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* BEATA, DEAR, THIS IS MY ROSY," SHE SAID.— Page 34.
ROSY.
BY MRS. MOLESWORTH,
Author of "Sweet Content," "The Cuckoo Clock," "Carrots," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE.
" Smallest helps, if rightly given,
Make good impulse stronger."
NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
r
M
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
Rosy, Colin, and Felix 1
CHAPTER II.
Beata 18
CHAPTER III.
Tears 35
CHAPTER IV.
tips and Downs 54
CHAPTER V.
Rosy Thinks Things Over 72
CHAPTER VI.
A Strike in the Schoolroom 89
CHAPTER VII.
Mr. Furniture's Present . 108
CHAPTER VIII.
Hard to Bear 127
\
si
iv CONTENTS,
CHAPTER IX, PAGB
The Hole in the Floor 4 ...,.., 148
CHAPTER X.
Stings for Bee 107
CHAPTER XI.
A Parcel and a Fright 188
CHAPTER XII.
Good Out of Evil ,206
ROSY.
CHAPTER I
KOSY, COLIN, AND FELIX.
" The highest not more
Than the height of a counselor's bag."
-WOKDSWOKTH.
ROSY stood afc the window. She drummed
on the panes with her little fat fingers in a
fidgety, cross way; she pouted out her nice
little mouth till it looked quite unlike itself;
she frowned down with her eyebrows over her
two bright eyes, making them seem like two
small windows in a house with very overhang-
ing roofs ; and last of all, she stamped on the
floor with first her ri^ht foot and then with her
o
left. But it was all to no purpose, and this
made Rosv still more vexed.
i/
" Mamma," she said at last, for really it was
2 ROSY.
too bad --wasn't it ? — when she had given her-
self such a lot of trouble to show how vexed
she was, that no one should take any notice.
kt Mamma," she repeated.
But still no one answered, and obliged at last
to turn round, for her patience 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 she was, and mamma chose
just that moment to leave the room. Rosy
looked round- -there was no good going
ROSY. 3
on pouting and frowning and drumming and
stamping to make mamma notice her if mamma
wasn't there, and all that sort of going on
caused Rosy a good deal of trouble. So she
left off. But she wanted to quarrel with some-
body. In fact, she felt that she must quarrel
with somebody. She looked ryund again. The
only " somebody ' to be s^en was mamma's big,
big Persian cat, whose name twas Manchon
(why, Rosy did not know; she thought it a
very stupid name), of whom, to tell the truth,
Rosy was rather afraid. For Manchon could
look very grand and terrible when he reared up
his back and swept about his magnificent tail ;
and though he had never been known to hurt
anybody, and mamma said he was the gentlest
of animals, Rosy felt sure that he could do all
sorts of things to punish his enemies if he chose.
And knowing in her heart that she did not like
o
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.
No, Manchon would not do to quarrel with.
She stood beside liis cushion looking at, him,
but she did not venture to pull his tail or pinch
his ears, as she would rather have liked to do*
And Manchon looked up at her sleepily, blink-
ing his eyes as much as to say, " What a silly
little 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," as
Manchon, disturbed in his afternoon nap,
blinked again and gave a sort of discontented
mew. " I don't care for your faces, and I don't
care what 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 was no one
o
near to see or to hear except Manchon, Rosy
stamped her little feet hard, and repeated in a
louder voice, "No, I won't, I won't likelier."
I5nt some one had heard her, after all. A
little figure, smaller than Rosy even, was stand-
ing in the doorway, looking at her with a
troubled face, but not seeming very surprised.
ROSY AND MANCHON.— Page 4.
ROSY. 5
" Losy," it said, " tea's seady. Fix is corned
for you."
" Then Fix may go away again. Rosy
doesn't want any tea. Rosy's too bovvered 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 he came further into the room.
" Losy," he said again, still more gently than
before, " do come to tea. Fix doesn't like hav-
ing his tea when Losy isn't there, and Fix is
tired to-day."
Rosy looked at him a moment. Then a
sudden change came over her. She stooped
down and threw her arms round the little boy's
neck and hugged him.
" Poor Fixie, dear Fixie," she said. " Rosy
will come if you want her. Fixie never bovvers
Rosy. Fixie loves Rosy, doesn't he ?"
" Ses," said the child, kissing her in return,
" but please don't skeese Fix kite so tight,"
and he wrigled a little to get out of her grasp.
6 nosy.
Instantly tin1 frown came back to Rosy's
changeable face.
o
" You cross little thing," she said, half -fling-
ing her little brother away from her, "you
don't love Rosy. If you did, you wouldn't call
her cuddling you skeesing."
Fix's face puckered up, and he looked as if
he were going to cry. But just then steps .were
heard coming, and a boy's voice called out,
"Fix, Fix, what a time you are ! If Rosy isn't
there, i ie\cr mind her. Come along. There's
something good for tea."
"There's Colin," said Fix, turning as if to
run oil' to his brother. Again Rosy's mood
changed.
"Don't run away from Rosy, Fix," she said.
"Rosy's not cross, she's only troubled about
sonieh'ng Fix is too little to understand. Take
Rosy's hand, deal1, and we'll go up to tea togever.
Never mind Colin- -he's such a big rough boy ;"
and when Colin, in his turn, appeared at the
door, Rosy and Fix were already coming toward
it, hand in hand, Rosy the picture of a model
little elder sister.
HOST. 7
Colin just glanced at them and ran off.
" Be quick," he said, " or I'll eat it all be-
fore you come. There's fluff for tea — straw-
berry fluff ! At least I've been smelling it all
the afternoon, and I saw a little pot going up-
stairs, and Martha said cook said it was for the
children !"
Colin, however, was doomed to be disap-
pointed. There was no appearance of anything
" better " than bread and butter on the nursery
table, and in answer to the boy's questions,
Martha said there was nothing else.
u But the little pot, Martha, the little pot/'
insisted Colin. " I heard you 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 I didn'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. It should be eaten
at once."
" But it's jam, Master Colin. It's regular
jam in the little pot. I don't know anything
about the fluff, as you call it. I suppose they've
eaten it in the kitchen."
8 fiOSY.
" Well, then, it's a shame/' said Colin.
" It's all tlie new cook. I've always been ac-
customed, always, to have the fluff sent up to
the nursery," and he thumped impressively on
the table.
" In all your places, Master Colin, it was
always so, wasn't it?" said Martha, with a
twinkle of fun in her eyes.
" You're very impettnent, Martha," said Rosy,
looking up suddenly, and speaking for the first
time since she had come into the room.
" Nonsense, Rosy," said Colin. "I don't mind.
Martha was only joking."
Rosy relapsed into silence, to Martha's
relief.
" If Miss Rosy is going to begin !" she had
said to herself with fear and trembling. She
seldom or never ventured to joke with Rosy
-few people who knew her did- -but Colin
was the most good-natured of children. She
looked at Rosy rather curiously, taking
care, however, that the little girl should not
notice it.
" There's something the matter with her,"
EOS Y. 9
thought Martha, for Rosy looked really buried
ID gloom ; " perhaps her mamma's been telling
her what she told me this morning. I was
sure Miss Rosy wouldn't like it, and perhaps
it's natural, so spoiled as she's been, having
everything her own way for so long. One
would be sorry for her if she'd only let one,"
and her voice was kind and gentle as she
asked the little girl if 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. I know too, Rosy. You're
afraid your nose is going to be put out of joint,
I expect."
" Master Colin, don't," said Martha warn-
ing] y, but it was too late. Rosy dashed off
her seat, and running round to Colin's side of
the table, doubled up her little fist, and hit her
brother hard with all her baby force, then,
10 ROSY.
without waiting to see if she had hurt him or
o
not, she rushed from the room without speak-
in <>', made straight for her own little bedroom,
O1 O '
and, throwing herself down on the floor with
her head on a chair, burst into a storm of miser-
able, angry crying.
" I wish I was back with auntie — oh, I do, I
do " she said, among her sobs. " Mamma doesn't
love me like Colin and Fixie. If she did, she
wouldn't go and bring a nasty, horrible little
o-irl to live with us. I hate her, and I shall
O '
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're doing when they spoil
children ! Poor Miss Rosy, but she is naughty !
I las it hurt you, Master Colin ?"
" No," said Colin, one of whose eyes never-
theless was crying from Rosy's blow, u not
much. But it's so horrid, £01112: on like this."
/ o o
"Of course ft is, and why you can go on
teasing your sister, knowing her as you do, I
can't conceive," said Martha. " If it was only
HOST. 11
for peace sake, I'd let her alone, I would, if I
was you, Master Colin."
Martha had rather a peevish and provoking
way of finding fault or giving advice. Just now
her voice sounded almost as if she was going to
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 Kosy isn't
like anybody else. She flies into a rage for
just nothing, and it's always those people some-
how that make one want to tease them. But,
I say, Martha, I really do wonder how we'll get
on when-
A warning glance stopped him, and he re-
membered that little Felix knew nothing of
what he was going to speak about, and that his
mother did not wish anything more said of it
just yet. So Colin said no more — he just
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 so gentle and obedient,
12 ROSY.
and Rosy, poor Rosy* so very different ? For
they were her very own brothers, she was
their very own sister. There must have been
some difference, I suppose, naturally. Rosy
had always been a very fiery little person, but
the great pity was that she had been sadly
spoiled. For some years she had been away
from her father and mother, who had been
abroad in a warm climate, where delicate little
Felix was born. 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 good fortune to be sent to a very
nice school, while Rosy had stayed altogether
with her aunt, who had loved her dearly, but in
wishing to make her perfectly happy had made
the mistake of letting her have her own way in
everything. And when she was eight years
old, and her parents came home, full of delight
to have their children all together again, the
disappointment was great of finding Rosy so
unlike what they had hoped. And as months
passed, and all her mother's care and advice
and gentle firmness seemed to have no effect,
MOST. 13
Rosy's true friends began to ask themselves
what should be done. The little girl was grow-
ing a misery to herself and a constant trouble to
other people. And then happened what her
mother had told her about, and what Rosy, in
her selfishness and silliness, made a new trouble
of, instead of a pleasure the more, in what
should have been her happy life. I will soon
tell you what it was.
Rosy lay on the floor crying for a good long
while. Her fits of temper tired her out, though
she was a very strong little girl. There is
nothing more tiring than bad temper, and it is
such a stupid kind of tiredness ; nothing but a
waste of time and strength. Not like the rather
nice tiredness one feels when one has been
working hard either at one's own business or,
still nicer, at helping other people — the sort of
pleasant fatigue with which one lays one's head
on the pillow, feeling that all the lessons are
learned, and well learned, for to-morrow morn-
ing, or that the bit of garden is quite, quite
clear of weeds, and father or mother will be so
pleased to see it ! But to fall half-asleep on
14 HOST.
the floor or on your bed, with wearied, swollen
eyes, and panting breath and aching head, feel-
ing or fancying that no one loves you- -that the
world is all wrong, and there is nothing sweet
or bright or pretty in it, no place for you, and
no use in being alive — all these miserable feel-
ings that are the natural and the right punish-
ment of yielding to evil tempers, forgetting
selfishly all the pain and trouble you cause-
wliat can be more wretched ? Indeed, I often
think no punishment that can be given can be
half so bad as the punishment that comes of it-
self- -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
she first came home to her mother — she was be-
ginning to feel ashamed when she had yielded
to her temper — and even this, though a small
improvement, was always something — one little
step in the right way, one little sign of better
She was not asleep — scarcely half-asleep, only
stupid and dazed with crying- -when the door
opened softly and some one peeped in. It was
HOST. 15
Fixie. He came creeping in very quietly- -when
was Fixie anything but quiet ? — and with a very
distressed look on his tiny white face. Some-
thing came over Rosy — a mixture of shame and
sorrow, and also some curiosity to see what her
little brother would do; and these feelings
mixed together made her shut her eyes tighter
and pretend to be asleep.
Fixie came close up to her, peeped almost
into her face, so that if she had been really
asleep I rather think it would have awakened
her, except that all he did was so very gentle
and like a little mouse ; and then, quite satis-
fied that she was fast asleep, he slowly settled
himself down on the floor by her side.
" Poor Losy," he said softly. " Fixie are so
solly for you. Poor Losy- -why can't her be
good ? Why doesn't God make Losy good all
in a minute ? Fixie always akses God to make
her good ' — he stopped in his whispered talk
suddenly- -he had fancied for a moment that
Rosy was waking, and it was true that she had
moved. She had given a sort of wriggle, for,
sweet and gentle as Fixie was, she did not at
10 HOST.
all like being spoken of as not good. She didn't
see why lie need pray to God to make her good,
more than other people, she said to herself, and
for half a second she was inclined to jump up
and tell Fix to go away ; it wasn't his business
whether sha wras good or naughty, 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 Fixie stopped in his talking
to pat her softly.
u Don't wake, poor Losy," he said. " Go on
sleeping, Losy, if you are so tired, and Fix will
watch aside you and take care of you."
lie seemed to have forgotten all about her
being naughty- -he sat beside her, patting her
softly, and murmuring a sort of cooing " Hush,
hush, Losy," as if she were a baby, that was
very touching, like the murmur of a sad little
dove. And by and by, with going on repeating
it so often, his own head began to feel confused
and drowsy- -it dropped lower and lower, and at
last found a resting-place on Kosy's knees.
Ilosy, who had really been getting sleepy, half
woke up when she felt the weight of her little
ROSY. 17
brother's head and shoulder upon her — she
moved him a little so that he should lie more
comfortably, and put one arm round him.
" Dear Fixie," she said to herself, " I do love
him, and I'm sure he loves me," and her face grew
soft and gentle —and when Rosy's face looked
like that it was very pretty and sweet. But it
quickly grew dark and gloomy again as another
thought struck her. " If Fixie loves that 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,
anyway. Mamma says she's such a dear good
little girl — that means that everybody 11 say
I'm naughtier than ever."
But just then Fixie moved a little and
whispered something in his sleep.
" What is it, Fix ?" said Rosy, stooping
down to listen. His ears caught the 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.
18 Rosr.
CHAPTER II.
BEATA.
( e 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
{mother nursery disturbance the evening before,
and Martha had begged her to ask Colin to tell
her all about it. " And what's the matter with
your eye, my boy ?" she went on to say as she
caught sicrht of the bluish bruise, which showed
o O f
more by daylight.
" Oh, that's nothing," said Colin. " It doesn't
hurt a bit, mother, it doesn't indeed. I've had
far worse lumps than that at school hundreds
of times. It's nothing, only- ' and Colin
gave a sort of wriggle.
ROSY. 19
" Only what ?" said his mother.
" I do so wish Rosy wouldn't be like that.
It spoils everything. Just this 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 in the eye ?" she said.
Colin looked vexed. ' " I thought Martha had
told you," he said. " And I teased her, mother.
I told her she was afraid of having her nose put
out of joint when Be- -I can't say her name-
when the little girl comes."
" Oh, Colin, how could you ?" said his mother
sadly. " When I had explained to you about
Beata coming, and that I hoped it might do
Rosy good ! I thought 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 I could leave off
teasing ; but at school, you know, one gets
into the way, and one has to learn not to mind
it."
" Yes," said his mother, " I know, and it is
20 HOST.
a very good tiling to learn not to mind it.
But I don't think teasing will do Rosy any
good just now, 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 ; " I dare say you can call
her so."
" Yes, that would be much better," said
Colin, in a more contented tone.
" Only," said his mother again, and she
couldn't help smiling a little when she said
it, "if you call her 'Bee,' don't make it the
beginning of any new teasing by calling Rosy
1 Wasp.' "
"Mother !" said Colin. "I dare say I would
never have thought of it. But I 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
ROSY. 21
had been much 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, had learned to look
upon her almost as a sister. Beata's father
and mother were obliged to go back to India,
and it had been settled that their little girl
was to be left at home with her grandmother.
But just a short time before they were to leave,
her grandmother had a bad illness, and it was
found she would not be well enough to take
charge of the child. And in the puzzle about
what they should do with her, it had struck
her father and mother that perhaps their friends,
Rosy's parents, 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 with them. It had all seemed so natural
and nice. Rosy's mother was so pleased about
it, for she thought it would be just what Rosy
needed to make her a pleasanter and more
reasonable little girl.
"Beata is such a nice child," she said to
Rosy's father when they were talking about it,
u and not one bit spoiled. I think it is sure to
do Ilosy good/1 and full of pleasure in the idea,
she told Rosy about it.
But — one man may bring a horse to the
water, but twenty can't make him drink, says
the old proverb- -Rosy made up her mind on
the spot, at the very first instant, that she
wouldn't like Beata, and that her coming was
on purpose to vex her, Rosy, as it seemed to
her that most things which she had to do with
* j
in the world were. And this was what had
put her in such a temper the first time we saw
her — when she would have 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 say no more. She had
told Colin about Beata coming, but not Felix,
o"
for as he knew and loved the little girl already,
she was afraid that his delight mi<dit rouse
o o
llosy's jealous feelings. For the prettiest
thing in Ilosy was her love for her little brother,
only it was often spoiled by her exactingness.
Fixie must love her as much or better than
ROSY. 23
anybody- -lie must be all hers, or else she
would not love him at all. That was how she
sometimes talked to him, and it puzzled and
frightened him- -he was such a very little
fellow, you see. And mother had never told
him that loving other people too made his love
for her less, as Rosy did ! I think Rosy's first
dislike to Beata had begun one day when
Fixie, wanting to please her, and yet afraid to
say what was not true, had spoken of Beata as
one of the people Rosy must let him love, and
it had vexed Rosy so that ever since he had
been afraid to mention his little friend's name
to her.
Rosy's mother thought over what Colin had
told her, and settled in her own mind that it
was better to take no notice of it in speaking to
Rosy.
" 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
nothing more to vex Rosy, or wake her unkind
feelings."
But Rosy's mother did not yet quite know
24 MOST.
her little girl. There was one thing about
her which was not spoiled, and that was her
honesty.
When the children came down that morn-
ing to see their mother, as they always did, a
little after breakfast, Rosy's face wore a queer
look.
" Good-morning, little people," said their
mother. " I was rather late this morning, do
you know ? That was why I didn't come to
see you in the nursery. I am going to write to
your aunt to-day. Would you like to 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, but she wanted not to seem to do so,
thinking Rosy would then gradually forget
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 hav-
ROSY. 25
ing, my poor little girl ?" said her mother, smil-
ing 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 love me, for Martha's al-
ways saying if I do naughty things you won't
love me and father won't love me, and no-
body."
" Then why don't you leave off doing naughty
things, Rosy ?" said her mother.
" Oh, I can't," Rosy replied coolly. " I sup-
pose I was spoiled at auntie's, and now I'm too
old to change. I don't care. It isn't my fault :
it's auntie's."
" Rosy," said her mother gravely, "who ever
said so to you ? Where did you ever hear such
a thing ?"
" Lots of times," Rosy replied. " Martha's
said so, and Colin says so when he's vexed with
me. He's always said so," she added, as if she
didn't quite like owning it, but felt that she
must. " He said I was spoiled before you came
home, but auntie wouldn't let him. She thought
26 R08T.
I was quite good/' and Rosy reared up her
head as if she thought so too.
" I am very sorry to hear you speak so," said
her mother. " I think if you ask yourself, Rosy,
you will very often find that you are not good,
and if you see and understand that when you are
not good it is nobody's fault but your own, you
will surely try to be better. You must not say
it was your aunt's fault, or anybody's fault.
Your aunt was 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 hit Colin, 'cos I got
in a temper. I was going to tell you- -I meant
to tell you."
" And are you sorry for it now, Rosy dear ?"
asked her mother very gently.
Rosy looked at her in surprise. Her mother
spoke so gently. She had rather expected her
to be shocked- -she had almost, if you can un-
derstand, wished her to be shocked, so that she
could say to herself how naughty everybody
thought her, how it was no use her trying to be
good and all the rest of it — and she had told
ROSY. 27
over what she had done in a hard, un sorry way,
almost on purpose. But now, when her mother
spoke so kindly, a different feeling came into
her heart. She looked at her mother, and then
she looked down on the ground, and then, al-
most to her own surprise, she answered, almost
humbly :
"I don't know. I don't think I was, but I
think I am a little sorry now."
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 of something he said that
I don't want to tell you."
" About Beata ?" asked her mother.
" Well," said Rosy, u if you know about it,
it isn't my fault if you are vexed. I don't want
her to come — I don't want any little girl to
come, because I know I shan't like her. I like
boys better than girls, and I don't like good
little girls at all."
28 ROSY.
" Rosy," said her mother, " you are talking so
sillily that if Fixie even 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 is right, and
so I will leave it to you. And I will give you
a kiss, my little girl, to show you that I want
to trust you to try to do right about 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 kiss like that — I
don't want to like the little girl."
" Rosy !" exclaimed her mother, almost in
despair. Then another thought struck 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 her own heart she
said to herself, " Was there ever such a
child?"
ROSY.
In spite of all she had said Rosy felt, what
she would not have owned for the world, a good
deal of curiosity about the little girl who was
to come to live with them. And now and then,
in her cross and unhappy moods, a sort of
strange confused hope would creep over her
that Beata's coming would bring her a kind of
good luck.
" Everybody says she's so good, and every-
body loves her," thought Rosy, " pYaps I'll find
out how she does it."
