn't need to be so strong, you see, " she said. "Wedon't walk and jump on the ceiling, but we do on the floor, so theceiling boards would not be strong enough for the floor. "

"Yes, " said Fixie, "on'y the flies walks on the ceiling, and they'snot very heavy, is they, Bee? But, " he went on, "I would like to seedown into this hole. If I had a long piece of 'ting I could_fish_ down into it, couldn't I, Bee? You don't fink there'sanything dedful down there, do you? Not fogs or 'nakes?"

"No, " said Bee, "I'm sure there are no frogs or snakes. There_might_ be some little mice. "

"Is mice the same as mouses?" said Fixie; and when Bee nodded, "Whydon't you say mouses then?" he asked, "it's a much samer word. "

"But I didn't make the words, " said Bee, "one has to use them the waythat's counted right. "

But Fixie seemed rather grumbly and cross. 

"_I_ like mouses, " he persisted; and so, to change his ideas, Beewent on talking about the knot hole. "We might get a stick to-morrow, "she said, "and poke it down to see how far it would go. "

"Not a 'tick, " said Fixie, "it would hurt the little mouses. I didn'tsay a 'tick--I said a piece of 'ting. I fink you'se welly unkind, Bee, to hurt the poor little mouses, " and he grew so very doleful about itthat Bee was quite glad when Martha called them to tea. 

"I don't know what's the matter with Fixie, " she said to Martha, in alow voice. 

"He's not very well, " said Martha, looking at her little boyanxiously. But tea seemed to do Fixie good, and he grew brighteragain, so that Martha began to think there could not be much wrong. 

Nursery tea was long over before Rosy came home, and so she stayeddown in the drawing-room to have some with her mother and aunt. Andeven after that she did not come back to the other children, but wentinto her aunt's room to look over some things they had bought in thelittle town they had passed, coming home. She just put her head in atthe nursery door, seeming in very high spirits, and called out to Beethat she would tell her how nice it had been at Summerlands. 

But the evening went on. Fixie grew tired and cross, and Martha puthim to bed; and it was not till nearly the big people's dinner-timethat Rosy came back to the nursery, swinging her hat on her arm, andlooking rather untidy and tired too. "I think I'll go to bed, " shesaid. "It makes me feel funny in my head, driving so far. "

"Let me put away your hat, Miss Rosy, " said Martha, "it's getting allcrushed and it's your best one. "

"Oh, bother, " said Rosy, and the tone was like the Rosy of some monthsago. "What does it matter? _You_ won't have to pay for a newone. "

Martha said nothing, but quietly put away the hat, which had fallen onthe floor. Bee, too, said nothing, but her heart was full. She hadbeen alone, except for poor little Fixie, all the afternoon; and thelast hour or so she had been patiently waiting for Rosy to come to thenursery to tell her, as she had promised, all her adventures. 

"I'm going to bed, " repeated Rosy. 

"Won't you stay and talk a little?" said Bee; "you said you would tellme about Summerlands. "

"I'm too tired, " said Rosy. Then suddenly she added, sharply, "Whatwere you doing in my drawers this afternoon?"

"In your drawers?" repeated Bee, half stupidly, as it were. She wasnot, as I have told you, very quick in catching up a meaning; she wasthoughtful and clear-headed but rather slow, and when any one spokesharply it made her still slower. "In your drawers, Rosy?" she saidagain, for, for a moment, she forgot about having fetched thenecklace. 

"Yes, " said Rosy, "you were in my drawers, for Nelson told me. Shesaid I wasn't to tell you she'd told me, but I told her I would. Idon't like mean ways. But I'd just like to know what you were doingamong my things. "

It all came back to Bee now. 

"I only went to fetch the beads for Fixie, " she said, her voicetrembling. "You said I might. "

"And did you put them back again? And did you not touch anythingelse?" Rosy went on. 

"Of course I put them back, and--_of course_ I didn't touchanything else, " exclaimed Bee. "Rosy, how can you, how dare you speakto me like that? As if I would steal your things. You have no_right_ to speak that way, and Nelson is a bad, horrible woman. Iwill tell your mother all about it to-morrow morning. "

And bursting into tears, Beata ran out of the nursery to take refugein her own room. Nor would she come out or speak to Rosy when sheknocked at the door and begged her to do so. But she let Martha in tohelp her to undress, and listened gently to the good nurse's advicenot to take Miss Rosy's unkindness to heart. 

"She's sorry for it already, " said Martha. "And, though perhaps Ishouldn't say it, you can see for yourself, Miss Bee dear, that it'snot herself, as one may say. " And Martha gave a sigh. "I'm sorry forMiss Rosy's mamma, " she added, as she bid Bee good-night. And thewords went home to Bee's loving, grateful little heart. It was veryseldom, very seldom indeed, that unkind or ungentle thoughts orfeelings rested there. Never hardly in all her life had Beata givenway to anger as she had done that afternoon. 

CHAPTER X. 

STINGS FOR BEE. 

 "And I will look up the chimney, And into the cupboard to make quite sure. "--AUTHOR OF LILLIPUT LEVEE. 

Fixie was not quite well the next morning, as Martha had hoped hewould be. Still he did not seem ill enough to stay in bed, so shedressed him as usual. But at breakfast he rested his head on his hand, looking very doleful, "very sorry for himself, " as Scotch people say. And Martha, though she tried to cheer him up, was evidently anxious. 

Mother came up to see him after breakfast, and she looked less uneasythan Martha. 

"It's only a cold, I fancy, " she said, but when Martha followed herout of the room and reminded her of all the children's illnesses Fixiehad _not_ had, and which often look like a cold at the beginning, she agreed that it might be better to send for the doctor. 

"Have you any commissions for Blackthorpe?" she said to Miss Vincentwhen she, Aunt Edith, came down to the drawing-room, a little earlierthan usual that morning. "I am going to send to ask the doctor to comeand see Fixie. "

Aunt Edith had already heard from Nelson about Felix not being well, and that was why she had got up earlier, for she was in a greatfright. 

"I am thankful to hear it, " she said; "for there is no saying what hisillness may be going to be. But, Lillias, _of course_ you won'tlet darling Rosy stay in the nursery. "

"I hadn't thought about it, " said Rosy's mother. "Perhaps I am alittle careless about these things, for you see all the years I was inIndia I had only Fixie, and he was quite out of the way of infection. Besides, Rosy has had measles and scarlet fever, and----"

"But not whooping-cough, or chicken-pox, or mumps, or even smallpox. Who knows but what it may be smallpox, " said Aunt Edith, workingherself up more and more. 

Mrs. Vincent could hardly help smiling. "I _don't_ think that'slikely, " she said. "However, I am glad you mentioned the risk, for Ithink there is much more danger for Bee than for Rosy, for Bee, likeFixie, has had none of these illnesses. I will go up to the nurseryand speak to Martha about it at once, " and she turned towards thedoor. 

"But you will separate Rosy too, " insisted Miss Vincent, "the dearchild can sleep in my room. Nelson will be only too delighted to haveher again. "

"Thank you, " said Rosy's mother rather coldly. She knew Nelson wouldbe only too glad to have the charge of Rosy, and to put into her headagain a great many foolish thoughts and fancies which she had hopedRosy was beginning to forget. "It will not be necessary to settle somuch till we hear what the doctor says. Of course I would not leaveRosy with Fixie and Bee by herself. But for to-day they can stay inthe schoolroom, and I will ask Miss Pinkerton to remain later. "

The doctor came in the afternoon, but he was not able to say much. Itwould take, he said, a day or two to decide what was the matter withthe little fellow. But Fixie was put to bed, and Rosy and Bee weretold on no account to go into either of the nurseries. Fixie was notsorry to go to bed; he had been so dull all the morning, playing byhimself in a comer of the nursery, but he cried a little when he wastold that Bee must not come and sit by him and read or tell himstories as she always was ready to do when he was not quite well. AndBee looked ready to cry too when she saw his distress!