And the days passed on, on the whole, after
the storm I have told you about, rather more
peaceably than before, till one evening when
Rosy was saying good-night her mother said to
her quietly :
"Rosy, I had a letter this morning from
Beata's uncle; he is bringing her to-morrow.
She will be here about four o'clock in the
afternoon."
" To-morrow !" said Rosy, and then, without
saying any more, she kissed her mother and
went to bed.
She went to sleep that evening, and she woke
30
the next morning with a strange jumble of feel-
ings in her mind, and a strange confusion of
questions waiting to be answered.
What would Beata be like ? She was sure
to be pretty — all people that other people love
very much were pretty, Rosy thought. And
she believed that she herself was very ugly,
which I may tell you, children, as Rosy won't
hear what we say, was quite a mistake. Every-
body is a little pretty who is sweet and good,
for though being sweet and good doesn't alter
the color of one's hair or the shape of one's
nose, it does a great deal ; it makes the cross
lines smooth away, or, rather, prevents their
coming, and it certainly gives the eyes a look
that nothing else gives, does it not ? But Rosy's
face, alas ! was very often spoiled by frowns,
and dark looks often took away the prettiness
of her eyes, and this was the more pity as the
good fairies who had welcomed her at her birth
had evidently meant her to be pretty. She had
very soft bright hair, and a very white skin,
and large brown eyes that looked lovely when
she let sweet thoughts and feelings shine
HOST. 31
through them; but though she had many
faults, she was not vain, and she really thought
she was not pleasant-looking at all.
" Beata is sure to be pretty," thought Rosy.
" I dare say she'll have beautiful black hair and
blue eyes like Lady Albertine." Albertine
was Rosy's best doll. " And I dare say she'll
be very clever, and play the piano and speak
French far better than me. I don't mind that.
I like pretty people, and I don't mind people
being clever. What I don't like is, people who
are dedf ully good always going on about how
good they are, and how naughty other people
is. If she doesn't do that way I shan't mind so
much, but I'm sure she will do that way. Yes,
Manchon," she said aloud, " I'm sure she will,
and you needn't begin l f roo'ing ' about it."
For Rosy was in the drawing-room when all
these thoughts were passing through her mind
-she was there with her afternoon frock on,
and a pretty muslin apron, all nice to meet
Beata and her uncle, who were expected very
soon. And Manchon was on the rug as usual,
quite peacefully inclined, poor thing, only Rosy
32 ROSY.
could never believe any good of Manchon, and
when lie purred, or, as she called it, " froo'ed,"
she at once thought he was mocking her. She
really seemed to fancy the cat was a fairy or a
wizard of some kind, for she often gave him the
credit of reading her very thoughts !
The door opened, and her mother came in,
leading Fixie by the hand and Colin just be-
hind.
" Oh, you're ready, Rosy," she said. " That's
right. They should be here very soon."
" Welly soon," repeated Fixie. " Oh, Fixie
will be so glad to see Beenie again !"
" 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,
I nit her mother knew she put that on some-
times when she was not really feeling un-
kind.
" I shall call her Bee," said Colin. " It would
do very well, as we've- ' he stopped sud-
denly— " as we've got a wasp already," he had
been going to say- -it seemed to come so natu-
rally--when his mother's warning came back to
u
a
MOST. 33
his mind. He caught her eye, and he saw that
she couldn't help smiling, and he found it so
difficult not to burst out laughing that he
stuffed his pocket-handkerchief into his mouth,
and went to the window, where he pretended
to see something very interesting. Rosy looked
up suspiciously.
What were going to say, Colin ?" she asked
I'm sure — but she too stopped, for just
then wheels were heard on the gravel drive out-
side.
" Here they are," said mother. " Will you
come to the door to welcome Beata, Rosy ?"
Rosy came forward, though rather slowly.
Colin was already out in the hall, and Fixie
w^as dancing along beside his mother. Rosy
kept behind. The carriage, that had gone to
the station to meet the travelers, was already
at the door, and the footman was handing out
one or two umbrellas, rugs, and so on. Then
a gray-haired gentleman, whom Rosy, peeping
through a side window, did not waste her
attention on — " He is quite old," she said to her-
self- -got out, and lifted down a much smaller
34 HOST.
person — smaller than Rosy herself, and a good
deal smaller than the Beata of Rosy's fancies.
The little person sprang forward, and was go-
ing to kiss Rosy's mother, when she caught
sight of the tiny white face beside her.
" Oh, Fixie, dear little Fixie !" she said, stoop-
ing to hug him, and then she lifted her own
face for Fixie's mother to kiss. At once, almost
before shaking hands with the gentleman, Rosy's
mother looked round for her, and Rosy had to
come forward.
" Beata, dear, this is my Rosy," she said ; and
something in the tone of the " my" touched
Rosy. It seemed to say, " I will put no one
before you, my own little girl — no stranger,
however sweet — and you will, on your side, try
to please me, will you not ?" So Rosy's face,
though grave, had a nice look the first time
Beata saw it, and the first words she said as
they kissed each other were, " Oh, Rosy, how
pretty you are ! I shall love you very much."
35
CHAPTER III.
TEAKS.
(f "Prere most ungrateful."
— W. S. LANDOR.
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, certainly like Lady Albertine's in color,
but instead of splendid curls it was cut quite
short — as short almost as Colin's — and her eyes
were neither very large nor very blue. They
were nice gray eyes, that could look sad, but
generally looked merry, and about the rest of
•her face there was nothing very particular.
Rosy looked at her for a moment or two,
and she looked at Rosy. Then at last Rosy
said :
" Will you come into the drawing-room ?" for
36 ROSY.
she saw that her mother and Beata's uncle were
already on their way there.
" Thank you," said Beata, and then they
quietly followed the big people. Rosy's father
was not at home, but he would be back soon,
her mother was telling the gray -haired gentle-
man, and then she went on to ask him how
" they " had got off, if it had been comfortably,
and so on.
u Oh, yes," he replied, " it was all quite right.
Poor Maud "
" That's my mamma," said Beata in a low
voice, and Rosy, turning toward her, saw that
her eyes were full of tears.
" What a queer little girl she is !" thought
Rosy, but she did not say so.
" Poor Maud !" continued the gentleman.
" It is a great comfort to her to leave the child
in suth good hands."
"I hope she will be happy," said Rosy's
mother. " I will do my best to make her so."
" I am very sure of that," said Beata's uncle.
" It is a great disappointment to her grand-
mother not to have her with her. She is a dear
ROSY. 37
child. Last week at the parting she behaved
like a brick.1'
Both little girls heard this, and Beata sud-
denly began speaking rather fast, and Rosy
saw that her cheeks had got very red.
" Do you think your mamma would mind if
I went upstairs to take ofi' my hat ? I think
my face must be dirty with the train," said
Beata.
"Don't you like staying here?" said Rosy
rather crossly. u I think you should stay till
mother tells us to go," for she wanted to hear
what more her mother arid the gentleman said
to each other, the very thing that made Beata
uncomfortable.
Beata looked a little frightened.
" I didn't mean to be rude," she said. Then
suddenly catching sight of Manchon, she ex-
claimed, " Oh, what a beautiful cat ! May I go
and stroke him ?"
u If you like," said Rosy, " but he isn't really
a nice cat." And then, seeing that Beata looked
at her with curiosity, she forgot about listening
to the big people, and getting up, led Beata to
Manchon's cushion.
38 ROSY.
" Everybody says he's pretty," slie went on,
" but I don't think so, because I think he's a
kind of bad fairy. You don't know how he
froos sometimes, in a most horrible way, as if
lie was mocking you. lie knows I don't like
him, for whenevei I'm vexed he looks pleased/'
"Does he really?" said Beata. "Then I
don't like him. I shouldn't look pleased 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 has such an unkind
dis- I can't remember the word ; it means
feelings, you know."
"Never mind," said Rosy patronizingly, " I
know what you mean. Oh, it's only me Man-
chon's nasty to, and that doesn't matter. I'm
not the favorite. I was at my auntie's, though,
that I was — but it has all come true what
Nelson told me," and she shook her head dole-
fully.
" Who is Nelson ?" asked Beatta.
" Auntie's maid. She cried when I came
away, and she said it was because she was so
HOST. 39
sorry for me. It wouldn't be the same as there,
she said. I shouldn't be thought as much of
with two brothers, and Nelson knew that my
mamma was dreadfully strict. I dare say she'd
be still more sorry for me if she knew-
Rosy stopped short.
" AVhy don't you go on ?" said Beata.
" Oh, I was going to say something I don't
want to say. Perhaps it would vex you," said
Rosy.
Beata considered a little.
" I'm not very easily vexed," she said at last.
" I think I'd like you to go on saying it if you
don't mind- -unless it's anything naughty."
" Oh, no," said Rosy, " it isn't anything
naughty. I was going to say Nelson would
be still more sorry for me if she knew you had
come.'
" Me !" said Beata, opening her eyes. " AVhy ?
She can't know anything about me — I mean she
couldn't know anything to make her think I
would be unkind to you."
11 Oh, no, it isn't that. Only you see some
little girls wrould think that if another little girl
4o itos r.
came to live with them it wouldn't be so nice —
that perhaps their mammas and brothers and
everybody would pet the other little girl more
than them."
" And do you think that ?" said Beata anxious-
ly. A feeling like a cold chill seemed to have
touched her heart. She had never before thought
of such things- -loving somebody else " better,"
not being " the favorite," and so on. Could it
all be true, and could it, worst of all, be true
that her coming might be the cause of trouble
and vexation to other people — at least to Rosy ?
She had come so full of love and gratitude, so
ready to like everybody ; she had said so many
times to her mother, " I'm sure I'll be happy.
I'll write and tell you how happy I am,"
swallowing bravely the grief of leaving her
mother, and trying to cheer her at the parting
by telling her this — it seemed very hard and
strange to little Beata to be told that anybody
could think she could be the cause of un-
happiness to any one. " Do you think that ?"
she repeated.
Rosy looked at her, and something in the
ROSY. 41
little eager face gave lier what she would have
called a " sorry ' feeling. But mixed with this
was a sense of importance — she liked to think
that she was very good for not feeling what she
said " some little girls ' would have felt.
" No," she said rather patronizingly. " I don't
think I do. I only said some little girls would.
No, I think I shall like you, if only you don't
make a fuss about how good you are, and set
them all against me. I settled before you came
that I wouldn't mind if you were pretty or very
clever. And you're not pretty, and I dare say
you're not very clever. So I won't mind, if you
don't make everybody praise you up for being
so good."
Beata's eyes filled with tears.
" I don't want anybody to praise me," she
said. " I only wanted you all to love me," and
again Rosy had the sorry feeling, though she
did not feel that she was to blame.
" I only told her what I really thought," she
said to herself ; but before she had time to re-
flect that there are two ways of telling what
one thinks, and that sometimes it is not only
42 ROSY.
foolish, but wrong and unkind, to tell of
thoughts and feelings which we should try to
leave off having, her mother turned round to
O'
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
what her own mother's would have been, made
the cup of Beata' s distress overflow. She gave
a little sob and then burst into tears. Rosy
half -sprang forward- -she was on the point of
throwing her arms round Beata and whispering,
" I will love you, dear, I do love you ;" but alas !
the strange, foolish pride that so often checked
her good feelings held her back, and jealousy
whispered, " If you begin making such a fuss
about her, she'll think she's to be before you, and
very likely, i£ you seem so sorry, she'll tell your
mother you made her cry." So Rosy stood
still, grave and silent, but with some trouble in
her face, and her mother felt a little, just a very
little vexed with Beata for beginning so dole-
" It will discourage Rosy," she said to herself,
ROSY. 43
"just when I was so anxious for Beata to win
her affection from the first."
And Beata's uncle, too, looked disappointed.
Just when he had been praising her so for her
bravery !
"Why, my little girl," he said, "you didn't
cry like this even when you said good-by at
Southampton."
" That must be it," said Rosy's mother, who
was too kind to feel vexed for more than an
instant ; " the poor child has put too much
force on herself, and that always makes one
break down afterward. Come, dear Beata, and
remember how much your mother wanted you
to be happy with us."
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't care how dull it is-
I shall not be any trouble to grandmother while
she is ill. Do let me go back — I cannot stay
here."
Beata's uncle was kind, but he had not much
experience of children,
44 ROSY.
" Beata," lie said, and his voice was almost
stern, " it is impossible. All is arranged here
for you. You will be sorry afterward for giv-
ing way so foolishly. You would not wish to
seem ungrateful, my little girl, for all your kind
friends here are going to do for you ?"
The word ungrateful had a magical effect.
Beata raised her head from his shoulder, and
digging in her pocket for her little handker-
chief, 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 mother again held out her
hand, and Beata took it timidly, and followed
by Rosy, whose mind was in a strange jumble,
they went upstairs to the room that was to be
the little stranger's.
It was as pretty a little room as any child
could have wished for — bright and neat and
comfortable, with a pleasant lookout on the
lawn at the side of the house, while further off,
over the trees, the village church, or rather its
MOST. 45
high spire, could be seen. Fur a moment Beata
forgot her new troubles.
" Oh, how pretty !" she said. " Is this to be
my room ? I never had such a nice one. But
when they come home from India for always,
papa and mamma are going to get a pretty
house, and choose all the furniture — like here,
you know, only not so pretty, I dare say, for a
house like this would cost such a great deal of
money."
She \vas chattering away to Rosy's mother
quite in her old way, greatly to Rosy's mother's
pleasure, when she- -Mrs. Vincent — opened a
door Beata had not before noticed.
" This is Rosy's room," she said. " I thought
it would be nice for you to be near each other.
And I know you are very tidy, Bee, so you will
set Rosy a good example — eh, Rosy ?"
She said it quite simply, and Beata would
have taken it in the same way half an hour
before, but looking round the little girl caught
an expression on Rosy's face which brought
back all her distress. It seemed to sav, " Oh,
\j *
you're beginning to be praised already, I see,"
46 ROSY.
but Rosy's mother had not noticed it, for Rosy
had turned quickly away. 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 sure she used not to be
so; she was merry and pleased just as she
seemed a moment 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. " No," she said bravely, " it
wasn't that. But, please — I don't want to be
rude — but, please, would you not praise me-
not for being tidy or anything."
How gladly at that moment would she have
said, " I'm not tidy. Mamma always says I'm
not," had it been true. But it was not — she was
a very neat and methodical child, dainty and
trim in everything she had to do with, as
llosy's mother remembered.
EOS?. 4?
" What shall I do T she said to herself. " It
seems as if only my being naughty would make
Rosy like me, and keep me from doing her
harm. What can I do ?" and a longing came
over her to throw her arms round Mrs. Vincent's
neck, and tell her her troubles and ask her to
explain it all to her. But her faithfulness
would not let her think of such a thing. " That
would do Rosy harm," she remembered, " and
perhaps she meant to be kind when she spoke
that way. It was kinder than 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 and changeable, rude even,
perhaps, though she only smiled at Beata's
begging not to be praised, and Rosy, who had
heard what she said, gave her no thanks for it,
but the opposite.
" That's all pretense," thought Rosy. " Every-
body likes to be praised."
Mrs. Vincent went downstairs, leaving the
children together, and telling Rosy to help
Beata to take off her things, as tea would soon
48 ROSY.
be ready. Beata had a sort of fear of what next
Rosy would say, and she was glad when Martha
just then came into the room.
" Miss Rosy,'' she said, " will you please to
go into the nursery arid put away your dolls'
things before tea ? They're all over the table.
I'd have done it in a minute, but you have
your own ways and I was afraid of doing it
wrong."
She spoke kindly and cheerfully.
" What a nice nurse !" thought Beata, with
a feeling of relief- -a sort of hope that Martha
might help to make things easier for her some-
how, especially as there was something very
kindly in the way the maid began to help
her to unfasten her jacket and lay aside her
traveling things. To her surprise, Rosy made
no answer.
" Miss Rosy, please," said Martha again, and
then Rosy looked up crossly.
" ' Miss Rosy, please,' she said mockingly.
" You're just putting on all that politeness to
show off. No, I won't please. You can put
the dolls away yourself, and, if yon do them
HOST. 43
wrong, it's your own fault. You've seen lots of
times how I do them."
" Miss Rosy !" said Martha, as if she wanted
to beg Rosy to be good, and her voice was still
kind, though her face had got very red when
Rosy told )ior she Avas " showing oft'."
Beata stood in shocked silence. She had had
no idea that Rosy could speak so, and sad as
it was, Martha did not seem surprised.
" I wonder if she is often like that," thought
little Bee, and in concern for Rosy her own
troubles began to be forgotten.
They went into the nursery to tea. Martha
had cleared away Rosy's things and had done
her best to lay them as the little girl liked.
But before sitting down to the table, Rosy
would go to the drawer where they were
kept, and was in the middle of scolding at find-
ing something different 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 in peace- -Bee's first evening."
Rosy turned round upon him.
" I'm not a pretender," she said. " I'm not
50 ROSY.
going to sham being good and all tha-t, like
Martha and you, because Bee has just come."
" I don't know what you have been saying to
Martha/' said Colin, " but I can't see why you
need begin at me about shamming before Bee.
You have not 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 his chair and could not man-
age to move it as he wanted.
" I want to sit aside Bee," he said.
Rosy threw an angry look at him- -he under-
stood what she meant.
" I'll sit aside you again to-morrow, Losy," he
hastened to say. But it did no good. Rosy
was now determined to find nothing right.
There came a little change in their thoughts,
however, for the kitchen-maid appeared at the
door with a plate of nice cold ham and some of
the famous strawberry jam.
" Cook thought the young lady would be
hungry after her journey," she said.
" Yes, indeed," cried Colin, " the young lady's
very hungry, and so are the young gentlemen,
HOST. 51
and so is the other young lady — aren't you,
Rosy ?" he said good-naturedly, turning to her.
" He is really a very kind boy,7' thought Beata.
" Tell cook, with my best compliments,
that we are very much obliged to her, and
she needn't expect to see any of the ham or the
strawberry jam again."
It was later than the usual tea-hour, so all
the children were hungry and, 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
that Rosy's way of speaking had made, Bee
would have been quite happy, as happy at
least, she would have said, " as I can be till
mamma comes home again," but Rosy seemed
to throw a cloud over everybody. There was
never any knowing from one minute to another
how she was going to be. Only one thing be-
came plainer to Bee. It was not only because
she had come that Rosy was cross and unhappy.
It was easy to see that she was at all times
very self-willed and queer-tempered, and,
52 ROSY.
though Bee was too good and kind to be glad
of this, yet, as she was 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, or anything like that," she said to
herself. " I will be as good as I can be, and
perhaps she will get to like me," and Rosy was
puzzled and perhaps, in her strange contradic-
tion, little vexed at the brighter look that
came over Bee's face and the cheery way in
she spoke. For at the first, when she saw how
much Bee had taken to heart what she said,
though her best self felt sorry for the little
stranger, she had liked the feeling that she
would be a sort of master over her and that
the fear of seeming to take her place would
prevent Bee from making friends with the
others more than she, Rosy, chose to allow.
Poor Rosy ! She would herself have been
shocked had she seen written down in plain
words all the feelings her jealous temper
caused her. But almost the worst of jealousy
is that it hides itself in so many dresses and
gives itself so many names, sometimes making
HOST. 53
itself seem quite a right and proper feeling ;
often, very often, making one think one's self a
poor, ill-treated martyr, when in reality the
martyrs are the unfortunate people that have
to live with the foolish person who has allowed
jealousy to become his master.
Beata's uncle left that evening, but before
he went away he had the pleasure of seeing his
little niece quite herself again.
" That's right," he said as he bade her good-
by. " I don't know what came over you this
afternoon."
Beata did not say anything, but she just
kissed her uncle, and whispered, "Give my
love to dear grandmother, and tell her I am
going to try to be very good,"
54:
CHAPTER IV.
UPS AND DOWNS.
" Mary, Mary, quite contrary."
— Nursery Rhyme.
THAT night when Bee was in her little bed,
though not yet asleep, for the strangeness of
everything and all she had to think over of
what had happened in the day had kept her
awake longer than usual, she heard some one
softly open the door and look in.
" Are you awake still, dear ?" said a voice
which Bee knew in a moment was that of Rosy's
mother.
" Yes, oh, yes. I'm quite awake. Tin not a
bit sleepy," Beata answered.
" But you must try to go to sleep soon," said
Mrs. Vincent. " Rosy is fast asleep. I have
just been in to look at her. It is getting late
for little girls to be awake."
ROSY. 5tS
" Yes, I know," said Bee. " But I often can't
go to sleep so quick the first night- -while
everything is — different, you know - and
new.'
"And a little strange and lonely, as it were
-just at first. Don't be afraid I would be
vexed with you for feeling it so."
" But I don't think I do feel lonely," said
Bee, sitting up and looking at Rosy's mother
quite brightly. " It seems quite natural to be
with you and Fixie again."
" I'm very glad of that," said Mrs. Vincent.
"And was it not, then, the strange 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-up mother ' for
awhile, you must talk to me as much as you can,
as if I were your own mother."
She listened rather anxiously for Bee's answer,
for two or three little things — among them
something Colin had said of the bad temper
Rosy had been in at tea-time —had made her
56 ROSY.
afraid there had been some reason she did not
understand for Beata's tears.
Bee lay still for a minute 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 it sometimes difficult to
know ?"
" Yes, sometimes it is." Then Mrs. Vincent,
ID her turn, was silent for a 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 makes you cry again,
you will tell me ?"