It was not a very cheerful time. The children felt unsettled by beingkept out of their usual rooms and ways. Rosy was constantly runningoff to her aunt's room, or to ask Nelson about something or other, andBee did not like to follow her, for she had an uncomfortable feelingthat neither Nelson nor her mistress liked her to come. Nelson was ina very gloomy humour. 

"It will be a sad pity to be sure, " she said to Rosy, "if MasterFixie's gone and got any sort of catching illness. "

"How do you mean?" said Rosy. "It won't much matter except that Beeand I can't go into the nursery or my room. Bee's room has a door outinto the other passage, I heard mamma saying we could sleep there ifthe nursery door was kept locked. I think it would be fun to sleep inBee's room. I shouldn't mind. "

Nelson grunted. She did not approve of Rosy's liking Beata. 

"Ah, well, " she said, "it isn't only your Aunt Edith that's afraid ofinfection. If it's measles that Master Fixie's got, you won't go toLady Esther's party, Miss Rosy. "

Rosy opened her eyes. "Not go to the party! we _must_ go, " sheexclaimed, and before Nelson knew what she was about, off Rosy hadrushed to confide this new trouble to Bee, and hear what she would sayabout it. Bee, too, looked grave, for her heart was greatly set on theidea of the Summerlands fete. 

"I don't know, " she replied. "I hope dear little Fixie is not going tobe very ill. Any way, Rosy, I don't think Nelson should have saidthat. Your mother would have told us herself if she had wanted us toknow it. "

"Indeed, " said a harsh voice behind her, "I don't require a littlechit like you, Miss Bee, to teach me my duty, " and turning round, Beata saw that Nelson was standing in the doorway, for she hadfollowed Rosy, a little afraid of the effect of what she had told her. Bee felt sorry that Nelson had overheard what she had said, thoughindeed there was no harm in it. 

"I did not mean to vex you, Nelson, " she said, "but I'm sure it isbetter to wait till Aunt Lillias tells us herself. "

Nelson looked very angry, and walked off in a huff, mutteringsomething the children could not catch. 

"I wish you wouldn't always quarrel with Nelson, " said Rosy crossly. "She always gets on with _me_ quite well. I shall have to go andget her into a good humour again, for I want her to finish my apron. "

Rosy ran off, but Bee stayed alone, her eyes filled with tears. 

"It _isn't_ my fault, " she said to herself. "I don't know what todo. Nothing is the same since they came. I'll write to mother and askher not to leave me here any longer. I'd rather be at school oranywhere than stay here when they're all so unkind to me now. "

But then wiser thoughts came into her mind. They weren't "all" unkind, and she knew that Mrs. Vincent herself had troubles to bear. Besides--what was it her mother had always said to her?--that it wasat such times that one's real wish to be good was tried; when all issmooth and pleasant and every one kind and loving, what is easier thanto be kind and pleasant in return? It is when others are _not_kind, but sharp and suspicious and selfish, that one _has_ to"try" to return good for evil, gentleness for harshness, kind thoughtsand ways for the cold looks or angry words which one cannot helpfeeling sadly, but which lose half their sting when not treasured upand exaggerated by dwelling upon them. 

And feeling happier again, Bee went back to what she was busyat--making a little toy scrap-book for Fixie which she meant to sendin to him the next morning as if it had come by post. And she had needof her good resolutions, for she hardly saw Rosy again all day, andwhen they were going to bed Nelson came to help Rosy to undress andwent on talking to her so much all the time about people and placesBee knew nothing about, that it was impossible for her to join in atall. She kissed Rosy as kindly as usual when Nelson had left the room, but it seemed to her that her kiss was very coldly returned. 

"You're not vexed with me for anything, are you, Rosy?" she could nothelp saying. 

"Vexed with you? No, I never said I was vexed with you, " Rosyanswered. "I wish you wouldn't go on like that, Bee, it's tiresome. Ican't be always kissing and petting you. "

And that was all the comfort poor Bee could get to go to sleep with!

For a day or two still the doctor could not say what was wrong withFixie, but at last he decided that it was only a sort of feverishattack brought on by his having somehow or other caught cold, forthere had been some damp and rainy weather, even though spring was nowfast turning into summer. 

The little fellow had been rather weak and out of sorts for some time, and as soon as he was better, Mrs. Vincent made up her mind to sendhim off with Martha for a fortnight to a sheltered seaside village notfar from their home. Beata was very sorry to see them go. She almostwished she was going with them, for though she had done her best to bepatient and cheerful, nothing was the same as before the coming ofRosy's aunt. Rosy scarcely seemed to care to play with her at all. Herwhole time, when not at her lessons, was spent in her aunt's room, generally with Nelson, who was never tired of amusing her and givingin to all her fancies. Bee grew silent and shy. She was losing herbright happy manner, and looked as if she no longer felt sure that shewas a welcome little guest. Mrs. Vincent saw the change in her, butdid not quite understand it, and felt almost inclined to be vexed withher. 

"She knows it is only for a short time that Rosy's aunt is here. Shemight make the best of it, " thought Mrs. Vincent. For she did not knowfully how lonely Bee's life now was, and how many cold or unkind wordsshe had to bear from Rosy, not to speak of Nelson's sharp and almostrude manner; for, though Rosy was not cunning, Nelson was so, and shemanaged to make it seem always as if Bee, and not Rosy, was in fault. 

"Where is Bee?" said Mrs. Vincent one afternoon when she went into thenursery, where, at this time of day, Nelson was now generally to befound. 

"I don't know, mamma, " said Rosy. Then, without saying any more aboutBee, she went on eagerly, "Do look, mamma, at the lovely opera-cloakNelson has made for my doll? It isn't _quite_ ready--there's alittle white fluff----"

"Swansdown, Miss Rosy, darling, " said Nelson. 

"Well, swansdown then--it doesn't matter--mamma knows, " said Rosysharply, "there's white stuff to go round the neck. Won't it belovely, mother?"

She looked up with her pretty face all flushed with pleasure, fornobody could be prettier than Rosy when she was pleased. 

"Yes dear, _very_ pretty, " said her mother. It was impossible todeny that Nelson was very kind and patient, and Mrs. Vincent wouldhave felt really pleased if only she had not feared that Nelson didRosy harm by her spoiling and flattery. "But where can Bee be?" shesaid again. "Does she not care about dolls too?"

"She used to, " said Rosy. "But Bee is very fond of being alone now, mamma. And I don't care for her when she looks so gloomy. "

"But what makes her so?" said Mrs. Vincent. "Are you quite kind toher, Rosy?"

"Oh indeed, yes, ma'am, " interrupted Nelson, without giving Rosy timeto answer. "Of that you may be very sure. Indeed many's the time I sayto myself Miss Rosy's patience is quite wonderful. Such a free, outspoken young lady as she is, and Miss Bee _so_ different. Idon't like them secrety sort of children, and Miss Rosy feels ittoo--she--"

"Nelson, I didn't ask for your opinion of little Miss Warwick, " saidMrs. Vincent, very coldly. "I know you are very kind to Rosy. But Icannot have any interference when I find fault with her. "

Nelson looked very indignant, but Mrs. Vincent's manner had somethingin it which prevented her answering in any rude way. 

"I'm sure I meant no offence, " she said sourly, but that was all. 

Beata was alone in the schoolroom, writing, or trying to write, to hermother. Her letters, which used to be such a pleasure, had growndifficult. 

"Mamma said I was to write everything to her, " she said to herself, "but I _can't_ write to tell her I'm not happy. I wonder if it'sany way my fault. "

Just then the door opened and Mrs. Vincent looked in. 

"All alone, Bee, " she said. "Would it not be more cheerful in thenursery with Rosy? You have no lessons to do now?

"No" said Bee, "I was beginning a letter to mamma. But it isn't to gojust yet. "

"Well, dear, go and play with Rosy. I don't like to see you mopingalone. You must be my bright little Bee--you wouldn't like any one tothink you are not happy with us?"

"Oh no, " said Bee. But there was little brightness in her tone, andMrs. Vincent felt half provoked with her. 

"She has not really anything to complain of, "

she said to herself, "and she cannot expect me to speak to her againstAunt Edith and Nelson. She should make the best of it for the time. "

As Bee was leaving the schoolroom Mrs. Vincent called her back. 

"Will you tell Rosy to bring me her Venetian necklace to thedrawing-room?" she said; "I want it for a few minutes. " She did nottell Beata why she wanted it. It was because she had had a letter thatmorning from Mr. Furnivale asking her to tell him how many beads therewere on Rosy's necklace and their size, as he had found a shop wherethere were two or three for sale, and he wanted to get one as nearlyas possible the same for Beata. 

Beata went slowly to the nursery. She would much rather have stayed inthe schoolroom, lonely and dull though it was. When she got to thenursery she gave Rosy her mother's message, and asked her kindly ifshe might bring her dolls so that they could play with them together. 

"I shan't get no work done, " said Nelson crossly, "if there's going tobe such a litter about. "

"I'm going to take my necklace to mamma, " said Rosy. "You may playwith my doll till I come back, Bee. "

She ran off, and Bee sat down quietly as far away from Nelson as shecould. Five or ten minutes passed, and then the door suddenly openedand Rosy burst in with a very red face. 

"Bee, Nelson, " she exclaimed, "my necklace is _gone_. It isindeed. I've hunted _everywhere_. And somebody must have takenit, for I always put it in the same place, in its own little box. Youknow I do--don't I, Bee?"

Bee seemed hardly able to answer. Her face looked quite pale withdistress. 

"Your necklace gone, Rosy, " she repeated. Nelson said nothing. 

"Yes, _gone, _ I tell you, " said Rosy. "And I believe it's stolen. It couldn't go of itself, and I _never_ left it about. I haven'thad it on for a good while. You know that time I slept in your room, Bee, while Fixie was ill, I got out of the way of wearing it. But Ialways knew where it was, in its own little box in the far-back cornerof the drawer where I keep my best ribbons and jewelry. "

"Yes, " said Bee, "I know. It was there the day I had it out to amuseFixie. "

Rosy turned sharply upon her. 

"Did you put it back that day, Bee?" she said, "I don't believe I'velooked at it since. Answer, _did_ you put it back?"

"Yes, " said Bee earnestly, "yes, indeed; _indeed_ I did. O Rosy, don't get like that, " she entreated, clasping her hands, for Rosy'sface was growing redder and redder, and her eyes were flashing. "ORosy, _don't_ get into a temper with me about it. I did, _did_put it back. "

But it is doubtful if Rosy would have listened to her. She was fastworking herself up to believe that Bee had lost the necklace the dayshe had had it out for Pixie, and she was so distressed at the lossthat she was quite ready to get into a temper with _somebody_--when, to both the children's surprise, Nelson's voice interruptedwhat Rosy was going to say. 

"Miss Warwick, " she said, with rather a mocking tone--she had made apoint of calling Bee "Miss Warwick" since the day Mrs. Vincent hadspoken of the little girl by that name--"Miss Warwick did put it backthat day, Miss Rosy dear, " she said. "For I saw it late that eveningwhen I was putting your things away to help Martha as Master Fixie wasill. " She did not explain that she had made a point of looking for thenecklace in hopes of finding Bee had _not_ put it back, for youmay remember she had been cross and rude to Bee about finding her inRosy's room. 

"Well, then, where has it gone? Come with me, Bee, and look for it, "said Rosy, rather softening down, --"though I'm _sure_ I've lookedeverywhere. "

"I don't think it's any use your taking Miss Warwick to look for it, "said Nelson, getting up and laying aside her work. "I'll go with you, Miss Rosy, and if it's in your room I'll undertake to find it. Andjust you stay quietly here, Miss Bee. Too many cooks spoil the broth. "

So Bee was left alone again, alone, and even more unhappy than before, for she was _very_ sorry about Rosy's necklace, and besides, shehad a miserable feeling that if it was never found she would somehowbe blamed for its loss. A quarter of an hour passed, then half anhour, what could Rosy and Nelson be doing all this time? The dooropened and Bee sprang up. 

"Have you found it, Rosy?" she cried eagerly. 

But it was not Rosy, though she was following behind. The first personthat came in was Mrs. Vincent. She looked grave and troubled. 

"Beata, " she said, "you have heard about Rosy's necklace. Tell me allabout the last time you saw it. "

"It was when Rosy let Fixie have it to play with, " began Bee, and shetold all she remembered. 

"And you are sure--_quite_ sure--you never have seen it since?"

"_Quite_ sure, " said Bee. "I never touch Rosy's things withouther leave. "

Nelson gave a sort of cough. Bee turned round on her. "If you'veanything to say you'd better say it now, before Mrs. Vincent, " saidBee, in a tone that, coming from the gentle kindly little girl, surprised every one. 

"Bee!" exclaimed Mrs. Vincent, "What do you mean? Nelson has said_nothing_ about you. " This was quite true. Nelson was too cleverto say anything right out. She had only hinted and looked wise aboutthe necklace to Rosy, giving her a feeling that Bee was more likely tohave touched it than any one else. 

Bee was going to speak, but Rosy's mother stopped her. "You have toldus all you know, " she said. "I don't want to hear any more. But I amsurprised at you, Bee, for losing your temper about being simply askedif you had seen the necklace. You might have forgotten at first if youhad had it again for Fixie, and you _might_ the second time haveforgotten to put it back. But there is nothing to be offended at, inbeing asked about it. "

She spoke coldly, and Bee's heart swelled more and more, but she darednot speak. 

"There is nothing to do, " said Mrs. Vincent, "that I can see, exceptto find out if Fixie could have taken it. I will write to Martha atonce and tell her to ask him, and to let us know by return of post. "

The letter was written and sent. No one waited for the answer moreanxiously than Beata. It came by return of post, as Mrs. Vincent hadsaid. But it brought only disappointment. "Master Fixie, " Marthawrote, "knew nothing of Miss Rosy's necklace. " He could not rememberhaving had it to play with at all, and he seemed to get so worriedwhen she kept on asking about it, that Martha thought it better to sayno more, for it was plain he had nothing to tell. 

"It is very strange he cannot remember playing with it thatafternoon, " said Mrs. Vincent. "He generally has such a good memory. You are sure you _did_ give it to him to play with, Bee?"

"We played with it together. I told him stories about each bead, " thelittle girl replied. And her voice trembled as if she were going toburst into tears. 

"Then his illness since must have made him forget it, " said Mrs. Vincent. But that was all she said. She did not call Bee to her andtell her not to feel unhappy about it--that she knew she could trustevery word she said, as she once would have done. But she did givevery strict orders that nothing more was to be said about thenecklace, for though Nelson had not dared to hint anything unkindabout Bee to Mrs. Vincent herself, yet Rosy's mother felt sure thatNelson blamed Bee for the loss, and wished others to do so, and shewas afraid of what might be said in the nursery if the subject wasstill spoken about. 

So nothing unkind was actually said to Beata, but Rosy's cold mannerand careless looks were hard to bear. 

And the days were drawing near for the long looked forward to fete atSummerlands. 

CHAPTER XI. 

A PARCEL AND A FRIGHT. 

 "She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door, She gazed in her terror around. "--SOUTHEY. 

But Beata could not look forward to it now. The pleasure seemed tohave gone out of everything. 

"Nobody loves me now, and nobody trusts me, " she said sadly toherself. "And I don't know why it is. I can't think of anything I havedone to change them all. "

Her letter to her mother was already written and sent before theanswer came from Martha. Bee had hurried it a little at the endbecause she wanted to have an excuse to herself for not telling hermother how unhappy she was about the loss of the necklace. 