"Should I?" said Bee. "I thought — I
thought it wasn't right to tell tales," she added
so innocently that Mrs. Vincent could not help
smiling to herself.
" It is not right," she said. " But what I ask
you to promise is not to tell tales. It is to tell
me what makes you unhappy, so that I may
explain it or put it right. I could not do my
ROSY. 57
duty among you and my other children unless
I knew how things were. It is the spirit that
makes tell-tales — the telling over for the sake
of getting others blamed or punished- -that is
what is wrong."
" I see," said Beata slowly. " At least I
think I see a little, and I'll try to think about
it. I'll promise to tell you if anything makes
me unhappy, really unhappy, but I don't think
it will now. I think I understand better what
things I needn't mind."
" Very well, dear. Then good-night," and
Rosy's mother kissed Bee very kindly, though
in her heart she felt sad. It was plain to her
that Rosy had made Bee unhappy, and as she
passed through Rosy's room she stopped a
moment by the bedside and looked at the sleep-
ing child. Nothing could be prettier than
Rosy asleep — her lovely fair hair made a sort
of pale golden frame to her face, and her cheeks
had a beautiful pink flush. But while her
mother was watching her, a frown darkened
her white forehead, and her lips parted sharply.
" I won't have her put before me. I tell you
58 &08Y.
I won't/1 she called out angrily. Then again,
a nicer look came over her face and she mur-
mured some words which her mother only
caught two or three of.
"I didn't mean' -"sorry' -"crying," she
said, and her mother turnod away a little com-
forted.
" Oh, Rosy, poor Rosy," she said to herself.
" You do know what is right and sweet. When
will you learn to keep down that unhappy
temper ?"
The next morning was bright and sunny ; the
garden with its beautiful trees and flowers,
which Beata had only had a glimpse of the
night before, looked perfectly delicious in the
early light when she drew up the window-blind
to look out. And as soon as she was dressed
she was only too delighted to join Rosy and
Colin for a run before breakfast. Children are
children all the world over — luckily for them-
selves and luckily for other people too — and
even children who are sometimes ill-tempered
ROSY. 59
and unkind are sometimes, too, bright and
happy and lovable. Rosy was after all only a
child, and by no means always a disagreeable
spoiled child. And this morning seeing Bee so
merry and happy, she forgot her foolish and
unkind feelings about her, and for the time
they were all as contented and joyous as chil-
dren should be.
" Where is Fixie ?" asked Beata. " May he
not come out a little before breakfast too ?"
" Martha won't let him," said Rosy. " Nasty
cross old thing. She says it will make him ill,
and I am sure it's much more likely to make
him ill keeping him poking in there when he
wanted so much to come out with us."
" I don't see how you can call Martha cross,"
said Colin. "And certainly she's never cross
to Fixie."
" How do you know ?" said Rosy sharply.
" You don't see her half as much as I do. And
she can always pretend if she likes."
Beata looked rather anxiously at Colin. He
was on the point of answering Rosy crossly in
his turn, and again Bee felt that sort of nervous
60 ROSY.
fear of quarrels or disagreeables which it was
impossible to be ]ong in Rosy's company with-
out feeling. But Colin suddenly seemed to
change his mind.
" Shall we run another race ?" he said, with-
out taking any notice of Rosy's last speech.
" Yes," said Bee eagerly, " from here to the
library window. But you must give me a
little start — I can't run half so fast as you and
Rosy."
She said it quite simply, but it pleased Rosy
all the same, and she began 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 first to 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 so pretty and so sweet,
when really you're- She stopped in a fright.
" Bee, Bee," she cried, u just look at his face. I
believe he's heard all I said."
" Well, what if he did ?" said Beata. " Cats
don't understand what one means."
" 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 library window.
" I've been talking to Manchon," he said when
he came up to them. " He told me to give
you his compliments, Rosy, and to say he is
very much obliged to you for the pretty things
you said to him, and the next time he has
the pleasure of seeing you he hopes to have
the honor of scratching you to show his
gratitude."
Rosy's face got red.
" Colin, how dare you laugh at me ?" she
ROSY.
called out in a fury. She was frightened as
well as angry, for she really had a strange fear
of the big cat.
" I'm not laughing," Colin began again, look-
ing quite serious. " I had to give you Man-
chon's message."
Eosy looked at Bee. If there had been the
least shadow of a smile on Bee's face it would
have made her still more angry. But Beata
looked grave, because she felt so.
"Oh, I wish they wouldn't quarrel," she
was thinking to herself. "It does so spoil
everything. I can't think how Colin can tease
Rosy so."
And sadly, feeling already tired, and not
knowing what was best to do, Beata fol-
lowed the others to the nursery. They did
not seem to care— Colin was already whistlino-
•/ &>
and though Rosy's face was still black no one
paid any attention to it.
But little Fixie ran to Bee and held up his
fresh sweet face for a kiss.
" What is ze matter wif you, Bee ?" he said.
" You's c'ying. Colin, Losy, Bee's c'ying," he
exclaimed.
WHAT IS ZE MATTER WIP YOU, BEE?" HE SAID.— Page 62.
ROSY. 63
" You're not, are you, Bee ?" said Colin.
" Are you, really ?" said Rosy, coming close
to her and looking into her face.
The taking notice of it made Bee's tears come
more quickly. All the children looked sorry,
and a puzzled expression came into Rosy's
face.
" Come into my room a minute, Bee," she
said. " Do tell me," she went on, " 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 wish Colin wouldn't
tease you," said Bee.
"Was that all?" said Rosy. "Oh, that
wasn't anything- -you should hear us some-
times."
" Please don't," entreated Beata. " I can't
bear it. Oh, dear Rosy, don't be vexed with
me, but please do let us be all happy and not
have anything like that."
64 ROSY.
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 because you've lived alone with
big people always that you're like that. I
dare say 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 just as well if you do," said
Rosy, " at least if you do a little. Anyway, it
would be better than setting up to be better
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 than other
people, and I'm sure I don't want to pretend.
I don't ever pretend like that, Rosy. Won't
you believe me ? I don't know what I can say
to make you believe me. I can't see that you
should think it such a very funny thing forme
to want to be good. Don't you want to be
good ?"
" Yes," said Rosy, " T suppose I do. I do just
MOST. 65
now, just at this minute. And just at this
minute I believe what you say. But I dare say
I won't always. The first time Colin teases
me I know I shall leave off wanting to be good.
I shall want nothing at all except just to give
him 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 you were to
say anything to me then about being good, I'd
very likely 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. Do leave us
alone. Just when we're talking so nicely," she
added, turning to Bee. " What a bother she
is!"
" I think she's very kind," said Bee, " but I
don't like to say anything like that to you, for
fear you should think I'm pretending or l set-
ting up,' or something like that."
Rosy laughed.
" I don't think that just now," she said.
" Well, let's go into the nursery, then," and as
66 HOST.
they came in she said to Martha with wonder-
ful amiability, " We aren't very hungry this
morning, I don't think, for we had each such a
big piece of bread and some milk before we
ran out."
" That was quite right, Miss Rosy," said
Martha, and by the sound of her voice it was
easy to see she was pleased. "It is never a
good thing to go out in the morning without
eating something, even if it's only a little
bit."
Breakfast passed most comfortably, and by
good luck Fixie hadn't forgotten his promise
to sit " aside Losy." " It was her turn," he
said, and he seemed to think the honor a very
great one.
" Do you remember on the steamer, Fixie,"
said Bee, " how we liked to sit together, and
how hot it was sometimes, and how we used to
wish we were 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 !"
ROSY. 67
Fixie got rather red.
" I'm not sure that I 'membered her all of
myself," he said, " but mamma telled me about
her one day. Her's quite welldened now."
Bee smiled a little at Fixie's funny way of
speaking, but she thought to 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's going 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 ask mamma. He is
going to come to see us soon. I'm sure of
that."
08 ROSY.
Later in the clay Colin remembered about it,
and asked Iris mother about it.
" What was tlie name of the gentleman that
you said was coming to see us soon, mamma ?"
he said--" the gentleman whose daughter was
so ill in the ship coming home from India."
" Mr. Furnivale," replied his mother. " You
must remember him and his daughter, Bee.
She is much better now. They have been all
these months in Italy, and they are going to
stay there through next winter, but Mr. Furni-
vale is in England on business and is coming
to see us very soon. He is a very kind man,
and always asks for Fixie and Bee when he
writes."
u That is very kind of him," said Bee grate-
fully.
But a dark look came over Rosy's face.
"It's just as if she was mamma's little girl,
and not me," she said to herself. " I hate
people mamma knew when Bee was with her
and I wasn't."
" Mr. Furnivale doesn't know you are with
us," Mrs. Vincent went on ; " he will be quite
ROSY. 69
pleased to see you. He says Cecilia has never
forgotten you ; Cecilia is liis daughter, you
know."
" Yes, I remember her name," said Bee. " I
wish she could come to see 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 it had been fixed that
Beata should call her " aunt," for to say " Mrs.
Vincent ' sounded rather stiff. " You would
think her pretty, Rosy," she went on again, out
of a wish to make Rosy join in what they were
talking of.
" No," said Rosy, with a sort of burst, " I
shouldn't. I don't know anything about what
you're talking of. and I don't want to hear
about it," and she turned away with a very
cross and angry face.
Bee was going to run after her, but Mrs. Vin-
cent stopped her.
" No," she said. " When she is so very fool-
ish, it is best to leave her alone."
But though she said it as if she did not
think Rosy's tempers of very much consequence,
70 HOST.
Beata saw the sad, disappointed look on her
face.
u Oh," thought the little girl, " how I do wish
I could do anything to keep Rosy from vexing
her mother !"
It was near bed-time when they had been
talking about Mr. Furnivale and his daughter,
and soon after the children all said good-night.
Rather to Bee's surprise, Rosy, who had hidden
herself in the window with a book, came out
when she was called and said good-night quite
pleasantly.
" I wonder she doesn't feel ashamed," thought
Bee. u I'm sure I never spoke like that to my
mamma, but if ever I had, I couldn't have said
good-night without saying I was sorry."
And it was with a slight feeling of self -ap-
proval that Beata went up to bed. When
she was undressed she went into the nursery
for a moment to ask Martha to brush her hair.
Fixie was not yet asleep, and the nurse looked
troubled.
" Is Fixie ill ?" said Bee.
" No, I hope not," said Martha, " but he's
ROSY. 71
troubled. Miss Rosy's been in to 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 to say good-night.
" Losy's been 'peaking to me, and she says no-
body loves her, 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 not told any
one so. And the thought of it kept Bee from
going to sleep as quickly as usual. " Rosy is
so puzzling," she thought. " It is so difficult to
understand her."
72 MOtiY.
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 A (lain.
*y u
SHE did go to sleep at last, and she slept for
awhile very soundly. But suddenly she
awoke, awoke quite completely, and with the
feeling that something had awakened her,
though what she did not know. She sat up
in bed and looked about her, if you can call
staring out into the dark where you can see
nothing " looking about you." It seemed to be
a very dark night ; there was no chink of
moonlight coming in at the window, and every-
thing was perfectly still. Beata could not
help wondering what had awakened her, and
ROSY. 73
she was settling herself to sleep again 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 stuff their handkerchief
into their mouth, or in some way prevent the
sound being heard. Beata felt at first a very
little frightened, and then, as she became quite
sure that it was somebody crying, very sorry
and uneasy. What could be the matter ? Was
it Fixie ? No, the sounds did not come from
the nursery side. Beata sat up in bed to hear
more clearly, and then amid 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 whose voice it was. It was
Rosy's. Bee was not a timid child, but the
room was very dark, and it took a little courage
to feel her way among the chairs and tables
till at last she found the door, which she
opened and softly went into Rosy's room. For
a moment she did not speak, for a new idea
74 ROSY.
struck her — could Rosy he crying and talking
in her sleep ? It was so very unlike her to cry
or ask any one to go to her. There was no
sound as Beata opened the door ; she could
almost have believed it had all been her fancy,
and for a moment she felt inclined to go back
to her own bed and say nothing. But a very
slight sound, a sort of little sobbing breath
that came from Rosy's bed, made her change
her 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 eledful to be awake all
night, Bee, I've been calling and calling you.
I'm so unhappy."
" Unhappy ?" said Bee, in a kind voice, going
nearer the bed. " What are you 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
HOST. 75
slept with, me, and you're not so very much
bigger."
" I'll get in for a little," said Beata, " just
while you tell me what's the matter, and why
you are so unhappy."
She was quite surprised at Rosy's way of
speaking. She seemed so much gentler 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 of peoples that think they're very
good, and that other peoples make a fuss about,
are very pretending. I've noticed that often.
But when we had been talking yesterday
morning all of a sudden I thought it would be
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 how pleased
you'd be when I never quarreled with Colin, or
was cross to Martha, or anything like that.
And it was all right for awhile ; but then
when mamma began talking about Mr. Furni-
ture, and how nice he was, and his daughter,
?6 ROSY.
and you knew all about them and I didn't, it
all went away. I told you it would — all the
wanting to be good — 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 no use."
" 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 I didn't mean anybody
to know. Mamma and Colin and nobody
could see I was sorry when I said good-night
-could they ?" she said, with a tone of satis-
faction. " No, I didn't mean anybody to know,
only after I was in bed it came back to me, and
I was so vexed and so unhappy. I thought
everybody would have been so surprised at
finding I could be just as good as anybody if I
liked. But I don't like; so just remember,
Bee, to-morrow morning I'm not going to try a
bit, and it's no 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 you wouldn't have
ROSY. 77
been thinking about it, and been sorry after
you were in bed."
" Yes, I did care," said Rosy with again a
little sob. " I had been thinking it would be
very nice. But I'm not going to care — that's
just the thing, Bee — that's what I wanted to
tell you- -I'm not going to 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've been 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 the way, I don't think. Mother
told me if I thought just saying my prayers
would 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
ROSY.
gives us a sort of feeling that he, you know,
Rosy, that God is smiling 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 worser about me than other
o
peoples, for Fve often said, l Do make me good,
do make me good, quick, quick,' and I didn't
get good."
" Because you pushed it away, Rosy. You're
always saying you're not good and you don't
care. But I think you do care, only," with a
sigh, "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 that you can't be
good, but you don't like to have to try so much.
But please, Rosy, don't say you'll leave off. Do
go on. It will get easier. I know it will.
It's like skipping and learning to play on the
piano and lots of things. Every time we try
makes it a little easier for the next time."
HOST. 79
"I never thought of that," said Rosy with
interest in her tone. u Well, I'll think about
it anyway, and I'll tell you in the morning what
I've settled. Perhaps I'll fix just to be naughty
again to-morrow, for a rest, you know. How
would it do, I wonder, if I was to be good and
naughty in turns ? I could settle the clays, and
then the naughty ones you could keep out of
my way."
" It wouldn't do at all," said Bee decidedly.
" It would be like going up two steps and then
tumbling back two steps. No, it would be
worse, it would be like going up two and tum-
bling back three, for every naughty day would
make it still harder to begin on the good
day."
" Well, I won't do that way, then," said Rosy
with wonderful gentleness. " 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
you to-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,
80 ROSY.
Rosy," said Bee, feeling afraid that Rosy would
again lose heart at the first break-down.
" Well, I dare say I won't," returned Rosy.
" But don't you see if nobody but you knows
it won't so much matter. But if I was to tell
everybody then it would all seem pretending,
and there's nothing so horrid as pretending."
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 for Rosy and a warm feeling of affection
also.
" And it was very horrid of me to be think-
ing of her that way to-night," said honest Bee
to herself. " I'll never think of her that way
again. Poor Rosy, she has had no mother all
these years that I've had my mother doing noth-
ing but trying to make me good. But I am so
glad Rosy is getting to like me."
For Rosy had kissed her warmly as they
bade each other good-night for the second
time.
" It was very nice of Bee to get out of bed in
the dark to come to me," she said to herself.
itos r.
" She is good, but I don't think she is pretend-
ing," and it was this feeling that made the
beginning of Rosy's friendship for Beata-
trust.
The little girls slept till later than usual the
next morning, for they had been a good while
awake in the night. Rosy began grumbling
and declaring she would not get up, and there
was very nearly the beginning of a stormy
scene with Martha when the sound of Bee's
voice calling out " Good-morning, Rosy," from
the next room reminded her of their talk in the
night, and though she did not feel all at once
able to speak good-naturedly to Martha, she left
off scolding. But her face did not look as
pleasant as Beata had hoped to see it when she
came into the nursery.
" Don't speak to me, please," she said in a
low voice. " I haven't settled 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 once or twice when
Colin began some of the teasing which seemed
as necessary to him as his dinner or his break-
82 ROSY.
fast, Rosy contented herself with a wriggle or
a little growl instead of fiery words and some-
times even blows. And when Colin, sur-
prised at her patience, went further and further,
ending by tying a long mesh of her hair to the
back of her chair, while she was busy fitting a
frock on to one of the little dolls, and then, call-
ing her suddenly, made her start up and really
hurt herself, Beata was astonished at her pa-
tience. She gave a little scream, it is trtie-
who could have helped it ? — and then rushed
out of the room, but not before the others had
seen the tears that were running down her
cheeks.
" Colin," said Bee, and for a moment or two
it almost seemed to the boy as if Rosy's tem-
per passed into the quiet little girl, " I am
ashamed of you. You naughty, cruel boy, just
when poor Rosy was-
She stopped suddenly--" just when poor
Rosy was beginning to try to be good," she
was going to have said, forgetting her promise
to tell no one of Rosy's plans — "just when we
were all quiet and comfortable," she said in-
stead.
ROSY. 83
Colin looked ashamed.
" I won't do it any more," he said, " I won't
really. Besides, there's no fun in only making
her cry. It was only fun when it put her in-
to a rage."
" Nice fun," said Bee with scorn.
" Well, you know what I mean. I dare say it
wasn't right, but I never really meant to hurt
her. And all the fellows at school tease like
that — one can't help getting into the way of it."
" I never heard such a foolish way of talking,"
answered Bee, who was for ounce .quite vexed
with Colin. u I don't think that's a reason for
doing wrong things — that other people do
them."
" It's bad example — the force of bad ex-
ample," said Colin so gravely that Beata, who
•
was perhaps a little matter of fact, would have
answered 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. u Well, I don't mind, if you'll promise
me to leave Rosy alone — anyway for a few
84 HOST.
days ; I've a very particular reason for asking
it. Do promise, wont you ?"
She looked up at him with her little face
glowing with eagerness, her honest gray eyes
bright with kindly feeling for Rosy. u You
may tease me"' 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 far too good-natured.
Well, I will promise you- -I'll promise you more
than you ask- -listen what a grand promise-
I'll promise you not to tease Rosy 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 to tease ! But, Colin, please, it must be a
secret between you and me about your promis-
ing not to tease Rosy, If she knew I had
asked you it wouldn't do half as well."
" Oh, it's easy enough to promise that/' said
ROti Y. 85
Colin. " Poor Bee," he went on, half -ashamed
of having taken her in, " you don't under
stand why I promised for three months. It's
because to-morrow I'm going back to school
for three months."
" Are you ?" said Beata, in a disappointed
tone. " Fin very sorry. I had forgotten about
you going to school with your being here when
I first came, you know."
"Yes; and your lessons — yours and Rosy's
and Fixie's, for he does a little too — they'll be
beginning again soon. We've all been having
holidays just now."
" And who will give us lessons ?" asked
Beata.
" Oh, Miss Pink, Rosy's governess. Her real
name's Miss Pinkerton, but it'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 having still another stranger
to make friends with.
" Oh, yes, she's nice. Only she spoils Rosy
-she's afraid of her tempers. You'll see.
But you'll get on all right. I really think
86 ROSY.
Rosy is going to be nicer, now you've come,
Bee."
"I'm so glad," said Bee. "But I'm sorry
you're going away, Colin. In three months
you'll have forgotten how to tease, won't you ?"
she said again, smiling.
" I'm not so sure of that," he answered laugh-
ingly.
In her heart Bee thought perhaps it was a
good thing Colin was going away for awhile,
for Rosy's sake. It might make it easier for
her to carry out her good plans. But for her-
self 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 the other children saw that
she did not want any notice taken. She looked
at 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 heard about her
before,"
u
ti
ROSY. 87
" She's a stupid old thing," said Rosy respect-
fully.
But she's kind, isn't she ?" asked Beata.
Oh, yes ; I dare say you'll think her kind.
But I don't care for her — much. She's rather
pretending."
" I can't understand why you think so many
people pretending," said Bee. " 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's way, for she thinks it of
everybody."
u No, I don't," said Rosy, l not everybody."
" Well, you think it of great lots, anyway.
I'd rather think some people 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 Colin meant ; she liked
to understand things clearly, but she was not
always very quick at doing so.
88 ROSY.
" Yes," she said, " I think so too. Besides,
there are lots of very kind and good people in
the world — really kind and good, not pretend-
ing a bit. And then, too, mother used to tell
me that feeling kind ourselves made others feel
kind to us, without their quite knowing how
sometimes."
Kosy listened, though she said nothing ; but
when she kissed Beata in saying good-night,
she whispered, " I did go on trying, Bee, and
I think it does get a very little easier. But I
don't want anybody to know- -you remember,
don't you T
" Yes, I won't forget," said Bee. " But if you
go on, Rosy, everybody will find out for them-
selves, without my telling."
And in their different ways both little girls
felt very happy as they fell asleep that night.
MOST. 89
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 he had gone. The day after he left Miss
Pinkertou came back, and the little girls'
lessons began.
tf 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 not manage to gain the chil-
dren's hearts, and Bee soon came to understand
why Rosy called her " pretending." She w»as
so afraid of vexing anybody that she had got
90 ROSY.
into tlie habit of agreeing with every one with-
out really thinking over what they meant, and
she was so afraid also of being blamed for
Rosy's tempers that she would give in to her
in any way. So Rosy did not respect her, and
was sometimes really rude to her.
" Miss Pink," she said one morning a few days
after lessons had begun again, "I don't want to
learn any more arithmetic."
" No, my dear ?" said Miss Pink mildly.
" But what will you do when you are grown-up
if you cannot count ? — everybody needs to
know how to count, or else they can't manage
their money."
" I don't want to know how to manage
my money," replied Rosy ; " somebody must 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, did
Rosy, that they had no arithmetic that morn-
ing, though Miss Pink said nothing about it,
leaving it to seem as if it were by accident.
HOST.
Beata liked sums, and did them more
quickly than her other lessons. But she said
nothing.
When lessons were over and they were alone,
Kosy threw two or three books up in the air, and
caught them again.
" Aha !" she said mischievously, " we'll have
no more nasty sums- -you'll see."
" Rosy," said Bee, " you can't be in earnest.
Miss Pink won't leave off giving 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 if she still doesn't, then
I'll tell your mother that we're not learning
arithmetic any more."
" You'll tell mamma ?" said Rosy, standing
before her and looking very fierce.
" Yes," said Beata. " Arithmetic is one of
the things my mother wants me to learn very
92 SOS 7.
well, and if Miss Pink doesn't teach it me I
shall tell your 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," and what
she would have gone on to say there is no
knowing had not Fixie just then come into the
room, and Rosy was not fond of showing her
tempers off before her little brother.
Beata was very sorry and unhappy. She said
nothing more, hoping that Rosy would come to
see how mistaken she was, and the rest of the
day passed quietly. But the next morning it
was the same thing. When they came to the
time at which they usually had their arithmetic,
Rosy looked up at Miss Pink with a deter-
mined 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
ROSY. 93
comical ! Come, now, get your slate— see,
there is dear Beata all ready with hers. You
shall not have very hard sums to-day, I promise
you."
" Miss Pink," said Rosy, " I won't do any
sums. I told you so yesterday, and you know
I mean what I say. If Bee chooses to tell
tales, 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 the same place
and it would put everything wrong."
" Yes," said Miss Pink. " I cannot give you
separate lessons. It would put everything
wrong. But I'm sure you're only joking, Rosy
dear. We won't say anything about the sums
to-day, and then to-morrow we'll go on 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 any sums to-morrow or any
day."
Bee said nothing. She did not know what
o
to say. She could hardly believe Rosy was the
94 HOST.
same little girl as the Rosy whom she had
heard crying in the night, who had made her so
happy by talking about trying to 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 door opened and Mrs. Vincent came
in.
" Good-morning, Miss Pinkerton," she said.
" I've come to see how you are 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 new pupil very trouble-
some, I hope ?" she went on with a smile at
Beata.
" Oh, dear, no ! oh, certainly not," said Miss
Pinkerton nervously ; " oh, dear, no - - Miss
Beata is very good indeed. Everything's very
nice — oh, we're very happy, thank you — dear
Rosy and dear Beata and I."
u I am very glad to hear it," said Mrs. Vin-
cent, but she spoke rather gravely, for on com-
ing into the room it had not looked to her as if
ROSY. 95
everything was " very nice." Beata looked
grave and troubled, Miss Pinkerton flurried,
and there was a black cloud on Rosy's face
that her mother knew only too well. " What
lessons are you at now ?" she went on.
" Oh, ah !" began Miss Pinkerton, fussing
among some of the books that lay on the table.
" We've just finished a chapter of our English
history, and — and- -I was thinking of giving
the dear children a dictation."
" It's not the time for dictation," said, Rosy.
And then to Bee's surprise she burst out, " Miss
Pink, I wonder how you can tell such stories !
Everything is not quite nice, mamma, for I've
just been telling Miss Pink I won't do any
sums, and it's just the time for sums. I wouldn't
do them yesterday, and I won't do them to-day,
or any day, because I hate them."
" You ' won't ' and you ' wouldn't ' Rosy,"
said her mother so sternly and coldly that Bee
trembled for her, though Rosy gave no signs of
trembling for herself. " Is that a way in which
I can allow you to speak ? You must apologize
to Miss Pinkerton, and tell her you will be
96 ROSY.
ready to do any lessons she gives you, or you
must go upstairs to your own room."
" I'll go upstairs to my own room then," said
Rosy at once. " I'd 'pologize 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 Miss Pinkerton, she added
in a very serious tone, " Miss Pinkerton, I do
not wish to appear to find fault with you, but
I must say that you should have told me of all
this before. It is most mistaken kindness to
Rosy to hide her disobedience and rudeness,
and it makes things much more difficult for me.
I am particularly sorry to have to punish Rosy
to-day, for I have just heard that a friend is
coming to see us who would have liked to find
all the children good and happy."
Rosy's face grew gloomier and gloomier.
Beata was on the point of breaking in with a
request that Rosy might be forgiven, but some-
thing in Mrs. Vincent's look stopped her.
Miss Pinkerton grew very red and looked
very unhappy — almost as if she was going to
cry.
HOST. 97
"I'm — I'm very sorry — very distressed. But
I thought dear Rosy was only 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 by this time,
Miss Pink, that I always mean what I say.
I'm not like you."
After this there was nothing for it but" to
send Rosy up to her own room. Mrs. Vincent
told Miss Pinkerton to finish the morning
lessons with Beata, and then left the school-
room.
Bee was very unhappy, and Miss Pink by
this time was in tears.
" She is so naughty — so completely spoiled"
she said. " I really don't think I can go on
teaching her. She's not like you, dear Beata.
How happily and peacefully we could go on
doing our lessons — you and I- -without that
self-willed Rosy."
98
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, and
so I don't think you should say it to me. I
think it would be better if you said to Rosy
herself what you think."
" I couldn't," said Miss Pink. " There would
be no staying with her if I didn't give in to her.
And I don't want to lose this engagement, for
it'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 you think," said Bee,
who couldn't help being sorry for Miss Pink-
erton when she spoke of her mother being ill.
And Miss Pink was really kind-hearted, only
she did not distinguish between weak indul-
gence and real sensible kindness.
When lessons were over Mrs. Vincent called
Bee to come and speak to her.
" It is Mr. Furnivale who is coming to see us
o
to-day," she said. " It is for that I am so par-
ROSY. 99
ticularly 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, remembering her promise.
" Don't you think she will be sorry now ?" she
said. " Might I go and ask her ?"
"No, dear, I think you had better not,"
said Mrs. Vincent. " I will see her myself in
a little while. Yes, I believe she is sorry, but
she won't let herself say so."
Beata felt sad and dull without Rosy ; for
the last few days had really passed happily.
And Rosy shut up in her own room was
thinking with a sort of bitter vexation rather
than sorrow of how quickly her resolutions
had all come to nothing.
"It's not my fault," she kept saying to
herself, " it's all Miss Pink's. She knew I
hated sums — that horrid kind of long rows
worst of all- -and she just gave me them on
purpose; and then when I said I wouldn't do
100 ROUT.
them, she went on coaxing and talking nonsense
-that way that just makes me naughtier. I'd
rather do sums all day than have her talk like
that — and then to go and tell stories to mamma-
I hate her, nasty, pretending thing. It's all
her fault ; and then she'll be going on praising
Bee, and making everybody think how good
Bee is and how naughty I am. I wish Bee
hadn't come. I didn't mind it so much before.
I wonder if she told mamma as she said she
would, and if that was why mamma came in to
the schoolroom this morning. I wonder if Bee
could be so mean ;" and in this new idea Rosy
almost forgot her other troubles. "If Bee did
do it I shall never forgive her — never," she
went on to herself; " I wouldn't have minded
her doing it right out, as she said she would,
but to go and tell mamma that sneaky way,
and get her to come into the room just at that
minute, no, I'll never-
A knock at the door interrupted her, and
then before she had time to answer, she heard
her mother's voice outside. " I'll take it in
myself, thank you, Martha," she was saying,
ROS T. 101
and in a moment Mrs. Vincent came in carry-
ing the glass of milk and dry biscuit which the
children always had at twelve, as they did not
have dinner till two o'clock with their father's
and mother's luncheon.
" Here is your milk, Rosy," said her mother
gravely as she put it down 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 Bee that made you
come into the schoolroom just at sums time ?
Was it because of her telling you what I had
said that you came ?"
Mrs. Vincent in her turn looked at Rosy.
Many mothers would have refused to answer
-would have said it was not Rosy's place
to begin asking questions instead of begging
to be forgiven for their naughty conduct; but
Rosy's mother was different from many.
She knew that Rosy was a strange character
to deal with ; she hoped and believed that in
her real true heart her little girl did feel how
wrong she was ; and she wished, oh, how ear-
102 ROSY.
nestly, to help the little plant of goodness to
grow, not to crush it down by too much
sternness. And in Rosy's face just now she
read a mixture of feelings.
" No, Rosy," she answered very gently, but
so that Rosy never for one instant doubted the
exact truth of what she said, " no, Beata had
not said one word about you or your lessons to
me. I came in just then quite by accident. I
am very sorry you are so suspicious, Rosy- -you
seem to trust no one — not even innocent-hearted,
honest little Bee."
Rosy drew a long breath, and grew rather
red. Her best self was glad to find Bee what
she had always been — not to be obliged to keep
to her terrible resolutions of " never forgiving,"
and so on ; but her worst self felt a strange
kind of crooked disappointment that her suspi-
cions had no ground.
" Bee said she would tell you," she murmured
confusedly ; " she said 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
ROSY. 103
would never have tried to get you into disgrace
in any underhand way. But I won't say more
about Bee, Rosy. I must tell you that I have
decided not to punish you anymore to-day, and
I will tell you that the reason is greatly that
an old friend of ours — of your father's and
mine "
" Mr. Furniture !" exclaimed Rosy, forgetting
her tempers in the excitement of the news.
" Yes, Mr. Furnivale," said her mother, and
she could not keep back a little smile ; " he is
coming this afternoon. It would be punishing
not only you, but your father and Bee and my-
self--all of us indeed- -if we had to tell our
old friend the moment he arrived that our
Rosy was in disgrace. So you may go no wand
ask Martha to dress you neatly. Mr. Furnivale
may be here by luncheon-time, and no more
will be said about this unhappy morning. But,
Rosy, listen--! trust to your honor to try to
behave so as to please me. I will say no more
about your arithmetic lessons ; will you act so
as to show me I have not been foolish in for-
giving you ?"
104 ROSY.
The red flush came back to Rosy's face, and
her eyes grew bright ; she was not a child that
cried easily. She threw her arms round her
mother's neck, and whispered in a voice which
sounded as if tears were not very far off :
«/
" Mamma, I do thank you. I will try. I
will do my sums as much as you like to-morrow,
only »
" Only what, Rosy ?"
" Can you tell Miss Pink that it is to please
you I want to do them, not to please her, mam-
ma ? — she isn't like you. I don't believe what
she says."
" I will tell Miss Pink that you want to
please me, certainly, but you must see, Rosy,
that obeying her, doing the lessons she gives
you by my wish, is pleasing me," said her
mother, though at the same time in her own
mind she determined to have a little talk with
Miss Pink privately.
"Yes," said Rosy, "I know that."
She spoke gently, and her mother felt happier
about her little girl than for long.
Mr, Furnivale did arrive in time for luncheon.
ROSY. 105
He had just come when the little girls and Fixie
went down to the drawing-room at the sound
of the first gong. He came forward to meet
the children with kindly interest in his face.
" Well, Fixie, my boy, and how are you ?" he
said, lifting the fragile little figure in his arms.
" Why, I think you are a little bit fatter and a
little bit rosier than this time last year. And
this is your sister that I don't know," he went
on, turning to Rosy, " and — why, bless my
soul ! here's another old friend- -my busy Bee.
I had 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 you Bee'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
was with us, and not at school, when her poor
grandmother grew too ill to have her."
" Yes, indeed," said Mr. Furnivale. " Cecy
will be glad to hear it. She had no idea of it.
And so when you all come to pay us that
famous visit we have been talking about, Bee
must come too — eh. Bee 2"
106 ROSY.
Bee's eyes sparkled. She liked kind old
Mr. Furnivale, and she had been 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 England before long, and have a
nice house like yours, and then you are all to
come to see us," said Mr. Furnivale.
They went on talking for a few minutes
dbout these pleasant plans, and in the interest
of hearing about Cecilia Furnivale and hearing
all her messages, Rosy, who had never seen her,
and who was quite a stranger to her father too,
was naturally left a little in the background.
It was quite enough to put her out again.
u I might just as well have been left upstairs
in my own room," she said to herself. " Nobody
notices me — nobody cares whether I am here or
not. I won't go to stay with that ugly old man
and his stupid daughter, just to be always put
behind Bee."
And when Beata, with a slight feeling that
Bosy might be feeling herself neglected, and
ROSY. 107
full of pleasure, too, at Mrs. Vincent's having
forgiven 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, look-
ing very cross, went back to her old cry.
"I wish you'd leave me alone, Bee. I hate
that sort of pretending. You know quite well
nobody would care whether I went or not."
And poor Bee drew back quite distressed,
and puzzled again by Rosy's changeableness.
108 £OSY.
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 was saying to Rosy's
mother as lie sat beside her on the sofa during
o
the few minutes they were waiting for luncheon,
" and she looks so strong and well."
" Yes," said Mrs. Vincent, " she is very strong.
I am glad you think her pretty," she wrent on.
" It is always difficult to judge of one's own
children, I think, or indeed of any face you see
constantly. I thought Rosy very pretty, I must
confess, when I first saw her again after our
three years' separation, but now I don't think I
could judge."
HOST. 109
Mrs. Vincent gave a little sigh as she spoke,
which made Mr. Furnivale wonder what she
was troubled about. The truth was that she
was thinking to herself how little she would
care whether Rosy was pretty or not, if only
she could feel more happy about her really try-
ing to be a good little girl.
" Your little girl was with Miss Vincent
while you were away, was she not ?" said Mr.
Furnivale.
" Yes," said Rosy's mother, " her aunt is very
fond of her: She gave herself 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, and she
writes often to ask how Cecy is. And in her
last letter she said she hoped to come to see
you soon."
" I have not heard anything decided about
it," replied Mrs. Vincent. " I had begun to
think she would not come this year — she was
speaking of going to some seaside place."
" Ah, but I rather think she has changed her
110 HOST.
mind, then," said Mr. Furnivale, and then he
went on to talk of something else to him of
more 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 understand
how cruel it is to spoil Rosy. But it is the
maid- -that Nelson--! cannot like or trust her,
and I believe she did Rosy more harm than all
her aunt's over-indulgence. And Edith is so
fond of her ; I cannot say anything against her,"
for Miss Vincent was an invalid, and very
dependent on this maid.
Little Beata noticed that during luncheon
Rosy's mother looked troubled, and it made her
feel sorry. Rosy perhaps would have noticed it
too, had she not been so very much taken up with
her own fancied troubles. She was running full
o
speed into one of her cross, jealous moods, and
everything that was said or done she took the
wrong way. Her father helped Bee before her
-that she could not but allow was right, as
Bee was a guest- -but now it seemed to her
HOST. HI
that lie chose the nicest bits for Bee, with a
care he never showed in helping her. Rosy
was not the least greedy — she would have been
ready and pleased to give away anything, so
long as she got the credit of it, and was praised
and thanked, but to be treated second-best in
the way in which she chose to imagine she was
being treated- -that she could not and would not
stand. She sat through luncheon with a black
look on her pretty face ; so that Mr. Furnivale,
whom she was beside, found her much less
pleasant to talk to than Bee opposite, though
Bee herself was less bright and merry than
usual.
Mrs. Vincent felt glad that no more was
said about Aunt Edith's coming. She felt
that she did not wish Rosy to hear of it, and
yet she did not like to ask Mr. Furnivale not
to mention it, as it seemed ungrateful to think
or speak of a visit from Miss Vincent except
with pleasure. After luncheon, when they
were again in the drawing-room, Mr. Furni-
vale came up to her with a small parcel in his
hand.
112 ROBT.
" I am so sorry," lie began, with a little hesi-
tation, "I am so sorry that I did not know
Beata Warwick was with you. Cecy had no
idea of it, and she begged me to give your
little girl this present we bought for her in
Venice, and now I don't half like giving it to
the one little woman when I have nothing for
the other."
He opened the parcel as he spoke ; it con-
tained a quaint-looking little box, which in its
turn, when opened, showed a necklace of glass
beads of every imaginable color. They were
not very large — each bead perhaps about the
size of a pea — of a large pea, that is to say.
And some 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 colors came together in the prettiest
possible way. One was pale blue with little
tiny flowers, pink or rose-colored, raised upon
it ; one was white with a sort of rainbow
glistening of every color through it; two or
three were black, but with a different tracery,
ROSY. 113
gold or red or bright green, on each ; and some
were a kind of mixture of colors and patterns
which seemed to change as you looked at them,
so that you could fancy you saw flowers, or
figures, or tiny landscapes even, which again
disappeared — 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 now rare. These are really old,
and the imitation ones, which they make in
plenty, are not half so curious. Cecy thought
they would take a child's fancy."
"More than a child's," said Mrs. Vincent,
smiling. " I think they are lovely — and what
a pretty ornament they will be — fancy them on
a white dress !"
" I am only sorry I have not two of them,"
said Mr. Furnivale, "or at least something else
for the other little girl. You would not wish
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 better like it to be given to
114 HOST.
Beata. She was very unselfish, and her natural
thought was that in anything of the kind, Bee,
the little stranger, the child in her care, whose
O '
mother was so far away, should come first.
But there was more to think of than this feel-
ing of hers.
o
" It would be doing no real kindness to Bee/'
she said to herself, " to let Mr. Furnivale srive
7 O
it to her. It would certainly rouse that terrible
jealousy of Rosy's, and it might grow beyond
my power to undo the harm it would do. As
it is, seeing, as I know she will, how simply
and sweetly Beata behaves about it may do her
lasting good, and draw the children still more
together."
So she looked up at Mr. Furnivale with her
pretty honest eyes- -Rosy's eyes were honest
too, and like her mother's when she was sweet
and good- -and said frankly:
"You won't think me selfish, I am sure--I
think you will believe that I do it from good
motives — when I ask you not to change, but
still to give it to Rosy. I will take care that
little Bee does not suffer for it in the end."
MOST. 115
"And I too," said Mr. Furnivale, "if I can
find another necklace when I go back to Venice.
I shall not forget to send it — indeed, I might
write to the dealer beforehand to look out for
one. I am sure vou are ri^ht, and on the whole
t/ O
I am glad, for Cecy did buy 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 the
lawn where the three children wrere now play-
ing, and called Rosy.
" I wonder what mamma wants," thought
Rosy to herself as she walked toward the draw-
ing-room rather slowly and sulkily, leaving
Bee and Fixie to go on running races (for when
I said " the children ' were playing, I should
have said Beata and Felix- -not Rosy). "I
dare say she will be going to scold me, now
luncheon's over. I wish that ugly old Mr.
Furniture would go away," for all the cross,
angry, jealous thoughts had come back to poor
Rosy since she had taken it into her head again
about Bee being put before her and all her
116 ROSY.
good wishes and plans, which had grown
stronger through her mother's gentleness, had
again flown away, like a flock of frightened
white doves, looking back at her with, sad eyes
as they flew.
Rosy's good angel, however, was very patient
with her that day. Again she was to be tried
with kindness instead of harshness ; surely this
time it would succeed.
" Rosy dear," said her mother quite brightly,
for she had not noticed Rosy's cross looks at
dinner, and she felt a natural pleasure in the
thought of her child's pleasure, '• Mr. Furnivale
-or perhaps I should say Miss Furnivale,
whom we all speak of as Cecy, you know-
has sent you such a pretty present. See, dear
-you have never, I think, had anything so
pretty," and she held up the lovely beads before
Rosy's dazzled eyes.
" Oh, how pretty !" exclaimed the little girl,
her whole face lighting up. " Oh, mamma, how
very pretty ! And they are for me ? Oh, how
very kind of Miss Furni — of Miss Cecy," she
went on, turning to the old gentleman. <: Will
you please thank her for me very much ?"
ROSY. 117
No one could look prettier or sweeter than
.Rosy at this moment, and Mr. Furnivale began
to think he had been mistaken in thinking
the little Vincent girl a much less lovable
child than his old friend Beata Warwick.
" How very, very pretty," she repeated,
touching the beads softly with her little
fingers. And then with a sudden change she
turned to her mother.
" Is there a necklace for Bee ?'7 too she said.
Mrs. Vincent's first feeling was of pleasure
that Rosy should think of her little friend, but
there was in the child's face a look that made
her not sure that the question was quite out of
kindness to Bee, and the mother's voice was a
little grave and sad as she answered :
" No. Rosy. There is not one for Bee. Mr.
Furnivale brought it for you only."
Then Rosy's face was a curious study.