"If an answer comes from Martha that Fixie had taken it away or put itsomewhere, it will be all right again and I shall be quite happy, andthen it would have been a pity to write unhappily to poor mother, sofar away, " she said to herself. And when Martha's letter came and allwas not right again, she felt glad that she could not write foranother fortnight, and that perhaps by that time she would know betterwhat to say, or that "somehow" things would have grown happier again. For she had promised, "faithfully" promised her mother to tell hertruly all that happened, and that if by any chance she was unhappyabout anything that she could not speak easily about to Mrs. Vincent, --though Bee's mother had little thought such a thinglikely, --she would still write all about it to her own mother. 

But a week had already passed since that letter was sent. It wasgrowing time to begin to think about another. And no "somehow" hadcome to put things right again. Bee sat at the schoolroom window oneday after Miss Pink had left, looking out on to the garden, where theborders were bright with the early summer flowers, and everythingseemed sunny and happy. 

"I wish I was happy too, " thought Bee. And she gently strokedManchon's soft coat, and wondered why the birds outside and the catinside seemed to have all they wanted, when a little girl like herfelt so sad and lonely. Manchon had grown fond of Bee. She was gentleand quiet, and that was what he liked, for he was no longer so youngas he had been. And Rosy's pullings and pushings, when she was not ina good humour and fancied he was in her way, tried his nerves verymuch. 

"Manchon, " said Bee softly, "you look very wise. Why can't you tell mewhere Rosy's necklace is?"

Manchon blinked his eyes and purred. But, alas, that was all he coulddo. 

Just then the door opened and Rosy came in. She was dressed for goingout. She had her best hat and dress on, and she looked very wellpleased with herself. 

"I'm going out a drive with auntie, " she said. "And mamma says you'reto be ready to go a walk with her in half an hour. "

She was leaving the room, when a sudden feeling made Bee call herback. 

"Rosy, " she said, "do stay a minute. Rosy, I am so unhappy. I've beenthinking if I can't write a letter to ask mother to take me away fromhere. I would, only it would make her so unhappy. "

Rosy looked a little startled. 

"Why would you do that?" she said. "I'm sure I've not done anything toyou. "

"But you don't love me any more, " said Bee. "You began to leave offloving me when your aunt and Nelson came, --I know you did, --and thensince the necklace was lost it's been worse. What can I do, Rosy, whatcan I say?"

"You might own that you've lost it--at least that you forgot to put itback, " said Rosy. 

"But I _did_ put it back. Even Nelson says that, " said Bee. "Ican't say I didn't when I know I did, " she added piteously. 

"But Nelson thinks you took it another time, and forgot to put itback. And I think so too, " said Rosy. To do her justice, she never, like Nelson, thought that Bee had taken the necklace on purpose. Shedid not even understand that Nelson thought so. 

"Rosy, " said Bee very earnestly, "I did _not_ take it anothertime. I have never seen it since that afternoon when Fixie had had itand I put it back. Rosy, _don't_ you believe me?"

Rosy gave herself an impatient shake. 

"I don't know, " she said. "You might have forgotten. Anyway it was youthat had it last, and I wish I'd never given you leave to have it; I'msure it wouldn't have been lost. "

Bee turned away and burst into tears. 

"I _will_ write to mamma and ask her to take me away, " she said. 

Again Rosy looked startled. 

"If you do that, " she said, "it will be very unkind to _my_mamma. Yours will think we have all been unkind to you, and thenshe'll write letters to my mamma that will vex her very much. And I'msure _mamma's_ never been unkind to you. I don't mind if you say_I'm_ unkind; perhaps I am, because I'm very vexed about mynecklace. I shall get naughty now it's lost--I know I shall, " and sosaying, Rosy ran off. 

Bee left off crying. It was true what Rosy had said. It _would_make Mrs. Vincent unhappy and cause great trouble if she asked hermother to take her away. A new and braver spirit woke in the littlegirl. 

"I won't be unhappy any more, " she resolved. "I know I didn't touchthe necklace, and so I needn't be unhappy. And then I needn't writeanything to trouble mother, for if I get happy again it will be allright. "

Her eyes were still rather red, but her face was brighter than it hadbeen for some time when she came into the drawing-room, ready dressedfor her walk. 

"Is that you, Bee dear?" said Mrs. Vincent kindly. She too was readydressed, but she was just finishing the address on a letter. "Why, youare looking quite bright again, my child!" she went on when she lookedup at the little figure waiting patiently beside her. 

"I'm very glad to go out with you, " said Bee simply. 

"And I'm very glad to have you, " said Mrs. Vincent. 

"Aunt Lillias, " said Bee, her voice trembling a little, "may I ask youone thing? _You_ don't think I touched Rosy's necklace?"

Mrs. Vincent smiled. 

"_Certainly_ not, dear, " she said. "I did at first think youmight have forgotten to put it back that day. But after your tellingme so distinctly that you _had_ put it back, I felt quitesatisfied that you had done so. "

"But, " said Bee, and then she hesitated. 

"But what?" said Mrs. Vincent, smiling. 

"I don't think--I _didn't_ think, " Bee went on, gaining courage, "that you had been quite the same to me since then. "

"And you have been fancying all kinds of reasons for it, I suppose!"said Mrs. Vincent. "Well, Bee, the only thing I have been not quitepleased with you for _has_ been your looking so unhappy. I wassurprised at your seeming so hurt and vexed at my asking you about thenecklace, and since then you have looked so miserable that I had begunseriously to think it might be better for you not to stay with us. IfRosy or any one else has disobeyed me, and gone on talking about thenecklace, it is very wrong, but even then I wonder at your allowingfoolish words to make you so unhappy. _Has_ any one spoken so asto hurt you?"

"No, " said Bee, "not exactly, but--"

"But you have seen that there were unkind thoughts about you. Well, Iam very sorry for it, but at present I can do no more. You are oldenough and sensible enough to see that several things have not been asI like or wish lately. But it is often so in this world. I was verysorry for Martha to have to go away, but it could not be helped, Now, Bee, think it over. Would you rather go away, for a time any way, orwill you bravely determine not to mind what you know you don'tdeserve, knowing that _I_ trust you fully?"

"Yes, " said Bee at once, "I will not mind it any more. And Rosyperhaps, " here her voice faltered, "Rosy perhaps will like me betterif I don't seem so dull. "

Mrs. Vincent looked grave when Bee spoke of Rosy, so grave that Beealmost wished she had not said it. 

"It is very hard, " she heard Rosy's mother say, as if speaking toherself, "just when I thought I had gained a better influence overher. _Very_ hard. "

Bee threw her arms round Mrs. Vincent's neck. 

"Dear auntie, " she said, "_don't_ be unhappy about Rosy. I willbe patient, and I know it will come right again, and I won't beunhappy any more. "

Mrs. Vincent kissed her. 

"Yes, dear Bee, " she said, "we must both be patient and hopeful. "

And then they went out, and during the walk Beata noticed that Mrs. Vincent talked about other things--old times in India that Bee couldremember, and plans for the future when her father and mother shouldcome home again to stay. Only just as they were entering the house ontheir return, Bee could not help saying, "Aunt Lillias, I _wonder_ if the necklace will never be found. "

"So do I, " said Mrs. Vincent. "I really cannot understand where it canhave gone. We have searched so thoroughly that even if Fixie_had_ put it somewhere we would have found it. And, if possibly, he had taken it away with him by mistake, Martha would have seen it. "

But that was all that was said. 

A day or two later Rosy came flying into the schoolroom in greatexcitement. Miss Pinkerton was there at the time, for it was themiddle of morning lessons, and she had sent Rosy upstairs to fetch abook she had left in the nursery by mistake. "Miss Pink, Bee!" shecontinued, "our dresses have come from London. I'm sure it must bethem. Just as I passed the backstair door I heard James calling tosomebody about a case that was to be taken upstairs, and I peeped overthe banisters, and there was a large white wood box, and I saw thecarter's man standing waiting to be paid. Do let me go and ask aboutthem, Miss Pink. "

"No, Rosy, not just now, " said Miss Pink. She spoke more firmly thanshe used to do now, for I think she had learnt a lesson, and Rosy wasbeginning to understand that when Miss Pink said a thing she meant itto be done. Rosy muttered something in a grumbling tone, and sat downto her lessons. 