There was a sort of pleasure in it — and this, I
must truly say, was not pleasure that Bee had
not a present also, for Rosy was not greedy or
even selfish in the common way, but it was
pleasure at being put first, and joined to this
118 ROSY.
pleasure was a nice honest sorrow that Bee was
left out. Now that Rosy was satisfied that she
herself was properly treated she found time to
think of Bee. And though the necklace had
been six times as pretty, though it had been all
pearls or diamonds, it would not have given
Mrs. Vincent hdf the pleasure that this look of
real unselfish sorrow in Rosy's face sent through
her heart. More still when the little girl, bend-
ing to her mother, whispered softly :
" Mamma, would it be right of me to give it
to Bee ? I wouldn't mind very much."
"No, darling, no ; but I am very glad you
thought of it. We will do something to make
up for it to Bee." And she added aloud :
" Mr. Furnivale may perhaps be able to get
one something like it for Bee when he goes
back to Italy."
" Then I may show it to her. It won't be
unkind to show it her ?" asked Rosy. And
when her mother said " No, it would not be un-
kind," feeling sure, with her faith in Bee's good-
ness, that Rosy's pleasure would be met with
the heartiest sympathy- -for "sympathy,"
ROSY. 119
dears, can be shown to those about us in their
joys as well as in their sorrows — Rosy ran off
in the highest spirits. Mr. Furnivale smiled as
he saw her delight, 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 was what she had been whispering about.
" Not that Beata would have been willing to
take it," she added ; " she is the most unselfish
child possible."
" And unselfishness is sometimes catching,
luckily for poor human nature," said the old
gentleman, laughing. And Mrs. Vincent
laughed too — the whole world seemed to have
grown brighter to her since the little gleam
she believed she had had of true gold at the
bottom of Rosy's wayward little heart.
And Rosy ran gleefully off to her friend.
" Bee, Bee," she cried, " stop playing, do.
I have something to show you. And you too,
Fixie, you may come and see it if you like.
See," as the two children ran up to her
breathlessly, and she opened the box, " see,"
and she held up the lovely necklace, lovelier
120 ROSY.
than ever as it glittered in the sunshine, every
color seeming to mix in with the others and
o
yet to Stand out separate in the most beauti-
ful way. " Did you 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- -from somewhere. I don't
remember the name of the place, but I know
it's somewhere in the country that's the shape
of a boot."
" Italy," said Bee, whose geography was not
quite so hazy as Rosa's.
" Yes, I suppose it's Italy, but I don't care
where it came from as long 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 said something, but perhaps I
shouldn't tell."
" Don't tell it then," said Bee, whose whole
EVER SEE ANYTHING SO PRETTY, BEE?" ROSY REPEATED.— Page 120.
HOST.
attention was given to the necklace. " Oh, 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 her eyes that Rosy's
heart was touched.
" Bee," she said quickly, " I do think you're
very good. Are you not the least bit vexed,
Bee, that you haven't got it, or at least that
you haven't got one like it ?"
Beata looked up with real surprise.
" Vexed that I haven't got one too ?" she re-
peated. "Of course not, Rosy dear. People
can't always have everything the same. I
never thought of such a thing. And besides,
it is a pleasure to me even though it's not my
necklace. It will be nice to see you wearing
it, and I know you'll let me look at it in my
hand sometimes, won't you ?" touching the beads
gently as she spoke. " See, Fixie," she went
on, " what lovely colors ! Aren't they like
fairy beads, Fixie ?"
u Yes," said Fixie, " they is welly pitty. I
could fancy I saw fairies looking out of some
of them. I think if we was to listen welly
122
kietly p'r'aps we'd hear fairy stories coming
out of them."
u Rubbish, Fixie," said Rosy rather sharply,
She was too fond of calling other people's
fancies " rubbish." Fixie's face grew red, and
the corners of his mouth went down.
" Rosy's only in fun, Fixie," said Bee. " You
shouldn't mind. We'll try some day and see
if we can hear any stories — anyway we could
fancy them, couldn't we? Are you going to
put on the beads now, Rosy ? I think 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 your
mother see it on ? Oh, 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 face
reflected in Beata's.
" Mother," whispered Rosy, " I didn't say
anything to Bee about her perhaps getting one
too. It was better not, wasn't it ? It would
be nicer to be a surprise."
ROSY. 123
" Yes, I think it would. Anyway it is better
to say nothing about it just yet, as we are not
at all sure of it, you know. Does Bee think
the beads very pretty, Rosy ?"
" Very," said Rosy, " but she isn't the least
bit vexed for 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, " I have
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 the idea came into my mind
-I was so glad that you offered to give it up
to Bee, and I am so glad for you really to see
for yourself how sweet and unselfish Bee is
about it. Do you know what a talisman is ?"
"Yes, mamma," said Rosy, with great satis-
faction. "Papa explained it to me one day
when I read it in a book. It is a kind of
charm, isn't it mamma ? — a kind of nice fairy
charm. You mean that I should be so pleased
with the necklace, mamma, that it should make
me feel happy and good whenever I see it, and
124 ROSY.
that I should remember, too, how nice Bee 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, Rosy ran off.
Mr. Furnivale left the next day, but not
without promises of another visit 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, u and I'll tell her too that she
would scarcely know you again — so fat and
rosy !"
" And my love, please," said Beata ; "I would
so like to see her again."
" 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
ROSY. 125
if Rosy's mother's half -fanciful idea was coming
true. There was such a great improvement in
Rosy — she seemed so much happier in herself,
and to care so much more about 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 ocasions, but to her great delight her
mother let her take care of it herself, instead
' of putting it away with the gold chain and
locket her aunt had given her on her last birth-
day, and the pearl ring her other godmother
had sent her, which was much too large for
her small fingers at present, and her ivory-bound
prayer-book, and various other treasures to be
enjoyed by her when she should be " a big girl."
And many an hour the children amused them-
selves with the lovely beads, examining them
till they knew every one separately. They
even, I believe, had a name for each, and Fixie
had a firm belief that inside each crystal ball
a little fairy dwelt, and that every moonlight
126 HOST.
night all these fairies came out and danced
about Rosy's room, though he never could
manage to keep awake to see them.
Altogether, there was no end to the pretty
fancies and amusement which the children got
from " Mr. Furniture's present."
HOST. 127
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 ^were little 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 much about it. Miss Pink
was so delighted that if Bee had not been a
modest and sensible little girl, Miss Pink's over
praise of her, as the cause of all this improve-
ment, might have undone all the good. Not
that Miss Pink was not ready to praise Rosy
too, and in a way that would have done her no
good either, if Rosy had cared enough for her
128 &OSY.
to think much of her praise or her blame. But
one word or look even from her mother was
getting to be more to Rosy than all the good-
natured little governess' chatter ; a nice smile
from Martha even she felt to mean really more,
and one of Beata's sweet, bright kisses would
sometimes find its way straight to Rosy's
queerly hidden-away heart.
" You see, Rosy, it does get easier," Bee
ventured to say one day. 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 never again talked together so
openly. Indeed, Rosy was not a person whose
confidence was easy to gain. But she was
honest — that was the best of her.
She looked up quickly when Bee spoke.
" Yes," she said, " I think it's getting easier.
But you see, Bee, there have only been nice
things lately. If anything was to come to vex
me very much, I dare say it would be just like
it used to be again. There's not even been
Colin to tease me for a long time !"
o
Rosy's way of talking of herself puzzled Bee,
HOST. 129
though she couldn't quite explain it. It was
right, she knew, for Rosy not to feel too sure of
herself, but still she went too far that way.
She almost talked as if she had nothing to do
with her own faults, that they must come 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," said Bee. " Only I
think you are a little wrong. You should try
to say, < If things come to vex rne, 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, only she 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 was going to be, perhaps I
should say, a very nice thing. A note came
one day to Rosy's mother to say that a lady, a
friend of hers living a few miles off, wanted to
130
see her, to talk over a plan she had in her head
for a birthday treat to her two little daughters.
These two children were twins ; they were a
little younger than Rosy, and she did not know
them very well, as they lived some way oft' ;
but Mrs. Vincent had often wished they could
meet oftener, as they were very nice and good
children.
And when Lady Esther had been, and had
had her talk with Rosy's mother, she looked in
at the schoolroom a moment in passing, and
kissed the little girls, smiling, and seeming very
pleased, for she was so kind that nothing
pleased her so much as to give pleasure to
others.
" 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. Lady Esther was going
to have a feast for the twins' birthday - - a
garden-feast, for it was to be hoped by that
time the weather could be counted upon, and
all the children were to have fancy dresses !
ROSY. 131
That was to be the best fun of it all. Not very
grand or expensive dresses, and nothing which
would make them uncomfortable, or prevent
their running about freely. Lady Esther's
idea was that the children should be dressed in
sets, which would look very pretty when they
came into the big hall to dance before leaving.
Lady Esther hafl proposed that Rosy and Bee
should be dressed as the pretty French queen,
Marie Antoinette, whom no doubt you have
heard of, and her sister-in-law the good princess,
Madame Elizabeth. Fixie was to be the little
prince, and Lady Esther's youngest little girl
the young princess, while the twins were to be
two maids of honor. But Rosy's mother had
said she would like better for her little girls to
be the maids of honor, and the twins to be the
queen and princess, which seemed quite right,
as the party was to be in their house. And so
it was settled.
A few days later Lady Esther sent over
sketches of the dresses she proposed to have,
and the children were greatly pleased and
interested.
132 fiOSY.
" May I wear my beads, mamma ?" asked
Kosy.
Mrs. Vincent smiled.
" I dare say you can," she said, and Rosy
clapped her hands with delight, and everything
seemed as happy as possible.
"But remember," said Mrs. Vincent, "it is
still quite a month off. Do not talk or think
about it too much, or you will tire yourselves
out in fancy before the real pleasure comes."
This was good advice. Bee tried to follow
it by doing her lessons as usual and giving the
same attention to them. But Rosy, with some
of her old self-will, would not leave off talking
about the promised treat. She was tiresome
and careless at her lessons, and Miss Pink was
not firm enough to check her. Morning, noon,
and night, Rosy went on about the feast, most
of all about the dresses, till Bee sometimes
wished the birthday treat had never been
thought of, or at least that Rosy had never been
told of it.
One morning when the children came down
to see Mr. and Mrs. Vincent at their breakfast,
HOST. 133
which they often were allowed to do, though
they still had their own breakfast earlier than
the big people, in the nursery with Martha,
Beata noticed that Rosy's mother looked grave
and rather troubled.
Bee took no notice of it, however, except
that when she kissed her she said softly :
" Are you not quite well, auntie ?" for so
Rosy's mother liked her to call 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 to
some of the servants, she called Rosy and Bee
to come to her.
" Rosy and Bee," she said kindly but gravely,
"do you remember my advising you not to
talk or to think too much about Lady Esther's
treat ?"
"Yes," said Bee, and "Yes," said Rosy,
though in a rather sulky tone of voice.
" Well, then, I should not have had to
remind you both of my advice. I am really
sorry to have to find fault about anything to
do with the birthday party. I wanted it to
134 ROSY.
have been nothing but pleasure to you. But
Miss Pink has told me she does not know what
to do with you- -that you are so careless and
inattentive, and constantly chattering about
Lady 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 as she did
just now. It was not true — how could Miss
Pi iik have said so of her ? She knew it was
not true, and the words, " I haven't been care-
less--! did do just what you said," were burst-
ing out of her lips when she stopped. What
good would it do to defend herself except to
make Mrs. Vincent more vexed with Rosy, and
to cause fresh bad feelings in Rosy's heart ?
Would it not be better to say nothing, to bear
the blame, rather than lose the kind feelings
that Rosy was getting to have to her ? All
these thoughts were running through her mind,
making her feel rather puzzled and confused, for
Bee did not always see things very quickly ;
she needed to think them over, when, to her
surprise, Rosy looked up.
ROSY. 135
" It isn't true, she said, not very respectfully
it must be owned, " it isn't true that Bee has
been careless. If Miss Pink thinks telling
stories about Bee will make me any better,
she's very silly, and I shall 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, Beafca, go to yours. I am sur-
prised that you should encourage Rosy in her
naughty contradiction, for it is nothing else
that makes her speak so of what Miss Pink felt
obliged to say of you."
Rosy turned away with the cool sullen man-
ner that had not been seen for some time. Bee,
choking with sobs — never, never, she said to
herself, not even when her mother went away,
had she felt so miserable, never had Aunt
Lillias spoken to her like that before- -poor
Bee rushed off to her room, and shutting the
door, threw herself on the floor and wondered
what she should do.
Mrs. Vincent, if she liad only known it, was
nearly as unhappy as she. Ifc was not often she
136 ROSY.
allowed herself to feel worried and vexed, as
she had felt that morning, but everything had
seemed to go wrong — Miss Pink's complaints,
which were not true, about Bee had really
grieved her. For Miss Pink had managed to
make it seem that it was mostly Bee's fault-
and she had said little things which had made
Mrs. Vincent really unhappy about Bee being
so very sweet and good before people, but not
really so good when one saw more of her.
Mrs. Vincent would not let Miss Pink see
that she minded what she said ; she would
hardly own it to herself. But for all that it
had left a sting.
" Can I have been mistaken in Bee ?" was
the thought that kept coming into her mind.
For Miss Pink had mixed up truth with un-
truths.
" Rosy," she had said, " whatever her faults,
is so very honest," which her mother knew to
be true, but Mrs. Vincent did not — for she was
too honest herself to doubt other people — see
that Miss Pink liked better to throw the blame
on Bee, not out of ill-will to Bee, but because
MOST. 137
she was so very afraid that if there was any
rouble about 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, by
the maid who had done Rosy so much harm !
Poor Mrs. Vincent — it really was trying — and
she did not even like to tell Rosy's father how
much she dreaded his sister's visit. For Aunt
Edith had meant and wished to be so truly
kind to Rosy that it seemed ungrateful not to
be glad to see her.
Rosy and Bee were left in their rooms till
some time later than the usual school-hour, for
Mrs. Vincent, wanting them to think over what
she had said, told Miss Pink to give Fixie his
lessons first, and then, before sending for the
little girls to come down, she had a talk with
Miss Pink.
" I have spoken to both Rosy and Bee very
seriously, and told them of your complaints,"
she said.
Miss Pink grew rather red and looked un-
comfortable.
138
»
" I should be sorry for them to think I com-
plained out of any unkindness," she said.
" It is not unkindness. It is only telling the
truth to answer me when I ask how they have
been getting on," said Mrs. Vincent rather
coldly. " Besides, I myself saw how very badly
Rosy's exercises were written. I am very dis-
appointed about Beata," she added, looking Miss
Pink straight in the face, and it seemed to her
that the little governess grew again red. " I
can only hope they will both do better
now."
Then Rosy and Bee were sent for. Rosy
came in with a hard look on her face. Bee's
eyes were swollen with crying, and she seemed
as if she dared not look at her aunt, but she
said nothing. Mrs. Vincent repeated to them
what she had just said about hoping they would
do better.
" I will do my best," said Beata tremblingly,
for she felt as if another 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
ROSY. 139
her silly, fussy way, as if she was in a hurry
to change 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, muttered some-
thing, 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 she left the room.
The schoolroom party was not a very cheer-
ful one this morning, but things went on
quietly. Miss Pink was plainly uncomfortable,
and made several attempts to make friends, as
it were, with Bee. Bee answered gently, but
that was all, and as soon as lessons were over she
w^ent quietly upstairs.
Two days after, Miss Vincent arrived. Rosy
was delighted to hear she was coming, and her
pleasure in it seemed to make her forget about
Bee's undeserved troubles. So poor Bee had
to try to forget them herself. Her lessons were
learned and written without a fault — it was im-
140 ROSY.
possible for Miss Pink to find anything to
blame ; and indeed she did not wish to do so,
or to be unkind to Beata, so long as things
went smoothly 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 was expected,
Miss Pink told the children, with a most ami-
able face, that she 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 look on Bee's face, and it
came back into her mind how unhappy her
little friend had been, and how little she had
deserved to be so. And in her heart, too, Rosy
knew that in reality it was owing to her that
Beata 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 mam-
ma, Miss Pink. It is true I have done my
lessons well for two days, and it is true I did
them badly before. But if you can't tell the
ROSY. 141
truth about Bee, it would be much better for
you to say nothing at all."
Miss Pink grew pinker than usual, and she
Avas opening her lips to speak when Beata inter-
rupted 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't
want there to be any more trouble. It doesn't
matter for me. Oh, Rosy dear," she went on
entreatingly, " don't say anything more that
might make more trouble and vex your mam-
ma with you, just as your aunt's coming. Oh,
don't."
She put her arms round Rosy as if she would
have held her back, Rosy only looking half-
convinced. But in her heart Rosy was very
anxious not to be in any trouble when her aunt
came. She didn't quite explain to herself why.
Some of the reasons were good, and some were
not very good. One of the best wras, I think,
that she didn't want her mother to be more
vexed, or to have the fresh vexation of her aunt
seeming to think — as she very likely would, if
142 HOST.
there was any excuse for it — that Rosy was
less good under her mother's care than she had
been in Miss Vincent's.
Rosy was learning truly to love, and what,
for her nature, was almost of more consequence,
really to trust her mother, and a feeling of
loyalty- -if you know what that beautiful word
means, dear children--! hope you do — was be-
ginning for the first time to grow in her cross-
grained, suspicious little heart. Then, again,
for her own sake, Rosy wished all to be smooth
when her aunt and Nelson arrived, which was
not a bad feeling, if not a very good or unselfish
one. And then, again, she did not want to
have any trouble connected with Bee. She
knew her Aunt Edith had not liked the idea
of Bee coming, and that if she fancied the little
stranger was the cause of any worry to her
darling she would try to get her sent away.
And Rosy did not now at all want Bee to be
sent away !
These different feelings were all making
themselves heard rather confusedly in hex-
heart, and she hardly knew what to answer to
ROSY. 143
Bee' s appeal, when Miss Pink came to the
rescue.
" Bee is right, Rosy," she said, her rather
dolly looking face flushing again. " It is much
better to leave things. You may trust me to-
to speak very kindly of- -of you both. And if
I was — at all mistaken in what I said of you
the other day, Bee- -perhaps you had been try-
ing 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 very difficult to — to
tell things quite correctly sometimes. I had
been worried and vexed, and then Mrs. Vincent
rather startled me by asking me about you,
Rosy, and by something she said about my not
managing you well. And — oh, I don't know
what we would do, my mother and I, if I lost
this nice situation !" she burst out suddenly,
forgetting everything else in her distress.
" And poor mamma has been so ill lately, I've
often scarcely slept all night. I dare say I've
been cross sometimes ' -and Miss Pink finished
up by bursting into tears. Her distress gave
the finishing touch to Bee's determination to
bear the undeserved blame.
144 BOS7.
" No, poor Miss Pink/' she said, running
round to the little governess' side of the table,
" I don't think you are cross. I shouldn't mind
if you were a little sometimes. And I know
we are often troublesome — aren't we, Rosy ?"
Rosy gave a little grunt, which was a good
deal for her, and showed that her feelings, too,
were touched. " But just then I had been try-
ing. Aunt Lillias had spoken to us about it,
and I did want to please her r -and the' un-
bidden tears rose to Bee's eyes. " Please, Miss
Pink, don't think I don't know when I am to
blame, but- -but you won't speak that way of
me another time when I've not been to blame ?"
A sort of smothered sob here came from Miss
Pink, as a match to Rosy's grunt. " And
please," Bee went on, " don't say anything more
about that time to Aunt Lillias. 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 brine: me trouble' she
o
thought, as she walked home more slowly than
ROSY. 145
usual that the fresh air might take away the
redness from her eyes before her mother saw
her. " I know Mrs. Vincent would never for-
give me if she thought I had exaggerated or
misrepresented. I'm sure I didn't want to
blame Bee ; but I was so startled ; and Mrs.
Vincent seemed to think so much less of it
when I let her suppose they had both been
careless and tiresome. But it has been a lesson
to me. And Beata is very good. I could
never say a word against her again."
Miss Vincent arrived, and with her, of course,
her maid Nelson.
Everything went off in the most pleasant
manner during the first evening. Aunt Edith
seemed delighted to see Rosy again, and that
was only kind and natural. And she said to
every one how well Rosy was looking and how
much she was grown, and said, too, how nice it
was for her to have a companion of her own
age. She had been so pleased to hear about
little Miss Warwick from Cecy Furnivale, whom
she had seen lately.
Bee stared rather at this, She hardly knew
146 HOST.
herself under the name of little Miss War-
wick.
But she answered Miss Vincent's ques-
tions in her usual simple way, and told Rosy,
when they went up to bed, that she did not
wonder she loved her aunt — she seemed so very
kind.
uYes," said Rosy. Then she sat still for a
minute or two, as if she was thinking over
something very deeply. " I don't think I'd
like to go back to live with auntie," she said
O 7
at last.
" To leave your mother ! No, of course you
wouldn't," exclaimed Bee, 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
ROSY. 147
not find it very easy to answer all at once, so
she told Rosy she would think it over in her
dreams, for she was very sleepy, and she was
sure Aunt Lillias would be vexed if they didn't
go to bed quickly.
148 R08T.
CHAPTER IX.
THE HOLE IN THE FLOOR.
" And the former called the latter ' little Prig/ "
— EMEKSON.