"You are always so ill-natured, " she half whispered to Bee. "If youhad asked too she would have let us go, but you always want to seembetter than any one else. "

"No, I don't, " said Bee, smiling. "I want dreadfully to see thedresses. We'll ask your mother to let us see them together thisafternoon. "

Rosy looked at her with surprise. Lately Beata had never answered hercross speeches like this, but had looked either ready to cry, or hadtold her she was very unkind or very naughty, which had not mendedmatters!

Rosy was right. The white wood box did contain the dresses, and thoughMrs. Vincent was busy that day, as she and Aunt Edith were going along drive to spend the afternoon and evening with friends at somedistance, she understood the little girls' eagerness to see them, andhad the box undone and the costumes fully exhibited to please them. They were certainly very pretty, for though the material they weremade of was only cotton, they had been copied exactly from an oldpicture Lady Esther had sent on purpose. The only difference betweenthem was that one of the quilted under skirts was sky blue to suitRosy's bright complexion and fair hair, and the other was a verypretty shade of rose colour, which, went better with Bee's dark hairand paler face. 

The children stood entranced, admiring them. 

"Now, dears, I must put them away, " said Mrs. Vincent. "It is reallytime for me to get ready. "

"O mamma!" exclaimed Rosy, "do leave them out for us to try on. I cantell Nelson to take them to my room. "

"No, Rosy, " said her mother decidedly. "You must wait to try them ontill to-morrow. I want to see them on myself. Besides, they are verydelicate in colour, and would be easily soiled. You must be satisfiedwith what you have seen of them for to-day. Now run and get ready. Itis already half-past three. "

For it had been arranged that Rosy and Bee, with Nelson to take careof them, were to drive part of the way with Mrs. Vincent and hersister-in-law, and to walk back, as it was a very pretty country road. 

Rosy went off to get ready, shaking herself in the way she often didwhen she was vexed; and while she was dressing she recounted hergrievances to Nelson. 

"Never mind, Miss Rosy, " said that foolish person, "we'll perhaps havea quiet look at your dress this evening when we're all alone. There'sno need to say anything about it to Miss Bee. "

"But mamma said we were not to try them on till to-morrow, " said Rosy. 

"No, not to try them on by yourselves, very likely you would get themsoiled. But we'll see. "

It was pretty late when the children came home. They had gone ratherfarther than Mrs. Vincent had intended, and coming home they had madethe way longer by passing through a wood which had tempted them at theside of the road. They were a little tired and very hungry, and tillthey had had their tea Rosy was too hungry to think of anything else. But tea over, Bee sat down to amuse herself with a book till bed-time, and Rosy wandered about, not inclined to read, or, indeed, to doanything. Suddenly the thought of the fancy dresses returned to hermind. She ran out of the nursery, and made her way to her aunt's room, where Nelson was generally to be found. She was not there, however. Rosy ran down the passages at that part of the house where theservants' rooms were, to look for her, though she knew that her motherdid not like her to do so. 

"Nelson, Nelson, " she cried. 

Nelson's head was poked out of her room. 

"What is it, Miss Rosy? It's not your bed-time yet. "

"No, but I want to look at my dress again. You promised I should. "

"Well, just wait five minutes. I'm just finishing a letter that one ofthe men's going to post for me. I'll come to your room, Miss Rosy, andbring a light. It's getting too dark to see. "

"Be quick then, " said Rosy, imperiously. 

She went back to her room, but soon got tired of waiting there. Shedid not want to go to the nursery, for Bee was there, and would beginasking her what she was doing. 

"I'll go to mamma's room, " she said to herself, "and just look aboutto see where she has put the frocks. I'm _almost_ sure she'llhave hung them up in her little wardrobe, where she keeps new thingsoften. "

No sooner said than done. Off ran Rosy to her mother's room. It wasgetting dusk, dark almost, any way too dark to see clearly. Rosyfumbled about on the mantelpiece till she found the match-box, andthough she was generally too frightened of burning her fingers tostrike a light herself, this time she managed to do so. There werecandles on the dressing-table, and when she had lighted them sheproceeded to search. It was not difficult to find what she wanted. Thecostumes were hanging up in the little wardrobe, as she expected, buttoo high for her to reach easily. Rosy went to the door, and a littleway down the passage, and called Nelson. But no one answered, and itwas a good way off to Nelson's room. 

"Nasty, selfish thing, " said Rosy; "she's just going on writing totease me. "

But she was too impatient, to go back to her own room and wait there. With the help of a chair she got down the frocks. Bee's came first, ofcourse, because it wasn't wanted--Rosy flung it across the back of achair, and proceeded to examine her own more closely than she had beenable to do before. It _was_ pretty! And so complete--there waseven the little white mob-cap with blue ribbons, and a pair of blueshoes with high, though not very high, heels! These last she foundlying on the shelf, above the hanging part of the wardrobe. 

"It is _too_ pretty, " said Rosy. "I _must_ try it on. "

And, quick as thought, she set to work--and nobody could be quicker orcleverer than Rosy when she chose--taking off the dress she had on, and rapidly attiring herself in the lovely costume. It all seemed tofit beautifully, --true, the pale blue shoes looked rather odd besidethe sailor-blue stockings she was wearing, and she wondered what kindof stockings her mother intended her to wear at Summerlands--and shecould not get the little lace kerchief arranged quite to her taste;but the cap went on charmingly, and so did the long mittens, whichwere beside the shoes. 

"There must be stockings too, " thought Rosy, "for there seems to beeverything else; perhaps they are farther back in the shelf. "

[Illustration: BY STRETCHING A GOOD DEAL SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD REACHTHEM. ]

She climbed up on the chair again, but she could not see farther intothe shelf, so she got down and fetched one of the candles. Then upagain--yes--there were two little balls, a pink and a blue, fartherback-by stretching a good deal she thought she could reach them. Onlythe candle was in the way, as she was holding it in one hand. Shestooped and set it down on the edge of the chair, and reached upagain, and had just managed to touch the little balls she could nolonger see, when--what was the matter? What was that rush of hot airup her left leg and side? She looked down, and, in her fright, fell--chair, Rosy, and candle, in a heap on the floor--for she hadseen that her skirts were on fire! and, as she fell, she uttered along piercing scream. 

CHAPTER XII. 

GOOD OUT OF EVIL. 

 "Sweet are the uses of adversity. "--SHAKESPEARE. 

A scream that would probably have reached the nursery, which was notvery far from Mrs. Vincent's room, had there been any one there tohear it! But as it was, the person who had been there--little Bee--wasmuch nearer than the nursery at the time of Rosy's accident. The housewas very silent that evening, and Nelson had not thought of bringing alight; so when it got too dark to read, even with the book pressedclose against the window-panes, Bee grew rather tired of waiting thereby herself, with nothing to do. 

"I wonder where Rosy is, " she thought, opening the door, and lookingout along the dusky passages. 

And just then she heard Rosy's voice, at some little distance, calling, "Nelson, Nelson. "

"If she is with Nelson I won't go, " thought Bee. "I'll wait till shecomes back;" and she came into the empty nursery again, and wishedMartha was home. 

"She always makes the nursery so comfortable, " thought Bee. Then itstruck her that perhaps it was not very kind of her not to go and seewhat Rosy wanted--she had not heard any reply to Rosy's call forNelson. 

"Her voice sounded as if she was in Aunt Lillias's room, " she said toherself. "What can she be wanting? perhaps I'd better go and see. "

And she set off down the passage. The lamps were not yet lighted;perhaps the servants were less careful than usual, knowing that theladies would not be home till late, but Bee knew her way about thehouse quite well. She was close to the door of Mrs. Vincent's room, and had already noticed that it stood slightly ajar, for a light wasstreaming out, when--she stood for a second half-stupefied withterror--what was it?--what could be the matter?--as Rosy's fearfulscream reached her ears. Half a second, and she had rushed into theroom--there lay a confused heap on the floor, for Rosy, in her fall, had pulled over the chair; but the first glance showed Bee what waswrong--Rosy was on fire!

It was a good thing she had fallen, otherwise, in her wild fright, shewould probably have made things worse by rushing about; as it was, shehad not had time to get up before Bee was beside her, smothering herdown with some great heavy thing, and calling to her to keep still, to"squeeze herself down, " so as to put out the flames. The "great thing"was the blankets and counterpane of the bed, which somehow Bee, smallas she was, had managed to tear off. And, frightened as Rosy was, thedanger was not, after all, so very great, for the quilted under skirtwas pretty thick, and her fall had already partly crushed down thefire. It was all over more quickly than it has taken me to tell it, and Rosy at last, half choked with the heavy blankets, and half soakedwith the water which Bee had poured over her to make sure, struggledto her feet, safe and uninjured, only the pretty dress hopelesslyspoilt!

And when all the danger was past, and there was nothing more to do, Nelson appeared at the door, and rushed at her darling Miss Rosy, screaming and crying, while Beata stood by, her handkerchief wrappedround one of her hands, and nobody paying any attention to her. Nelson's screams soon brought the other servants; among them, they gotthe room cleared of the traces of the accident, and Rosy undressed andput to bed. She was crying from the fright, but she had got no injuryat all; her tears, however, flowed on when she thought of what hermother would have to be told, and Bee found it difficult to comforther. 

"You saved me, Bee, dear Bee, " she said, clinging to her. "And it wasbecause I disobeyed mamma, and I might have been burnt to death. OBee, just think of it!" and she would not let Beata leave her. 

It was like this that Mrs. Vincent found them on her return late inthe evening. You can fancy how miserable it was for her to be met withsuch a story, and to know that it was all Rosy's own fault. But it wasnot all miserable, for never had she known her little girl socompletely sorry and ashamed, and so truly grateful to any one as shewas now feeling to Beata. 

And even Aunt Edith's prejudice seemed to have melted away, for shekissed Bee as she said goodnight, and called her a brave, good child. 

So it was with a thankful little heart that Beata went to bed. Herhand was sore--it had got badly scorched in pressing down theblankets--but she did not think it bad enough to say anything about itexcept to the cook, who was a kind old woman, and wrapped it up incotton wool, after well dredging it with flour, and making her promisethat if it hurt her in the night she would call her. 

It did not hurt her, and she slept soundly; but when she woke in themorning her head ached, and she wished she could stay in bed! Rosy wasstill sleeping--the housemaid, who came to draw the curtains, toldher--and she was not to be wakened. 

"After the fright she had, it is better to sleep it off, " the servantsaid, "though, for some things, it's to be hoped she won't forget it. It should be a lesson to her. But you don't look well, Miss Bee, " shewent on; "is your head aching, my dear?"

"Yes, " Bee allowed, "and I can't think why, for I slept very well. What day is it, Phoebe? Isn't it Sunday?"

"Yes, Miss Bee. It's Sunday. "

"I don't think I can go to church. The organ would make my headworse, " said Bee, sitting up in bed. 

"Shall I tell any one that you're not well, Miss Bee?" asked Phoebe. 

"Oh no, thank you, " said Bee, "I daresay it will get better when I'mup. "

It did seem a little better, but she was looking pale when Mrs. Vincent came to the nursery to see her and Rosy, who had wakened up, none the worse for her fright, but anxious to do all she could forpoor Bee when she found out about her sore hand and headache, "Why did you not tell me about your hand last night, dear Bee?" Mrs. Vincent asked. 

"It didn't hurt much. It doesn't hurt much now, " said Bee, "and Fraserlooked at it and saw that it was not very bad, and--and--you had hadso many things to trouble you, Aunt Lillias, " she added, affectionately. 

"Yes, dear; but, when I think how much worse they might have been, Idare not complain, " Rosy's mother replied. 

Bee did not go to church that day. Her headache was not very bad, butit did not seem to get well, and it was still rather bad when she wokethe next morning. 

And that next morning brought back to all their minds what, for themoment, had been almost forgotten--that it was within three days ofthe fete at Summerlands!--for there came a note from Lady Esther, giving some particulars about the hour she hoped they would all come, and rejoicing in the promise of fine weather for the children's treat. 

Rosy's mother read the note aloud. Then she looked at Aunt Edith, andlooked at the little girls. They were all together when the lettercame. 

"What is to be done?" said Miss Vincent; "I had really forgotten thefête was to be on Wednesday. Is it impossible to have a new dress madein time?"

"Quite impossible, " said Mrs. Vincent, "Rosy must cheerfully, or atleast patiently, bear what she has brought on herself, and be, as I amsure she is, very thankful that it was no worse. "

Rosy glanced up quickly. She seemed as if she were going to saysomething, and the look in her face was quite gentle. 

"I--I--I _will_ try to be good, mamma, " she broke out at last. "And I know I might have been burnt to death if it hadn't been forBee. And--and--I hope Bee will enjoy the fête. "

But that was all she could manage. She hurried over the last words;then, bursting into tears, she rushed out of the room. 

"Poor darling!" said Aunt Edith. "Lillias, are you sure we can donothing? Couldn't one of her white dresses be done up somehow?"

"No, " said Mrs. Vincent. "It would only draw attention to her if shewas to go dressed differently from the others, and I should not wishthat. Besides--oh no--it is much better not. "

She had hardly said the words when she felt something gently pullingher, and, looking down, there was Bee beside her, trying to whispersomething. 

"Auntie, " she said, "would you, oh! _would_ you let Rosy goinstead of me, wearing my dress? It would fit her almost as well asher own. And, do you know, I _wouldn't_ care to go alone. Itwouldn't be _any_ happiness to me, and it would be such happinessto know that Rosy could go. And I'm afraid I've got a little cold orsomething, for I've still got a headache, and I'm not sure that itwill be better by Wednesday. "

She looked up entreatingly in Mrs. Vincent's face, and then Rosy'smother noticed how pale and ill she seemed. 

"My dear little Bee, " she said, "you must try to be better byWednesday. And, you know, dear, though we are all very sorry for Rosy, it is only what she has brought on herself. I hope she has learnt alesson--more than one lesson--but, if she were to have the pleasure ofgoing to Summerlands, she might not remember it so well. "

Beata said no more--she could not oppose Rosy's mother--but she shookher head a little sadly. 

"I don't think Rosy's like that, Aunt Lillias, " she said; "I don'tthink it would make her forget. "

Beata's headache was not better the next day; and, as the day went on, it grew so much worse that Mrs. Vincent at last sent for the doctor. He said that she was ill, much in the same way that Fixie had been. Not that it was anything she could have caught from him--it was notthat kind of illness at all--but it was the first spring either ofthem had been in England, and he thought that very likely the changeof climate had caused it with them both. He was not, he said, anxiousabout Bee, but still he looked a little grave. She was not strong, andshe should not be overworked with lessons, or have anything to troubleor distress her. 

"She has not been overworked, " Mrs. Vincent said. 

"And she seems very sweet-tempered and gentle. A happy disposition, Ishould think, " said the doctor, as he hastened away. 

His words made Mrs. Vincent feel rather sad. It was true--Bee had ahappy disposition--she had never, till lately, seen her anything butbright and cheery. 

"My poor little Bee, " she thought, "I was hard upon her. I did notquite understand her. In my anxiety about Rosy when her aunt andNelson came I fear I forgot Bee. But I do trust all that is over, andthat Rosy has truly learnt a lesson. And we must all join to makelittle Bee happy again. "

She returned to Bee's room. The child was sitting up in bed, her eyessparkling in her white face--she was very eager about something. 

"Auntie, " she said, "you see I cannot possibly go to-morrow. And youmust go, for poor Lady Esther is counting on you to help her. Auntie, you _will_ forgive poor Rosy now _quite_, won't you, and lether go in my dress?"

The pleading eyes, the white face, the little hot hands laid coaxinglyon hers--it would not have been easy to refuse! Besides, the doctorhad said she was neither to be excited nor distressed. 