" AND how well that sweet child is looking,
Nelson," said Miss Vincent that evening to her
maid as she was brushing her hair.
o
"I ain glad yon think so, ma'am," replied
Nelson, in a rather queer tone of voice.
" Why, what do you mean ?" said Miss
Vincent. " Do you not think so ? To be
sure it was by candle-light, and I am very
near-sighted, but I don't think any one could
say that she looks ill. She is both taller and
stouter."
" Perhaps so, ma'am. I wasn't thinking so
much of herhealthfulness. With the care that
was taken of her, she couldn't but be a fine
child, But it's her feelin's, ma'am, that seems
HOST. 149
to be so changed. All her spirits, her lovely
high spirits, gone ! Why, this evening, that
Martha — or whatever they call her — a' upset-
ting thing I call her — spoke to her that short
about having left the nursery door open be-
cause 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 l I'm very sorry,
Martha — I forgot,' she said. I couldn't be-
lieve my ears. I could have cried to see 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 I
thought it was so nice for her to have that little
companion."
" Umph," said Nelson. She had a way of
her own of saying aumph" that it is impossible
to describe. Then in a minute or two she went
on again. u Well, ma'am, you know I'm one as
must speak my mind. And the truth is I don't
like that Miss Bee, as they call her, at all.
150 E08Y.
She's far too good, by way of being too good,
I mean, for a child. Give me Miss Rosy's tem-
pers and fidgets- -I'd rather have them than
those smooth-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 saw me. It was l Good-
evening, Nelson. How do you do ?' as cool
like as could be. And it was all that Miss
Bee's doing. I saw Miss Rosy look round at
her like to see what she thought of it."
"Well, well, Nelson," said Miss Vincent,
quite vexed and put out, " I don't see what is
to be done. We can't take the child away
from her own parents. All the same, I'm very
glad to have come to see for myself, and if I
find out anything not nice about that child, I
shall stand upon no ceremony, I assure you,"
and with this Nelson had to be content.
It was true that Rosy had met Nelson very
coldly, As I have told you before, Rosy was
by no means clever at pretending, and a very
good thing it is not to be so. She had come
to take a dislike to Nelson, and to wonder how
MOST. 151
she could ever have been so under her. Espe-
cially now that she was learning to love and
trust Beata, she did not like to let her know
how many wrong and jealous ideas Nelson had
put 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
done her harm, but still she had been, or had
meant to be, very good and kind to Rosy, and
Rosy owed her for this real gratitude. It was
a pity, too, for Bee's sake that Rosy had been
so cold and stiff to Nelson, for on Bee Nelson
laid all the blame of it, and the harm did not
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 little girls having
their usual hour's play in the garden, and Beata
wandered about rather sadly, feeling as if Rosy
was being taken away from her. At luncheon
Rosy came in holding her aunt's hand and
looking very pleased.
152
" You don't know what lovely things auntie's
been giving me," she said to Bee as she passed
her. " And Nelson's making me such a beauti-
o
ful apron- -the newest fashion."
Nelson had managed to get into Rosy's favor
again — that was clear. Beata did not think
this to herself. She was too simple and kind-
hearted to think anything except that it was
natural for Rosy to be glad to see her old nurse
again, though Bee had a feeling somehow that
she didn't much care for Nelson and that
Nelson didn't care for her !
" By the bye, Rosy," said Mrs. Vincent, in
the middle of luncheon, " did you show your
aunt your Venetian beads ?"
" Yes," said Miss Vincent, answering for
i O
Rosy, "she did, and great beauties 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 said they were glass trash, till
auntie explained to her."
" She didn't understand what they were,"
nosy. 153
said Miss Vincent, seeming a little annoyed.
" She thinks them beautiful now."
" Yes, now, because she knows they must
have cost a lot of money," persisted Kosy.
"Nelson never thinks anything pretty that
doesn't cost a lot."
These remarks were not pleasant to Miss
Yincent. She knew that Mrs. Vincent thought
Nelson too free in her way of speaking, and she
did not like any of her rather impertinent say-
ings to be told over.
" Certainly," she thought to herself, " I think
it is quite a mistake that Rosy is too much
kept down," but just as she was thinking this,
Rosy's mother looked up and said to her quietly,
u Rosy, I don't think you should talk so much.
And you, Bee, are almost too silent !" she
added, smiling at Beata, for she had a feeling
that since Miss Vincent'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
chatterbox Rosy, who always must say out what
she thinks "
154 ROSY.
The words sounded like a joke — there
nothing in them to vex Bee, but something in
the tone in which they were said made the
little girl grow red and hot.
" I- -I was listening to all of you," she said
quietly. She was anxious to say something,
not to seem to Mrs. Vincent as if she was cross
or vexed.
" Yes," said Rosy's mother. " Rosy and her
aunt have a great deal to say to each other after
being so long without meeting," and Miss Vin-
cent looked pleased at this, as Rosy's mother
meant her to be.
" By the bye," continued Mrs. Vincent, " has
Rosy told you all about the feast there is going
to be at Summerlands ?" Summerlands was the
name of Lady 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 tells
me 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
HOST, 155
liad not told her aunt that her being the queen
had been thought of at all. She looked 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 hear about the dresses
Rosy and Bee are to wear ?" she went on. " I
think they will be very pretty. Lady Esther
has ordered them in London with her own little
girls'." And then she told Miss Vincent all
about the dresses, so that Rosy's uncomfortable
feeling went away, and she felt grateful to her
mother.
•
After luncheon the little girls went out to-
gether in the garden.
" I'm so glad to be together again," said Bee :
" it seems to me as if I had hardly seen you to-
day, Rosy."
" What nonsense !" said Rosy. " Why, I was
only in auntie's room for about a quarter of an
hour after Miss Pink went."
" A quarter of an hour !" said Bee. li No, in-
deed, Rosy. You were more than an hour, I
156 HOST.
am sure. I was reading to Fixie in the nursery,
for he's got a cold and he mayn't go out, and
you don't know what a great lot I read. And.
oh, Rosy, Fixie wants so to know if he may
have your beads this afternoon, just to hold
in his hand and look at. He can't hurt
them."
" Very well," said Rosy. " He may have
them for half an hour or so, but not longer."
" Shall I go and give them to him now 2" said
Bee, ready to run off.
" Oh, no, he won't need them just yet. Let's
have a run first. Let's see which of us will get
to the middle bush first — you go right and I'll
go left."
This race round the lawn was a favorite one
with the children. They were playing merrily,
laughing and calling to each other, when a
messenger was seen coming to them from the
house. It was Samuel the footman.
" Miss Rosy," he said as he came within hear-
ing, " you must please to come in at onst. Miss
Vincent is going a drive and you are to go with
her."
ROSY. 157
" Oh !" exclaimed Rosy, " I don't think I want
to go."
" I think you must," said Bee, though she
could not help sighing a little.
"Miss Vincent is going to Summer-lands,"
said Samuel.
"Oh, then I do want to go," said Rosy.
" Never mind, Bee — I wish you were going
too. But I'll tell you all I hear about the
party when I come back. But I'm sorry you're
not going."
She kissed Bee as she ran off. This was a
good deal more than Rosy would have done
some weeks ago, and Bee, feeling this, tried to
be content. 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 the happiest who can always
live with their own mammas and have sisters
and brothers of their own, and then there can't
be strange aunts who are not their aunts." But
then she thought to herself how much better
it was for her than for many little girls whose
158 tiOST.
mothers had to be away and who were sent
to school, where they had no such kind friend
as Mrs. Vincent.
" I'll go in and read to Fixie," she then
decided, and she made her way to the house.
Passing along the passage by the door of
Rosy's room, it came into her mind that she
might as well get the beads for Fixie which
Rosy had given leave for. She went in- -the
room was rather in confusion, for Rosy had
been dressing in a hurry for her drive- -but Bee
knew where the beads were kept, and, opening
the drawer, she found them easily. She was
going away with them in her hand when a sharp
voice startled her. It was Nelson. Bee had
not noticed that she was in a corner of the room
hanging up some of Rosy's things, for, much to
Martha's vexation, Nelson was very fond
of coming into Rosy's room and helping her to
dress.
a 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 her voice trembled a little as she an-
swered.
MOST. 159
" I was getting something for Master Fixe
-something for him to play with." And she
held up the necklace.
Nelson looked at her still in a way that was
not at all nice. " And who said you might ?"
she said next.
" Rosy — of course, Miss Eosy herself," said
Bee, opening her eyes. " I would not take any-
thing of hers without her leave."
Nelson gave a sort of grunt. But she had
an ill-will at the pretty beads, because she had
called them rubbish, not knoAving what they
were ; so she said nothing more, and Bee went
quietly away, not hearing the words Nelson
muttered to herself, " Sly little thing. I don't
like those quiet ways."
When Bee got to the nursery, she was very
glad she had come. Fixie was sitting in
a corner looking very desolate, for Martha
was busy looking over the linen, as it was
Saturday, and his head was " a'ting dedfully,"
he said. He brightened up when he saw Bee
and what she had brought, and for more than an
hour the two children sat perfectly happy and
160 HOST.
content examining the wonderful beads, and
o
making up little fanciful stories about the
fairies who were supposed to live in them.
Then when Fixie seemed to have had enough
of the beads, Bee and he took them back to
Rosy's room and put them carefully away, and
then returned to the nursery, where they set to
work to make a house with the chairs and
Fixie's little table. The nursery was not car-
peted all over — that is to say, round the edge
of the room the wood of the floor was left bare,
for this made it more easy to lift the carpet
often and shake it on the grass, which is a very
good thing, especially in a nursery. The house
was an old one, and so the wood floor was not
very pretty ; here and there it was rather un-
even, and there were queer cracks in it.
" See, Bee," said Fixie, while they were mak-
ing their house, " see what a funny place I've
found in the foor," and he pointed to a small,
dark, round hole. It was made by what was
called a knot in the wood having dried up and
dropped out long, long ago probably, for, as I
told you, the house was very old.
WHAT IS THERE DOWN THERE, DOES YOU FINK? " SAID FIXIE.— Page 161.
ROSY. 161
" What is there down there, does you fink ?"
said Fixie, looking up at Bee and then down
again at the mysterious hole. " Does it go
down into the middle of the world, p'r'aps ?"
Beata laughed.
" Oh, no, Fixie, not so far as that, I am
sure," she said. "At the most, it can't go
further than the ceiling of the room under-
neath."
Fixie looked puzzled, and Bee explained to
him that there was a small space left behind the
wood planking which make the floor of one
room and the thinner boards which are the
ceiling of an under room.
" The ceiling doesn't need to be so strong,
you see," she said. " We don't walk and jump
on the ceiling, but we do on the floor, so the
ceiling boards would not be strong enough for
the floor."
" Yes," said Fixie, " on'y the flies walks on
the ceiling, and they's not very heavy, is they,
Bee ? But/' he went on, " I would like to see
down into this hole. If I had a long piece of
'ting I could fish down into it, couldn't I, Bee ?
162
You don't fink there's anything 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, " Why don'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 way that's counted
right."
But Fixie seemed rather grumbly and
cross.
" I like mouses," he persisted ; and so, to
change his ideas, Bee went 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't say a 'tick- -I said a
piece of 'ting. I fink you's welly unkind, Bee,
to hurt the poor little mouses," and he grew so
very doleful about it that Bee was quite glad
when Martha called them to tea.
MOST. 163
" I don't know what's the matter with Fixie,"
she said to Martha in a low voice.
" He's not very well," said Martha, looking at
her little boy anxiously. But tea seemed to do
Fixie good, and he grew brighter again, so that
Martha began to think there could not be much
wrong.
Nursery tea was long over before Rosy came
home, and so she stayed down in the drawing-
room to have some with her mother and aunt.
And even after that she did not come back to
the other children, but went into her aunt's
room to look over some things they had bought
in the little town they had passed coming
home. She just put her head in at the nursery
door, seeming in very high spirits, and called
out to Bee that she would tell her how nice it
had been at Summerlands.
But the evening went on. Fixie grew tired
and cross, and Martha put him to bed ; and it
was not till nearly the big people's dinner-time
that Rosy came back to the nursery, swinging
her hat on her arm and looking rather untidy
and tired too.
1G4 ROSY.
"I think I'll go to bed/' she said. "It
makes me feel funny in my head, driving so
far."
'' Let me put away your hat, Miss Rosy," said
Martha ; " it's getting all crushed and it's your
best one."
" Oh, bother," said Rosy, and the tone was
like the Rosy of some months ago. " What
does it matter ? You won't have to pay for a
new one."
Martha said nothing, but quietly put away
the hat, which had fallen on the floor. Bee,
too, said nothing, but her heart was full. She
had been alone, except for poor little Fixie, all
the afternoon ; and the last hour or so she had
been patiently waiting for Rosy to come to the
nursery 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 tell me about Summer-
lands."
" I'm too tired," said Rosy. Then suddenly
she added sharply, " What were you doing in
my drawers this afternoon ?"
ROSY 165
" In your drawers ?" repeated Bee, half -stupid-
ly as it were. She was not, as I have told you,
very quick in catching up a meaning ; she was
thoughtful and clear headed, but rather slow,
and when any one spoke sharply it made her
still slower. " In your drawers, Eosy ?" she
said again, for, for a moment, she forgot about
having fetched the necklace.
" Yes," said Rosy, " you were in my drawers,
for Nelson told me. She said I wasn't to tell
you she'd told me, but I told her I would. I
don't like mean ways. But I'd just like to
know what you were doing among my things."
It all came back to Bee now.
" I only went to fetch the beads for Fixie,"
she said, her voice trembling. " You said I
might."
" And did you put them back again ? And
did you not touch anything else ?" Rosy went
on.
"Of course I put them back and — of course I
didn't touch anything else," exclaimed Bee.
"Rosy, how can you, how dare you speak to
me like that ? As if I would steal your things !
166 ROSY.
You have no right to speak that way, and Nel-
is a bad, horrible woman. I will tell your
mother all about it to-morrow morning."
And bursting into tears, Beata ran out of the
O '
nursery to take refuge in her own room. Nor
would she come out or speak to Rosy when she
knocked at the door and begged her to do so.
But she let Martha in to help her to undress,
and listened gently to the good nurse's advice
not to take Miss Rosy's unkindness to heart.
" She's sorry for it already," said Martha.
" And, though perhaps I shouldn't say it, you
can see for yourself, Miss Bee dear, that it's not
herself, as one may say." And Martha gave a
sigh. "I'm sorry for Miss Eosy's mamma,"
she added as she bade Bee good-night. And
the words went home to Bee's loving, grateful
little heart. It was seldom, very seldom in-
deed that unkind or ungentle thoughts or feel-
ings rested there. Never hardly in all her
life had Beata given way to anger as she had
done that afternoon.
ROSY. 167
CHAPTER X.
STINGS FOR BEE.
And I will look up the chimney,
And into the cupboard to make quite sure.'
— Author of " Lilfymt Levee.'
FIXIE was not quite well the next morning, as
Martha had hoped he would be. Still he did
not seem ill enough to stay in bed, so she
dressed him as usual. But at breakfast he
rested his head on his hand, looking very dole-
ful, " 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 uneasy than Martha.
" It's only a cold, I fancy," she said, but
when Martha followed her out of the room and
reminded her of all the children's illnesses
Fixie had not had, and which often look like
168 ROSY.
a cold at the beginning, she agreed that it
might be better to send for the doctor.
" Have you any commissions for Black-
thorpe ?" she said to Miss Vincent when she,
Aunt Edith, came down to the drawing-room,
a little earlier than usual that morning. " I
am going to send to ask the doctor to come and
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 great
fright.
" I am thankful to hear it," she said ; " for
there is no saying what his illness may be going
to be. But, Lillias, of course you won't let-
darling Rosy stay in the nursery."
"I hadn't thought about it," said Rosy's
mother. " Perhaps I am a little careless about
these things, for you see all the years I was in
India 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 small-pox. Who knows but
MOST. 169
what it may be small-pox ?" said Aunt Edith,
working herself up more and more.
Mrs. Vincent could hardly help smiling.
" I don't think that's likely,'1 she said. " How-
ever, I am glad you mentioned the risk, for I
think there is much more danger for Bee than
for Rosy, for Bee, like Fixie, has had none of
these illnesses. I will go up to the nursery and
speak to Martha about it at once," and she
turned toward the door.
" But you will separate Rosy too," insisted
Miss Vincent ; " the dear child can sleep in my
room. Nelson will be only too delighted to
have her again."
" Thank you," said Rosy's mother rather
coldly. She knew Nelson would be only too
glad to have the charge of Rosy, and to put
into her head again a great many foolish
thoughts and fancies which she had hoped
Rosy was beginning to forget. " It will
not be necessary to settle so much till we
hear what the doctor says. Of course I would
not leave Rosy with Fixie and Bee by herself.
Bat for to-day they can stay in the school-
170 nosy.
room, and I will ask Miss Pinkerton to remain
later."
The doctor came in the afternoon, but he was
not able to say much. It would take, he said, a
day or two to decide what was the matter with
the little fellow. But Fixie was put to bed,
and Rosy and Bee were told on no account to
go into either of the nurseries. Fixie was not
sorry to go to bed ; he had been so dull all the
morning, playing by himself in a corner of the
nursery, but he cried a little when he wras told
that Bee must not come and sit by him and
read or tell him stories as she always was
ready to do when he was not quite well. And
Bee looked ready to cry too when she saw his
distress !
It was not a very cheerful time. The chil-
dren felt unsettled by being kept out of their
usual rooms and ways. Rosy was constantly
running off to her aunt's room, or to ask Nelson
o
about something or other, and Bee did not like
to follow her, for she had an uncomfortable
feeling that neither Nelson nor her mistress
liked her to come. Nelson was in a very gloomy
humor.
ROSY. 171
" It will be a sad pity, to be sure," she said
to Rosy, " if Master Fixie's gone and got any
sort of catching illness."
" How do you mean ?" said Rosy. " It
won't much matter except that Bee and I can't
go into the nursery or my room. Bee's room
has a door out into the other passage. I heard
mamma saying we could sleep there if the
nursery door was kept locked. I think it would
be fun to sleep in Bee'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 Annt
Edith that's afraid of infection. If it's measles
that Master Fixie's got, you won't go to Lady
Esther's party, Miss Rosy."
Rosy opened her eyes. " Not go to the
party ! we must go," she exclaimed, and before
Nelson knew what she was about, off Rosy
had rushed to confide this new trouble to Bee
and hear what she would say about it. Bee,
too, looked grave, for her heart was greatly set
on the idea of the Summerlands feast.
172 ROSY.
" I don't know," she replied. " I hope dear
little Fixie is not going to be very ill. Any-
way, Rosy, I don't think Nelson should have
said that. Your mother would have told us
herself if she had wanted us to know it."
" Indeed," said a harsh voice "behind her,
" I don't require a little chit like you, Miss
Bee, to teach me my duty," and turning round,
Beata saw that Nelson was standing in the
doorway, for she had followed Rosy, a little
afraid of the effect of what she had told her.
Bee felt sorry that Nelson had overheard what
she had said, though indeed there was no harm
in it.
" I did not mean to vex you, Nelson," she
said, " but I'm sure it is better to wait till Aunt
Lillias tells us herself."
Nelson looked very angry, and walked off in
a huff, muttering something 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 and
get her into a good humor again, for I want
her to finish niy apron."
ROSY. 173
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 to do. Nothing is the same
o
since they came. I'll write to mother and ask
her not to leave me here any longer. I'd rather
be at school or anywhere 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. Be-
sides— what was it her mother had always said
to her ?- -that it was at such times that one's real
wish to be good was tried ; when all is smooth
and pleasant and every one kind and loving,
what is easier than to 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 thoughts and ways for the cold
looks or angry words which one cannot help
feeling sadly, but which lose half their sting
when not treasured up and exaggerated by
dwelling upon them.
174 HOST.
And feeling happier again, Bee went back to
what she was busy at — making a little toy
scrap-book for Fixie which she meant to send
in to him the next morning as if it had come by
post. And she had need of her good resolu-
tions, for she hardly saw Rosy again all day,
and when they were going to bed Nelson came
to help Rosy to undress and went on talking
to her so much all the time about people and
places Bee knew nothing about that it was
impossible for her to join in at all. 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 not help saying.
" Vexed with you ? No, I never said I was
vexed with you," Rosy answered. " I wish
you wouldn't go on like that, Bee, it's tire-
some. I can'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
ROSY. 175
say what was wrong with Fixie, but at last he
decided that it was only a sort of feverish
attack brought on by his having somehow or
other caught cold, for there had been some
O '
damp and rainy weather, even though spring
was now fast 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
send him off with Martha for a fortnight to a
sheltered seaside village not far from their
home. Beata was very sorry to see them go.
She almost wished she was going with them,
for though she had done her best to be patient
and cheerful, nothing was the same as before
the coming of Rosy's aunt. Rosy scarcely
seemed to care to play with her at all. Her
whole time, when not at her lessons, was spent
in her aunt's room, generally with Nelson, who
was never tired of amusing her and giving in to
all her fancies. Bee grew silent and shy. She
was losing her bright, happy manner and looked
as if she no longer felt sure that she was a wel-
come little guest. Mrs. Vincent saw the change
176 ROSY.
in her, but did not quite understand it, and felt
almost inclined to be vexed with her.