The tears were in Mrs. Vincent's eyes as she bent down to kiss thelittle girl, but she did not let her see them. 

"I will speak to Rosy, dear, " she said. "I will tell her how much youwant her to go in your place; and I think perhaps you are right--Idon't think it will make her forget. "

"_Thank_ you, dear auntie, " said Bee, as fervently as if Mrs. Vincent had promised her the most delightful treat in the world. 

That afternoon Bee fell asleep, and slept quietly and peacefully forsome time. When she woke she felt better, and she lay still, thinkingit was nice and comfortable to be in bed when one felt tired, as shehad always done lately; then her eyes wandered round her little room, and she thought how neat and pretty it looked, how pleased her motherwould be to see how nice she had everything; and, just as she wasthinking this, her glance fell on a little table beside her bed, whichhad been placed there with a little lemonade and a few grapes. Therewas something there that had not been on the table before she went tosleep. In a delicate little glass, thin and clear as a soap-bubble, was the most lovely rose Bee had ever seen--rich, soft, _rose_colour, glowing almost crimson in the centre, and melting into asomewhat paler shade at the edge. 

[Illustration: 'IT'S A ROSE FROM ROSY. ']

"Oh you beauty!" exclaimed Bee, "I wonder who put you there. I wouldlike to scent you"--Bee, like other children I know, always talked of"scenting" flowers; she said "smell" was not a pretty enough word forsuch pretty things--"but I am afraid of knocking over that lovelyglass. It must be one of Aunt Lillias's that she has lent. "

A little soft laugh came from the side of her bed, and, leaning over, Bee caught sight of a tangle of bright hair. It was Rosy. She had beenwatching there for Bee to wake. Up she jumped, and, carefully liftingthe glass, held it close to Bee. 

"It isn't mother's glass, " she said; "it's your own. It _was/_mother's, but I've bought it for you. Mother let me, because I_did_ so want to do something to please you; and she let mechoose the beautifullest rose for you, Bee. I am so glad you like it;It's a rose from Rosy. I've been sitting by you such a time. Andthough I'm so pleased you like the rose, I _have_ been crying alittle, Bee, truly, because you are so good, and about my goingto-morrow. "

"You _are_ going?" said Bee, anxiously. In Rosy's changed way ofthinking she became suddenly afraid that she might not wish to go. 

"Yes, " said Rosy, rather gravely, "I am going. Mother is quite pleasedfor me to go, to please you. In one way I would rather not go, for Iknow I don't deserve it; and I can't help thinking you wouldn't havebeen ill if I hadn't done that, and made you have a fright. And itseems such a shame for me to wear _your_ dress, when you've beenquite good and _deserve_ the pleasure, and just when I've got tosee how kind you are, and we'd have been so happy to go together. Andthen I've a feeling, Bee, that I _shall_ enjoy it when I getthere, and perhaps I shall forget a little about you, and it will beso horrid of me, if I do--and that makes me, wish I wasn't going. "

"But I want you to enjoy it, " said Bee, simply, in her little weakvoice. "It wouldn't be nice of me to want you to go if I thought youwouldn't enjoy it. And it's nice of you to tell me how you feel. But Iwould like you to think of me _this_ way--every time you arehaving a very nice dance, or that any one says you look so nice, justthink, "I wish Bee could see me, " or "How nice it will be to tell Beeabout it, " and, that way, the more you enjoy it the more you'll thinkof me. "

"Yes, " said Rosy, "that's putting it a very nice way; or, Bee, ifthere are very nice things to eat, I might think of you another way. Imight, perhaps, bring you back some nice biscuits or bonbons--any kindthat wouldn't squash in my pocket, you know. I might ask mamma to askLady Esther. "

"Yes, " said Bee, "I'm not very hungry, but just a few very nice, rather dry ones, you know, I would like. " "I could keep them for Fixiewhen he comes back, " was the thought in her mind. 

She had not heard anything about when Fixie and Martha were comingback, but she was to have a pleasant surprise the next day. It was alittle lonely; for, though Rosy meant to be very, very kind, she wasrather too much of a chatterbox not to tire Bee after a while. 

"Mamma said I wasn't to stay very long, " she said; "but don't you mindbeing alone so much?"

"No, I don't think so, " said Bee, "and, you know, Phoebe is in thenext room if I want her. "

"I know what you'd like, " said Rosy, and off she flew. In two minutesshe was back again with something in her arms. It was Manchon! Shelaid him gently down at the foot of Bee's bed. "He's so 'squisitelyclean, you know, " she went on, "and I know you're fond of him. "

"_Very_" said Bee, with great satisfaction. 

"I like him better than I did, " said Rosy, "but still I think he's asort of a fairy. Why, it shows he is, for now that I'm so good--I meannow that I'm going to be good always--he seems to like me ever so muchbetter. He used to snarl if ever I touched him, and to-day when I said'I'm going to take you to Bee, Manchon, ' he let me take him as goodas good. "

But that evening brought still better company for Bee. 

She went to sleep early, and she slept well, and when she woke in themorning who do you think was standing beside her? Dear little Fixie, his white face ever so much rounder and rosier, and kind Martha, bothsmiling with pleasure at seeing her again, though feeling sorry, too, that she was ill. 

"Zou'll soon be better, Bee, and Fixie will be so good to you, andthen p'raps we'll go again to that nice place where we've been, foryou to get kite well. "

So Bee, after all, did not feel at all dull or lonely when Rosy camein to say good-bye, in Bee's pretty dress. And Mrs. Vincent, and evenMiss Vincent, kissed her so kindly! Even Nelson, I forgot to say, hadput her head in at the door to ask how she was; and when Bee answeredher nicely, as she always did, she came in for a moment to tell herhow sorry she was Bee could not go to the fete. "For I must say, MissBee, " she added, "I must say as I think you've acted very pretty, verypretty, indeed, about lending your dress to dear Miss Rosy, bless her. "

"And, if there's anything I can do for you--" Here Bee's breakfastcoming in interrupted her, which Bee, on the whole, was not sorry for. 

She did not see Rosy that evening, for it was late when they camehome, and she was already asleep. But the next morning Bee woke muchbetter, and quite able to listen to Rosy's account of it all. She hadenjoyed it very much--of course not _as_ much as if Bee had beenthere too, she said; but Lady Esther had thought it so sweet of Bee tobeg for Rosy to go, and she had sent her the loveliest little basketof bonbons, tied up with pink ribbons, that ever was seen, and stillbetter, she had told Rosy that she had serious thoughts of having alarge Christmas-tree party next winter, at which all the childrenshould be dressed out of the fairy tales. 

"Wouldn't it be lovely?" said Rosy. "We were thinking perhaps youwould be Red Riding Hood, and I the white cat. But we can look overall the fairy tales and think about it when you're better, can't we, Bee?"

Beata got better much more quickly than Fixie had done. The first dayshe was well enough to be up she begged leave to write two littleletters, one to her mother and one to Colin, who had been very kind;for while she was ill he had written twice to her, which for aschoolboy was a great deal, I think. His letters were meant to be veryamusing; but, as they were full of cricket and football, Bee did notfind them very easy to understand. She was sitting at thenursery-table, thinking what she could say to show Colin she liked tohear about his games, even though the names puzzled her a little, whenFixie came and stood by her, looking rather melancholy. 

"What's the matter?" she said. 

"Zou's writing such a long time, " said Fixie, "and Rosy's still at herlessons. I zought when zou was better zou'd play wif me. "

"I can't play much, " said Bee, "for I've still got a funny buzzyfeeling in my head, and I'm rather tired. "

"Yes, I know, " said Fixie, with great sympathy, "mine head was likefousands of trains when I was ill. We won't play, Bee, we'll onlytalk. "

"Well, I'll just finish my letter, " said Bee. "I'll just tell Colin hemust tell me all about innings and outings, and all that, when hecomes home. Yes--that'll do. "Your affectionate--t-i-o-n-a-t-e--Bee. "Now I'll talk to you, Fixie. What a pity we haven't got Rosy's beadsto tell stories about!"