" She knows it is only for a short time that
Rosy's aunt is here. She might make the best
of it," thought Mrs. Vincent. For she did not
know fully how lonely Bee's life now was, and
how many cold or unkind words she had to
bear from Rosy, not to speak of Nelson's sharp
and almost rude manner ; for though Rosy was
not cunning, Nelson was so, and she managed
to make it seem always as if Bee, and not Rosy,
was in fault.
" Where is Bee ?" said Mrs. Vincent one after-
noon when she went into the nursery, where, at
this time of day, Nelson was now generally to
be found.
" I don't know, mamma," said Rosy. Then,
without saying any more about Bee, she went
on eagerly, " Do look, mamma, at the love-
ly opera-cloak Nelson has made for my doll ?
It isn't quite ready- -there's a little white
fluff "
" Swansdown, Miss Rosy, darling," said
Nelson,
HOST. 177
" Well, swansdown then- -it doesn't matter-
mamma knows," said Rosy sharply ; " there's
white stuff togo round the neck. Won't it be
lovely, mother ?"
She looked up with her pretty face all flushed
with pleasure, for nobody could be prettier
than Rosy when she was pleased.
"Yes, dear, very pretty," said her mother.
It was impossible to deny that Nelson was
very kind and patient, and Mrs. Vincent would
have felt really pleased if only she had not
feared that Nelson did Rosy harm by her
spoiling and flattery. " But where can Bee
be ?" she said 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 to her, Rosy ?"
" Oh, indeed, yes, ma'am," interrupted Nelson,
without giving Rosy time to answer. " Of
that you may be very sure. Indeed, many's
the time I say to myself Miss Rosy's patience
178 ROSY.
is quite wonderful. Such a free, outspoken
young lady as she is, and Miss Bee so different.
I don't like them secrety sort of children, and
Miss Rosy feels it too — she-
u Nelson, I didn't ask for your opinion of
little Miss Warwick," said Mrs. Vincent very
coldly. " I know you are very kind to Rosy.
But I cannot have any interference when I find
fault with her."
Nelson loooked very indignant, but Mrs.
Vincent's manner had something in it which
prevented her answering in any rude way.
"I'm sure I meant no offense," she said
sourly, but that was all.
Beata was alone in the schoolroom writing,
or trying to write to her mother. Her letters,
which used to be such a pleasure, had grown
difficult.
" 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's any
way my fault."
Just then the door opened and Mrs. Vincent
looked in.
ROSY. 179
" All alone, Bee ?" she said. " "Would it not
be more cheerful in the nursery with Kosy ?
You have no lessons to do now ?"
" No," said Bee ; u I was beginning a letter to
mamma. But it isn't to go just yet."
" Well, dear, go and play with Rosy. I
don't like to see you moping alone. You must
be my bright little Bee — you wouldn't like any
one to think you are not happy with us ?"
" Oh, no," said Bee. But there was little
brightness in her tone, and Mrs. Vincent felt
O '
half-provoked with her.
" She has not really anything to complain of,"
she said to herself, " and she cannot expect m«
to speak to her against Aunt 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 Vene-
tian necklace to the drawing-room ?" she said.
" I want it for a few minutes." She did not
tell Beata why she wanted it. It was because
she had had a letter that morning from Mr.
Furnivale asking her to tell him how many
180 ROSY.
beads there were on Rosy's necklace and their
size, as he had found a shop where there were
two or three for sale, and he wanted to get one
as nearly as possible the same for Beata.
Beata went slowly to the nursery. She would
much rather have stayed in the schoolroom,
lonely and dull though it was. When she got
to the nursery she gave Rosy her mother's
message, and asked her kindly if she might
bring her dolls so that they could play with
t
them together.
" I shan't get no work done," said Nelson
crossly, " if there's going to be such a litter
about."
" I'm going to take my necklace to mamma,"
said Rosy. " You may play with my doll till
I come back, Bee."
She ran off, and Bee sat down quietly as far
away from Nelson as she could. Five or ten
minutes passed, and then the door suddenly
opened and Rosy burst in with a very sed
face.
" Bee, Nelson," she exclaimed, '• my neck-
lace is gone. It is indeed. I've hunted every-
ROSY. 181
where. And somebody must have taken it,
for I always put it in the same place, in its
own little box. You know I do — don't I,
Bee ?"
Bee seemed hardly able to answer. Her face
looked quite pale with distress.
" 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 goof itself, and
I never left it about. I haven't had 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 I always knew
where it was, in its own little box in the far-
back corner of the drawer where I keep my
best ribbons and jewelry."
" Yes," said Bee, a I know. It was there the
day I had it out to amuse Fixie."
Rosy turned sharply upon her.
" Did you put it back that day, Bee ?" she
said. " I don't believe I've looked at it since.
Answer, did you put it back ?"
" Yes," said Bee earnestly, " yes, indeed ; in-
182
deed I did. Oh, Rosy, don't get like that,"
she entreated, clasping her hands, for Rosy's
face was growing redder and redder, and her
eyes were flashing. " Oh, Rosy, 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 fast working herself
up to believe that Bee had lost the necklace
the day she had had it out for Fixie, and she
was so distressed at the loss that she was quite
ready to get into a temper with somebocly-
when, to both the children's surprise, Nelson's
voice interrupted what Rosy was going to
say.
u Miss Warwick," she said with rather a
mocking tone — she had made a point of calling
Bee "Miss Warwick" since the day Mrs. Vin-
cent had spoken of the little girl by that name
-" Miss Warwick did put it back that day,
Miss Rosy dear," she said. " For I saw it late
that evening when I was putting your things
away to help Martha, as Master Fixie was ill."
She did not explain that she had made a point
ROSY. 183
of looking for the necklace in hopes of finding
Bee had not put it back, for you may remember
she had been cross and rude to Bee about find-
ing her in Rosy'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 looked
everywhere."
" 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. And just 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, she
had a miserable feeling that if it was never
found she would somehow be blamed for its
loss. A quarter of an hour passed, then half
an hour ; what could Rosy and Nelson be doing
all this time ? The door opened and Bee sprang
up.
184 &OSY.
" Have you found it, Eosy ?" she cried
eagerly.
But it was not Rosy, though she was follow-
ing behind. The first person that came in
was Mrs. Vincent. She looked grave and
troubled.
" Beata," she said, " you have heard about
Rosy's necklace. Tell me all about the last
time you saw it."
" It was when Rosy let Fixie have it to
play with," began Bee, and she told 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 without her leave."
Nelson gave a sort of cough. Bee turned
round on her. " If you've anything to say you'd
better say it now, before Mrs. Vincent," said
Bee 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
ROSY. 185
clever to say anything riglit out. She had only
hinted and looked wise about the necklace to
Rosy, giving her a feeling that Bee was more
likely to have touched it than any one else.
Bee was going to speak, but Rosy's mother
stopped her. " You have told us all you
know," she said. " I don't want to hear any
more. But I am surprised at you, Bee, for los-
ing your temper about being simply asked if
you had seen the necklace. You might have
forgotten at first if you had had it again for
Fixie, and you might the second time have
forgotten to put it back. But there is nothing
to be offended at in being asked about it."
She spoke coldly, and Bee's heart swelled
more and more, but she dared not speak.
" There is nothing to do," said Mrs. Vincent,
" that I can see, except to find out if Fixie could
have taken it. I will write to Martha at once
and tell her to ask him, and to let us know by re-
turn of post."
The letter was written and sent. No one
waited for the answer more anxiously than
Beata. It came by return of post, as Mrs. Vin-
186 ROSY.
cent had said. But it brought only disappoint-
ment. " Master Fixie," Martha wrote, " knew
nothing of Miss liosy's necklace." He could
not remember having had it to play with at all,
and he seemed to get so worried when she kept
on asking about it that Martha thought it
better to say no more, for it was plain he had
nothing to tell."
"It is very strange he cannot remember play-
ing with it that afternoon," 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," the little girl replied.
And her voice trembled as if she were going to
burst 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 and tell
her not to feel unhappy about it — that she knew
she could trust every word she said, as she once
would have done. But she did give very strict
orders that nothing more was to be said about
HOST.
the necklace, for though Nelson had not dared
to hint anything unkind about Bee to Mrs.
Vincent herself, yet Rosy's mother felt sure
that Nelson blamed Bee for the loss and wished
others to do so, and she was afraid of what
might be said in the nursery if the subject was
still spoken about.
So nothing unkind was actually said to Beata,
but Rosy's cold manner and careless looks were
hard to bear.
And the days were drawing near for the long-
looked-forward-to feast at Sumnierlands.
188' MOST.
CHAPTER XI
A PAECEL 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 to have gone out of
everything.
" Nobody loves me now, and nobody trusts
me," she said sadly to herself. "And I don't
know why it is. I can't think of anything I
have done to change them all."
Her letter to her mother was already written
and sent before the answer came from Martha,
Bee had hurried it a little at the end because
she wanted to have an excuse to herself for not
telling her mother how unhappy she was about
the loss of the necklace,
" If an answer comes from Martha that Fixie
ROSY. 189
hacl taken it away or put it somewhere, it will
be all right again and I shall be quite happy,
and then it would have been a pity to write
unhappily to poor mother, so far away," she
said to herself. And when Martha's letter
came and all was not right again, she felt glad
that she could not write for another fortnight,
and that perhaps by that time she would know
better what to say, or that " somehow" things
would have grown happier again. For she had
promised, u faithfully" promised her mother to
tell her truly all that happened, and that if by
any chance she was unhappy about anything
that she could not speak easily about to Mrs.
Vincent — though Bee's mother had little
thought such a thing likely — she would still
write all about it to her own mother.
But a week had already passed since that
letter was sent. It was growing time to begin
to think about another. And no " somehow"
had come to put things right again. Bee sat at
the schoolroom window one day after Miss
Pink had left, looking out on to the garden,
where the borders were bright with the early
190 ROtiT.
summer flowers, and everything seemed sunny
and happy.
" I wish I was happy too/' thought Bee.
And she gently stroked Manchon's soft coat,
and wondered why the birds outside and the
cat inside seemed to have all they wanted,
when a little girl like her felt so sad and
lonely. Manchon had grown fond of Bee.
She was gentle and quiet, and that was what
he liked, for he was no longer so young as he
had beeu. And Rosy's pullings and pushings,
when she was not in a good humor and fancied
he was in her way, tried his nerves very much.
" Manchon," said Bee softly, " you look very
wise. Why can't you tell me where Rosy's
necklace is ?"
Manchon blinked his eyes and purred. But,
alas, that was all he could do.
Just then the door opened and Rosy came in.
She was dressed for going out. She had her
best hat and dress on, and she looked very well
pleased with herself.
" I'm going out a drive with auntie," she said.
" And mamma says you're to be ready to go a
walk with her in half an hour/
ROSY. 191
She was leaving the room, when a sudden
feeling made Bee call her back.
" Rosy," she said, " do stay a minute. Rosy,
I am so unhappy. I've been thinking if I can't
write a letter to ask mother to take me away
from here. I would, only it would make her
so unhappy."
Rosy looked a little startled.
" "Why would you do that ?" she said. " I'm
sure T\7e not done anything to you."
"But you don't love me any more," said
Bee. " You began to leave off loving me
when your aunt and Nelson came — I know you
did — and then since the necklace was lost it's
been worse. What can I do, Rosy, what can I
say ?"
" You might own that you've lost it-
at least that you forgot to put it back," said
Rosy.
" But I did put it back. Even Nelson says
that," said Bee. " I can'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 it back. And I think so too/'
192
said Rosy. To do her justice, she never, like
Nelson, thought that Bee had taken the neck-
lace on purpose. She did not even understand
that Nelson thought so.
" Rosy," said Bee very earnestly, " I did
not take it another time. I have never seen
it since that afternoon when Fixie had had it
and 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 you that had it
last, and I wish I'd never given you leave
to have it ; I'm sure 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 then she'll
write letters to my mamma that will vex her
very much. And I'm sure mamma's never been
HOST. 193
unkind to you. I don't mind if you say I'm
unkind ; perhaps I am, because I'm very vexed
about my necklace, I shall get naughty now
it's lost — I know I shall," and so saying, Rosy
ran off.
Bee left off crying. It was true what Rosy
had said. It would make Mrs. Vincent un-
happy and cause great trouble if she asked her
mother to take her away. A new and braver
spirit woke in the little girl.
" I won't be unhappy any more," she resolved.
" I know I didn't touch the necklace, and so I
needn't be unhappy. And then I needn't
write anything to trouble mother, for if I get
happy again it will be all right.*'
Her eyes were still rather red, but her face
was brighter than it had been for some time
when she came into the drawing-room, ready
dressed for her walk.
" Is that you, Bee dear ?" said Mrs. Vincent
kindly. She too was ready dressed, but she was
just finishing the address on a letter. " Why,
you are looking quite bright again, my child !"
she went on when she looked up at the little
figure waiting patiently beside her.
194
" I'm very glad to go out with you/' said Bee
simply.
" And I'm very glad to have you," said Mrs.
Vincent.
u Aunt Lillias," said Bee, her voice trembling
a little, " may I ask you one thing ? You don't
think I touched Rosy's necklace ?"
Mrs. Vincent smiled.
" Certainly not, dear," she said. " I did at
first think you might have forgotten to put it
back that day. But after your telling me so
distinctly that you had put it back, I felt quite
satisfied 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
quite pleased with you for has been your look-
ing so unhappy. I was surprised at your seem-
ing so hurt and vexed at my asking you about
ROSY. 195
the necklace, and since then you have looked
so miserable that I had begun seriously to think
it might be better for you not to stay with us.
If Rosy or any one else has disobeyed me and
gone on talking about the necklace, it is very
wrong, but even then I wonder at your allow-
ing foolish words to make you so unhappy.
Has any one spoken so as to hurt you ?"
/' said Bee, " not exactly, but - "
"But you have seen that there were unkind
thoughts about you. Well, I am very sorry
for it, but at present I can do no more. You
are old enough and sensible enough to see that
several things have not been as I like or wish
lately. But it is often so in this world. I was
very sorry 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
anyway, or will you bravely determine not to
mind what you know you don't deserve, know-
ing that I trust you fully ?"
" Yes," said Bee at once, " I will not mind it
any more. And Rosy perhaps," here her voice
faltered, " Rosy perhaps will like me better if
I don't seem so dull,"
196 ROSY.
Mrs. Vincent looked grave when Bee spoke
of Rosy, so grave that Bee almost wished she
had not said it.
" It is very hard," she heard Rosy's mother
say, as if speaking to herself, " just when I
thought I had gaiued a better influence over
her. Very hard."
Bee threw her arms round Mrs. Vincent's
neck.
" Dear auntie," she said, " don't be unhappy
about Rosy. I will be patient, and I know it
will come right again, and I won't be unhappy
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 could remember, and plans for the future
when her father and mother should come home
again to stay. Only just as they were enter-
ing the house on their return, Bee could not
help saying ;
ROSY. 197
" Aunt Lillias, I wonder if the necklace will
never be found."
" So do I," said Mrs. Vincent. " I really
cannot understand where it can have 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 great excitement. Miss Pinker-
ton was there at the time, for it was the mid die
of morning lessons, and she had sent Rosy up-
stairs to fetch a book she had left in the nurs-
ery by mistake.
" Miss Pink, Bee !" she exclaimed, "our
dresses have come from London. I'm sure it
must be them. Just as I passed the back-stair
door I heard James calling to somebody about
a case that was to be taken upstairs, and I
peeped over the banisters, and there was a
large white wood box, and I saw the carter's
man standing waiting to be paid. Do let me go
and ask about them, Miss Pink,"
198 ROSY.
"No, Rosy, not just now," said Miss Pink-
erton. She spoke more firmly than she used to
do now, for I think she had learned a lesson,
and Rosy was beginning to understand that
when Miss Pinkerton said a thing she meant
it to be done. Rosy muttered something in a
grumbling tone, and sat down to her lessons.
"You are always so ill-natured," she half-
whispered to Bee. " If you had asked too she
would have let us go, but you always want to
seem better than any one else."
" No, I don't," said Bee, smiling. " I want
dreadfully to see the dresses. We'll ask
your mother to let us see them together this
afternoon."
Rosy looked at her with surprise. Lately
Beata had never answered her cross speeches
like this, but had looked either ready to cry
or had told her she wras very unkind or very
naughty, wrhich had not mended matters !
Rosy was right. The white wood box did
contain the dresses, and though Mrs. Vincent
was busy that day, as she and Aunt Edith
were going a long drive to spend the afternoon
ROSY. 199
and evening with friends at some distance, she
understood the little girls' eagerness to see
them, and had the box undone and the costumes
fully exhibited to please them. They were
certainly very pretty, for though the material
they were made of was only cotton, they had
been copied exactly from an old picture Lady
Esther had sent on purpose. The only dif-
ference between them was that one of the
quilted under skirts was sky-blue to suit Rosy's
bright complexion and fair hair, and the other
was a very pretty shade of rose color, which
went better with Bee's dark hair and paler
face.
The children stood entranced, admiring
them.
" Now, dears, I must put them away," said
Mrs. Vincent. " It is really time for me to get
ready."
" Oh, mamma !" exclaimed Rosy, " do leave
them out for us to try on. I can tell Nelson to
take them to my room."
"No, Eosy," said her mother decidedly.
" You must wait to try them on till to-morrow.
200 ROSY.
I want to see them on myself. Besides,
they are very delicate in color, and would
be easily soiled. You must be satisfied with
what you have seen of them for to-day. Now
run and get ready. It is already half-past
three."
For it had been arranged that Rosy and Bee,
with Nelson to take care of them, were to drive
part of the way with Mrs. Vincent and her
sister-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 did when she was vexed ;
and while she was dressing she recounted her
grievances to Nelson.
" Never mind, Miss Rosy," said that foolish
person, " we'll perhaps have a quiet look at
your dress this evening when we're all alone.
There's no 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 Tby yourselves;
very likely you wrould get them soiled. But
we'll see."
HOST. 201
It was pretty late when the children came
home. They had gone rather further than
Mrs. Vincent had intended, and coming home
they had made the way longer by passing
through a wood which had tempted them at
the side of the road. They were a little tired
and very hungry, and till they 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 do anything. Suddenly the thought of the
fancy dresses returned to her mind. 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 the servants' rooms were, to look for her,
though she knew that her mother did 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"
202 ROSY.
" 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 of the men's going
to post for me. I'll come to your room, Miss
Rosy, and bring 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. She did not want to
go to the nursery, for Bee was there, and would
begin asking her what she was doing.
u I'll go to mamma's room," she said to her-
self, " and just look about to see where she has
put the frocks. I'm almost sure she'll have
hung them up in her little wardrobe, where she
keeps new things often."
No sooner said than done. Off ran Rosy to
her mother's room. It was getting dusk, dark
almost, anyway too dark to see clearly. Rosy
fumbled about on the mantelpiece till she
found the match-box, and though she was
generally too frightened of burning her fingers
to strike a light herself, this time she managed
HOST. 203
to do so. There were candles on the dressing-
table, and when she had lighted them she pro-
ceeded to search. It was not difficult to find
what she wanted. The costumes were hanging
up in the little wardrobe, as she expected, but
too high for her to reach easily. Rosy went to
the door and a little way down the passage,
and called Nelson. But no -one answered, and
it was a good way off to Nelson's room.
•
" Nasty, selfish thing," said Rosy ; " she's
just going on writing to tease 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, of course, because it wasn't wanted — Rosy
flung it across the back of a chair, and proceeded
to examine her own more closely than she had
been able to do before. It was pretty ! And
so complete — there was even the little white
mob-cap with blue ribbons, and a pair of blue
shoes with high, though not very high, heels !
These last she found lying on the shelf, above
the hanging part of the wardrobe.
" It is too pretty," said Rosyt " I must try it
on,"
204 ROSY. t
And quick as thought she set to work — and
nobody could be quicker or cleverer than Rosy
when she chose — taking off the dress she had
on, and rapidly attiring herself in the lovely
costume. It all seemed to fit beautifully- -true,
the pale-blue shoes looked rather odd beside
the sailor-blue stockings she was wearing, and
she wondered what kind of stockings her mother
intended her to wear at Summerlands — and she
could not get the little lace kerchief arranged
quite to her taste ; but the cap went on charm-
ingly, and so did the long mittens which were
beside the shoes.
"There must be stockings too," thought
Rosy, " for there seems to be everything else ;
perhaps they are further back in the shelf."
She climbed up on the chair again, but she
could not see further into the shelf, so she got
down and fetched one of the candles. Then up
again- -yes — there were two little balls, a pink
and a blue, further back- -by stretching a good
deal she thought she could reach them. Only
the candle was in the way, as she was holding
it in one hand. She stooped and set it down
BY STRETCHING A GOOD DEAL SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD REACH
THKM. -Page 204.
HOST. 205
on the edge of the chair, and reached up again,
and had just managed to touch the little balls
she could no longer see, when- -what was the
matter ? What was that rush of hot air up 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 had seen that her
skirts were on fire ! and, as she fell, uttered a
long, piercing scream.
206 ROSY.
CHAPTER XII.
GOOD OUT OF EVIL.
" Sweet are the uses of adversity."
-SHAKESPEARE.
A SCREAM that would probably have reached
the nursery, which was not very far from Mrs.