A queer look came into Fixie's face. 

"Rosy's beads, " he said. 

"Yes, Rosy's necklace that was lost. And you didn't know where it wasgone when Martha asked you--when your mother wrote a letter about it. "

As she spoke, she drew their two little chairs to what had always beentheir favourite corner, near a window, which was low enough for themto look out into the pretty garden. 

"Don't sit there, " said Fixie, "I don't like there. "

"Why not? Don't you remember we were sitting here the last afternoonwe were in the nursery--before you went away. You liked it then, whenI told you stories about the beads, before they were lost. "

"Before _zem_ was lost, " said Fixie, his face again taking thetroubled, puzzled look; "I didn't know it was _zem_--I mean itwas somefin else of Rosy's that was lost--lace for her neck, that I'd_never_ seen. "

Bee's heart began to beat faster with a strange hope. She had seenFixie's face looking troubled, and she remembered Martha saying howher questioning about the necklace had upset him, and it seemed almostcruel to go on talking about it. But a feeling had come over her thatthere was something to find out, and now it grew stronger andstronger. 

"Lace for Rosy's neck, " she repeated, "no, Fixie, you must bemistaken. Lace for her neck--" and then a sudden idea struck her, --"canyou mean a _necklace?_ Don't you know that a necklace meansbeads?"

Fixie stared at her for a moment, growing very red. Then the rednessfinished up, like a thundercloud breaking into rain, by his burstinginto tears, and hiding his face in Bee's lap. 

"I didn't know, I didn't know, " he cried, "I thought it was some lacethat Martha meant. I didn't mean to tell a' untrue, Bee. I didn't likeMartha asking me, 'cos it made me think of the beads I'd lost, and Ithought p'raps I'd get them up again when I came home, but I can't. I've poked and poked, and I think the mouses have eatened zem. "

By degrees Bee found out what the poor little fellow meant. Themorning after the afternoon when Bee and he had had the necklace, andBee had put it safely back, he had, unknown to any one, fetched itagain for himself, and sat playing with it by the nursery-window, inthe corner where the hole in the floor was. Out of idleness, he hadamused himself by holding the string of beads at one end, and droppingthem down the mysterious hole, "like fishing, " he said, till, unluckily, he had dropped them in altogether; and there, no doubt, they were still lying! He was frightened at what he had done, but hemeant to tell Bee, and ask her advice. But that very afternoon thedoctor came, and he was separated from the other children; and, whilehe was ill, he seemed to have forgotten about it. When Marthaquestioned him at the seaside, he had no idea she was speaking of thebeads; but he did not like her questions, because they made himremember what he _had_ lost. And then he thought he would try toget the beads out of the hole by poking with a stick when he camehome; but he had found he could not manage it, and then he had taken adislike to that part of the room. 

All this was told with many sobs and tears, but Bee soothed him aswell as she could; and when his mother soon after came to the nurseryand heard the story, she was very kind indeed, and made him see howeven little wrong-doings, like taking the beads to play with withoutleave, always bring unhappiness; and still more, how wise and right itis for children to tell at once when they have done wrong, instead oftrying to put the wrong right themselves. That was all she said, except that, as she kissed her poor little boy, she told him to tellno one else about it, except Martha, and that she would see what couldbe done. 

Bee and Fixie said no more about it; but on that account, I daresay, like the famous parrot, "they thought the more. " And once or twicethat afternoon, Fixie _could_ not help whispering to Bee, "_Do_ you fink mamma's going to get the beads hooked out?" or, "Ihope they won't hurt the mouses that lives down in the hole. _Do_you fink the mouses has eaten it, p'raps?"

Beata was sent early to bed, as she was not yet, of course, counted asquite well; and both she and Fixie slept very soundly--whether theydreamt of Rosy's beads or not I cannot tell. 

But the next morning Bee felt so much better that she begged to get upquite early. 

"Not till after you've had your breakfast, Miss Bee, " said Martha. "But Mrs. Vincent says you may get up as soon as you like after that, and then you and Miss Rosy and Master Fixie are all to go to her room. She has something to show you. "

Bee and Fixie looked at each other. They felt sure _they_ knewwhat it was! But Rosy, who had also come to Bee's room to see how shewas, looked very mystified. 

"I wonder what it can be, " she said. "Can it be a parcel come for us?And oh, Martha, by-the-bye, what was that knocking in the nursery lastnight after we were in bed? I heard Robert's voice, I'm sure. What washe doing?"

"He came up to nail down something that was loose, " said Martha, quietly; but that was all she would say. 

They all three marched off to Mrs. Vincent's room as soon as Beata wasup and dressed. She was waiting for them. 

"I am so glad you are so much better this morning, Bee, " she said, asshe kissed them all; "and now" she went on, "look here, I have asurprise for you all. " She lifted a handkerchief which she had laidover something on a little table; and the three children, as theypressed forward, could hardly believe their eyes. For there lay Rosy'snecklace, as bright and pretty as ever, and there beside it layanother, just like it at the first glance, though, when it was closelyexamined, one could see that the patterns on the beads were different;but any way it was just as pretty. 

"Two, " exclaimed Fixie, "_two_ lace-beads, what _is_ thename? Has the mouses made a new one for Bee, dear Bee?"

"Yes, for dear Bee, " said his mother, smiling, "it is for Bee, thoughit didn't come from the mouses;" and then she explained to them how"Mr. Furniture" had sent the second necklace for Bee, but that she hadthought it better to keep it a while in hopes of Rosy's being found, as she knew that Bee's pleasure in the pretty beads would not havebeen half so great if Rosy were without hers. 

How happy they all looked!

"What lotses of fairy stories we can make now!" said Fixie--"one forevery bead-lace, Bee!"

"And, mamma, " said Rosy, "I'll keep on being very good now. I daresayI'll be dreadfully good soon; and Bee will be always good too, now, because you know we've got our talismans. "

Mrs. Vincent smiled, but she looked a little grave. 

"What is it, mamma?" said Rosy. "Should I say talis_men_, nottalismans?"

Her mother smiled more this time. 

"No, it wasn't that. 'Talismans' is quite right. I was only thinkingthat perhaps it was not very wise of me to have put the idea into yourhead, Rosy dear, for I want you to learn and feel that, though anylittle outside help may be a good thing as a reminder, it is only yourown self, your own heart, earnestly wishing to be good, that canreally make you succeed; and you know where the earnest wishing comesfrom, and where you are always sure to get help if you ask it, don'tyou, Rosy?"

Rosy got a little red, and looked rather grave. 

"I _nearly_ always remember to say my prayers, " she answered. 

"Well, let the 'talisman' help you to remember, if ever you areinclined to forget. And it isn't _only_ at getting-up time andgoing-to-bed time that one may _pray_, as I have often told you, dear children. I really think, Rosy, " she went on more lightly, "thatit would be nice for you and Bee to wear your necklaces always. Ishall like to see them, and I believe it would be almost impossible tospoil or break them. "

"Only for my fairy stories, " said Fixie, "I should have to walk allround Bee and Rosy to see the beads. You will let them take them off, _sometimes_, won't you, mamma?"

"Yes, my little man, provided you promise not to send them visits downthe 'mouses' holes, '" said his mother, laughing. 

This is all I can tell you for the present about Rosy and her brothersand little Bee. There is more to tell, as you can easily fancy, for, of course, Rosy did not grow "quite good" all of a sudden, thoughthere certainly was a great difference to be seen in her from the timeof her narrow escape--nor was Beata, in spite of _her_ talisman, without faults and failings. Nor was either of them without sorrowsand disappointments and difficulties in their lives, bright and happythough they were. If you have been pleased with what I have told you, you must let me know, and I shall try to tell you some more. 

And again, dear children, --little friends, whom I love so much, thoughI may never have seen your faces, and though you only know me assomebody who is _very_ happy, when her little stories pleaseyou--again, my darlings, I wish you the merriest of merry Christmasesfor 1882, and every blessing in the new year that will soon be coming!

THE END.