Vincent's room, had there been any one there to
hear it ! But as it was, the person who had
been there- -little Bee- -was much nearer than
the nursery at the time of Rosy's accident. The
house was very silent that evening, and Nelson
had not thought of bringing a light : so when
o o o o
it got too dark to read, even with the book
pressed close against the window-panes, Bee
grew rather tired of waiting there by herself,
with nothing to do.
" I wonder where Rosy is," she thought, open-
ing the door and looking out along the dusky
passages.
ROSY. 207
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 she comes back ;" and she
came into the empty nursery again, and wished
Martha was home.
" She always makes the nursery so com-
fortable," thought Bee. Then ri struck her
that perhaps it was not very kind of her not
to go and see what Rosy wanted — she had
not heard any reply to Rosy's call for Nelson.
"Her voice sounded as if she was in Aunt
Lillias' room," she said to herself. " 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 serv-
ants were less careful than usual, knowing that
the ladies would not be home till late, but Bee
knew her way about the house 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 was streaming out, when — she
stood for a second half-stupefied with terror —
208 ROSY.
what was it ? — what could be the matter ? — as
Rosy's fearful scream reached her ears. Half
a second, aud she had rushed into the room-
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 was
wrong — Rosy was on fire !
It was a good thing she had fallen, other-
wise, in her wild fright, she would probably
have made things worse by rushing about ; as
it was, she had not had time to get up before
Bee was beside her, smothering her down 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, small as she was, had managed
to tear off. And frightened as Rosy was, the
danger was not, after all, so very great, for the
quilted under skirt was pretty thick, and her
fall had already partly crushed down the fire.
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-soaked with
HOST. 209
the water which Bee had poured over her to
make sure, struggled to her feet, safe and
uninjured, only the pretty dress hopelessly
spoiled !
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 wrapped round one to her
hands, and nobody paying any attention of her.
Nelson's screams soon brought the other serv-
ants ; among them, they got the room cleared
of the traces of the accident and Rosy un-
dressed and put to bed. She was crying from
the fright, but she had got no injury at all ;
her tears, however, flowed on when she thought
of what her mother would have to be told, and
Bee found it difficult to comfort her.
" You saved me, Bee, dear Bee," she said,
clinging to her. u And it was because I dis-
obeyed mamma, and I might have been burned
to death. Oh, Bee, just think of it !" and she
would not let Beata leave her.
It was like this that Mrs. Vincent found them
210 ROSY.
on her return late in the evening. You can
fancy how miserable it was for her to be met
with such a story, and to known that it was all
Rosy's fault. But it was not all miserable, for
never had she know her little girl so complete-
ly sorry and ashamed, and so truly grateful
to any one as she was now feeling to Beata.
And even Aunt Edith's prejudice seemed to
have melted away, for she kissed Bee as she
said good-night, and called her a brave, good
child.
So it was with a thankful little heart that
Beata went to bed. Her hand was sore — it
had got badly scorched in pressing down the
blankets- -but she did not think it bad enough
to say anything about it except to the cook,
who was a kind old woman and wrapped it up
in cotton wool, after well dredging it with
flour, and making her promise that if it hurt
in the night she would call her.
It did not hurt her, and she slept soundly,
but when she woke in the morning her head
o
ached, and she wished she could stay in bed.
Rosy was still sleeping — the housemaid, who
MOST. 211
came to draw the curtains, told her — and she
was not to be wakened.
" After the fright she had, it is better to
sleep it off," the servant said, " 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," she went 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 head worse," 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 dare say
it will get better when I'm up."
It did seem a little better, but she was look-
ing 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 for poor Bee when she found out
about her sore hand and headache.
212 ROSY.
" Why did yon 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 Fraser looked at it and
saw that it was not very bad, and — and- -you
had so many things to trouble you, Aunt Lil-
lias," she added affectionately.
"Yes, dear; but when I think how much
worse they might have been, I dare not com-
plain," Rosy's mother replied.
Bee did not go to church that day. Her
headache was not very bad, but it did not seem
to get well, and it was still rather bad when
she woke the next morning.
And that next morning brought back to all
their minds what, for the moment, had been -al-
most forgotten- -that it was within three days
of the feast 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, and looked at the little
nosr. 213
girls. They were all together when the letter
came.
" What is to be done ?" said Miss Vincent.
" I had really forgotten the feast was to be on
Wednesday. Is it possible to have a new
dress made in time ?"
" Quite impossible," said Mrs. Vincent,
" Rosy must cheerfully, or at least patiently,
bear what she has brought on herself, and be,
o
as I am sure she is, very thankful that it was no
worse."
Rosy glanced up quickly. She seemed as if
she were going to say something, 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 burned to death if it hadn't been for Bee.
And- -and — I hope Bee will enjoy the feast."
But thai 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 do nothing ? Couldn't one
of her white dresses be done up somehow ?"
214 HOST.
" No," said Mrs. Vincent. " It would only
draw attention to her if she was to go dressed
differently from the others, and I should not
wish that. Besides — oh, no — it is much better
not."
She had hardly said the words when she felt
something gently pulling her, and, looking
down, there was Bee beside her, trying to
whisper something.
" Auntie," she said, " would you, oh ! would
you let Rosy go instead of me, wearing my
dress ? It would fit her almost as well as
her own. And, do you know, I wouldn't care
to go alone. It wouldn't be any happiness to
me, and it would be such happiness to know
that Rosy could go. And I'm afraid I've
got a little cold or something, for I've still got
a headache, and I'm not sure that it will be
better by Wednesday."
She looked up entreatingly in Mrs. Vincent's
face, and then Rosy's mother noticed how pale
and ill she seemed.
" My dear little Bee," she said, " you must try
to be better by Wednesday. And you know,
ROSY. 215
dear, though we are all very sorry for Rosy,
it is only what she has brought on herself. I
hope she has learned a lesson — more than one
lesson- -but if she were to have the pleasure of
going to Summerlands, she might not remember
it so well."
Beata said no more — she could not oppose
Rosy's mother — but she shook her head a little
sadly.
" I don't think Rosy's like that, Aunt Lillias,"
she said ; " I don't think 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 not that kind of illness at all- -but it
was the first spring either of them had been in
England, and he thought that very likely the
change of climate had caused it with them both.
He was not, he said, anxious about Bee, but
still he looked a little grave. She was not
ROSY.
strong, and she should not be overworked with
lessons, or have anything to trouble or distress
her.
" She has not been overworked," Mrs. Vincent
said.
"And she seems very sweet-tempered and
gentle. A happy disposition, I should think,"
said the doctor as he hastened away.
His words made Mrs. Vincent feel rather
sad. It was true- -Bee had a happy disposi-
tion— she had never, till lately, seen her any-
thing but bright and cheery.
"My poor little Bee," she thought, " I was
hard upon her. I did not quite understand
her. In my anxiety about Rosy when her aunt
and Nelson came I fear I forgot Bee. But I do
trust all that is over, and that Rosy has truly
learned a lesson. And we must all join to make
little Bee happy again."
She returned to Bee's room. The child was
sitting up in bed, her eyes sparkling in her
white face — she was very eager about some-
thing.
" Auntie," she said, " you see I cannot pos
ROSY.
sibly go tomorrow. And you must go, for poor
Lady Esther is counting on you to help her.
Auntie, you will forgive poor Rosy now quite,
won't you, and lei her go in my dress ?"
The pleading eyes, th^ white face, the little
hot hands laid coaxingly on hers- -it would not
have been easy to refuse ! Besides, the doctor
had said she was neither to be excited nor
distressed.
The tears were in Mrs. Vincent's eyes as she
bent down to kiss the little girl, but she did
not let her see them.
" I will speak to Rosy, dear," she said. " I
will tell her how much you want her to go in
your place ; and I think perhaps you are right
-I don'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 for some time. When
she woke she felt better, and she lay still,
thinking it was nice and comfortable to be in
bed when one felt tired, as she had always done
218 HOST.
lately ; then her eyes wandered round her little
room, and she thought how neat and pretty it
looked, how pleased her mother would be to
see how nice she had everything ; and, just as
she was thinking this, her glance fell on a little
table beside her bed, which had been placed
there with a little lemonade and a few grapes.
There was something there that had not been
on the table before she went to sleep. In a
delicate little glass, thin and clear as a soap-
bubble, was the most lovely rose Bee had ever
seen — rich, soft, rose color, glowing almost
crimson in the center, and melting into a some-
what paler shade at the edge.
" Oh, you beauty !" exclaimed Bee, " I wonder
who put you there. I would like to scent
you ' -Bee, like other children I know, always
talked of u scenting " flowers ; she said " smell "
was not a pretty enough word for such pretty
things — " but I am afraid of knocking over
that lovely glass. It must be one of Aunt
Lillias' that she has lent."
A little soft laugh came from the side of her
bed, and, leaning over, Bee caught sight of a
•IT'S A ROSE FROM ROSY."— Page 219.
HOST. 219
tangle of bright liair. It was Rosy. She had
been watching there for Bee to wake. Up she
jumped, and carefully lifting the 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 me choose the beautiful! est 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. And though I'm so pleased you like
the rose, I have been crying a little, Bee, truly,
because you are so good, and about my going
to-morrow."
" You are going ?" said Bee anxiously. In
Rosy's changed way of thinking she became
suddenly afraid that she might not wish to go.
"Yes," said Rosy rather gravely, "I am
going. Mother is quite pleased for me to go,
to please you. In one way I would rather not
go, for I know I don't deserve it ; and I can't
help thinking you wouldn't have been ill if I
hadn't done that, and made you have a fright.
220 soar.
And it seems such a shame for me to wear
you? dress, when you've been quite good and
deserve the pleasure, and just when I've got to
see how kind you are, and we'd have been so
happy to go together. And then I've a feeling,
Bee, that I shall enjoy it when I get there, and
perhaps I shall forget a little about you, and it
will be so 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 weak voice. " It wouldn't
be nice of me to want you to go if I thought you
wouldn't enjoy it. And it's nice of you to tell
me how you feel. But I would like you to think
of me this way — every time you are having a
very nice dance, or that any one says you look so
nice, just think, ; I wish Bee could see me,' or
1 How nice it will be to tell Bee about it.' and,
that way, the more you enjoy it the more you'll
think of me."
" Yes," said Rosy, " that's putting it a very
nice way ; or, Bee, if there are very nice things
to eat, I might think of you another way. I
might, perhaps, bring you back some nice
ROSY 221
biscuits or bonbons — any kind that wouldn't
squash in my pocket, you know. I might ask
mamma to ask Lady 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 Fixie
when he comes back," was the thought in her
mind.
She had not heard anything about when
Fixie and Martha were coming back, but she
was to have a pleasant surprise the next day.
It was a little lonely ; for though Rosy
meant to be very, very kind, she was rather
too much of a chatterbox not to tire Bee after
awhile.
" Mamma said I wasn't to stay very long,"
she said ; " but don't you mind being alone so
much ?"
" No, I don't think so," said Bee, " and, you
know, Phoabe is in the next room if I want
her."
" I know what you'd like," said Rosy, and
off she flew. In two minutes she was back
again with something in her arms. It was
ROSY.
Manchon ! She laid him gently down at the
foot of Bee's bed. " He's so 'squisitely clean,
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 a sort of a fairy. Why,
it shows he is, for now that I'm so good — I
mean now that I'm going to be good always —
he seems to like me ever so much better. He
used to snarl if ever I touched him, and to-
day when I said l I'm going to take you to
Bee, Manchon,' he let me take him as good as
good."
But that evening brought still better com-
pany for Bee.
She went to sleep early, and she slept well,
and when she woke in the morning who do
you think was standing beside her ? Dear little
Fixie, his white face ever so much rounder and
rosier, and kind Martha, both smiling with
pleasure at seeing her again, though feeling
sorry, too, that she was ill.
" Zou'll soon be better, Bee, and Fixie will
ROSY. 223
be so good to you, and then pVaps we'll go
again to that nice place where we've been, for
you to get kite well."
So Bee, after all, did not feel at all dull or
lonely when Rosy came in to say good-by, in
Bee's pretty dress. And Mrs. Vincent, and
even Miss Vincent, kissed her so kindly ! Even
Nelson, I forgot to say, had put her head in at
the door to ask how she was ; and when Bee an-
swered her nicely, as she always did, she came in
for a moment to tell her how sorry she was Bee
could not go to the feast. " For I must say,
Miss Bee," she added, " I must say as I think
you've acted very pretty, very pretty, indeed,
about lending your dress to dear Miss Rosy,
bless her. And, if there's anything I can do
for you- Here Bee's breakfast coming 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 came home, and she was already
asleep. But the next morning Bee woke much
better, and quite able to listen to Rosy's account
of it all. She had enjoyed it very much — of
224: ROSY.
course not as much as if Bee had been there
too, she said ; but Lady Esther had thought it
so sweet of Bee to beg for Rosy to go, and she
had sent her the loveliest little basket of bon-
bons, tied up with pink ribbons, that ever was
seen, and still better, she had told Rosy that
she had serious thoughts of having a large
Christmas-tree party next winter, at which all
the children, should be dressed out of the fairy
tales.
" Wouldn't it be lovely ?" said Rosy. " We
were thinking perhaps you would be Red Rid-
ing Hood and I the white cat. But we can
look over all the fairy tales and think about it
when you're better, can't we, Bee ?"
Beata got better more quickly than Fixie had
done. The first day she was well enough to
be up she begged leave to write two little
letters, 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 a schoolboy
was a great deal, I think. His letters were
meant to be very amusing ; but, as they were
lull of cricket and football, Bee did not find
EOSY. 225
them very easy to understand. She was sitting
at the nursery-table, thinking what she could
say to show Colin she liked to hear about his
games, even though the names puzzled her a
little, when Fixie came and stood by her, look-
ing rather melancholy.
" What's the matter ?" she said.
" Zou's writing such a long time," said Fixie,
"and Rosy's still at her lessons. 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 buzzy feeling in my head, and I'm
rather tired."
" Yes, I know," said Fixie with great sym-
pathy ; "mine head was like fousands of trains
when I was ill. We won't play, Bee, we'll only
talk."
" Well, I'll just finish my letter," said Bee.
" I'll just tell Colin he must tell me all about
innings and outings, and all that, when he comes
home. Yes - - that'll do. i 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
beads to tell stories about !"
MOST.
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 was gone 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 been their favorite
corner, near a window, which was low enough
for them to 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 afternoon we were in the
nursery- -before you went away ? You liked it
then, when I told vou stories about the beads,
»/ 7
before they were lost."
" Before zem was lost," said Fixie, his face
again taking the troubled, puzzled look; "I
didn't know it was zem — I mean it was some-
fin 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 seen Fixie's face look-
ROSY. 22?
ing troubled, and she remembered Martha say-
ing hov\r her questioning about the necklace
had upset him, and it seemed almost cruel to
go on talking about it. But a feeling had come
over her that there was something to find out,
and now it grew stronger and stronger.
" Lace for Rosy's neck," she repeated ; " no,
Fixie, you must be mistaken. Lace for her
neck- ' and then a sudden idea struck her—
" can you mean a necklace ? Don't you know
that a necklace means beads ?"
Fixie stared at her for a moment, growing
very red. Then the redness finished up, like a
thundercloud breaking into rain, by his burst-
ing into tears and hiding his face in Bee's
lap.
" I didn't know, I didn't know," he cried ; " I
thought it was some lace that Martha meant.
I didn't mean to tell a' untrue, Bee. I didn't
like Martha asking me, 'cos it made me think
of the beads I'd lost, and I thought p'r'aps 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."
228
By degrees Bee found out what the poor
little fellow meant. The morning after the
afternoon when Bee and he had had the neck-
lace, and Bee had put it safely back, he had,
unknown to any one, fetched it again for him-
self, and sat playing with it by the nursery-
window, in the corner where the hole in the
floor was. Out of idleness, he had amused
himself by holding the string of beads at one
end, and dropping them 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 fright-
ened at what he had done, but he meant to tell
Bee, and ask her advice. But that very after-
noon the doctor came, and he was separated
from the other children ; and, while he was ill,
he seemed to have forgotten about it. When
Martha questioned him at the seaside, he had no
idea she was speaking of the beads ; but he did
not like her questions, because they made him
remember what he had lost. And then he
thought he would try to get the beads out of
the hole by poking with a stick when he came
ROSY. 229
home ; but lie had found he could not manage
it, and then he had taken a dislike to that part
of the room.
All this was told with many sobs and tears,
but Bee soothed him as well as she could ;
and when his mother soon after came to the
nursery and heard the story, she was very kind
indeed, and made him see how even little
wrong-doings, like taking the beads to play
with without leave, always bring unhappi-
ness ; and still more, how wise and right it is
for children to tell at once when they have
done wrong, instead of trying to put the wrong
right themselves.
That was all she said, except that, as she
kissed her poor little boy, she told him to tell
no one else about it, except Martha, and that
she would see what could be done.
Bee and Fixie said no more about it ; but on
that account, I dare say, like the famous parrot,
" they thought the more." And once or twice
that afternoon Fixie could not help whisper-
ing to Bee, " Do you fink mamma's going to get
the beads hooked out ?" or, " I hope they won't
230 HOST.
hurt the mouses that lives down in the hole.
Do you fink that the mouses has eaten it up,
pVaps ?"
Beata was sent early to bed, as she was not
yet, of course, counted as quite well ; and both
she and Fixie slept very soundly- -whether
they dreamed of Rosy's beads or not I cannot
tell.
But the next morning Bee felt so much
better that she begged to get up quite 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 some-
thing to show you."
Bee and Fixie looked at each other. They
felt sure they knew what it was ! But Rosy,
who had also come to Bee's room to see how
she was, looked very mystified.
" I wonder what it can be," she said. u Can
it be a parcel come for us ? And oh, Martha,
by the bye, what was that knocking in the
nursery last night after we were in bed ? I
ROSY. 231
heeard Robert's voice, I'm sure. What was he
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 was up and dressed.
She was waiting for them.
" I am so glad you are so much better this
morning, Bee," she said as she kissed them all ;
" and now," she went on, " look here, I have a
surprise for you all." She lifted a handker-
chief which she had laid over something on a
little table ; and the three children, as they
pressed forward, could hardly believe their
eyes. For there lay Rosy's necklace, as bright
and pretty as ever, and there beside it lay
another, just like it at the first glance, though,
when it was closely examined, one could see
that the patterns on the beads were different ;
but anyway it was just as pretty.
" Two," exclaimed Fixie, " two lace-beads-
what is the name ? Has the mouses made a
new one for Bee — dear Bee ?"
232 HOST.
" Yes, for dear Bee,"said his mother, smiling ;
" it is for Bee, though it 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 had thought it better to
keep it awhile in hopes of Rosy's being found,
as she knew that Bee's pleasure in the pretty
beads would not have been half so great if
Rosy were without hers.
How happy they all looked !
" What lotses of fairy stories we cau make
now !" said Fixie — " one for every bead-lace,
Bee !"
" And, mamma," said Rosy, " I'll keep on be-
ing very good now. I dare say I'll be dreadfully
good soon ; and Bee will be always good too,
now, because you know we've got our talis-
mans.'
Mrs. Vincent smiled, but she looked a little
grave.
" What is it, mamma ?" said Rosy. " Should
I say talismen, not talismans ?"
Her mother smiled more this time.
" No, it wasn't that. ( Talismans ' is quite
MOST. 233
right. I was only thinking that perhaps it
was not very wise of me to have put the idea
into your head, Rosy dear, for I want you to
learn and feel that, though any little outside
help may be a good thing as a reminder, it
is only your own self, your own heart,
earnestly wishing to be good, that can really
make you succeed ; and you know where the
earnest wishing conies from, and where you
are always sure to get help if you ask it, don't
you, Rosy ?"
Rosy got a little red, and looked rather
grave.
" I nearly always remember to say my pray-
ers," she answered.
" Well, let the l talisman ' help you to remem-
ber, if ever you are inclined to forget. And it
isn't only at getting-up time and going-to-bed
time that one may pray, as I have often told
you, dear children. I really think, Rosy," she
went on more lightly, " that it would be nice
for you and Bee to wear your necklaces
always. I shall like to see them, and I believe
234 HOST.
it would be almost impossible to spoil or break
them."
" Only for my fairy stories," said Fixie, " I
should have to walk all round 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 down the ' mouses'
holes,' ' said his mother, laughing.
This is all I can tell you for the present
about Rosy and her brothers and 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, though there certainly was a
great difference to be seen in her from the time
of her narrow escape — nor was Beata, in spite
of her talisman, without faults and failings.
' O
Nor was either of them without sorrows and
disappointments and difficulties in their lives,
bright and happy though 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.
ROSY. 235
And again, dear children — little friends,
whom I love so much, though I may never have
seen your faces, and though you only know me
as somebody who is very happy when her little
stories please you — again, my darlings, I wish
you every blessing that can be asked for !
THE END.
236 KOSY.
TWO SILLY LITTLE GIRLS.
PART I.
I AM going to tell you a true story of two
silly little girls. Perhaps I should call it a
story of two silly little girls and one silly big
girl- -that you can settle for yourselves when
you have read it.
Their names were Flora and Mab, and they
were very little girls, which I hope you will
think some excuse for them. Flora was only
four and Mab three — or at least Flora was
only a few months past four and Mab just a
year younger. Mab was the baby of the
family, though in some ways she seemed older
than Flora. But the two together were the
pets of the house, and it is really a wonder
they were not quite spoiled. For besides a
very kind father and mother they had a young
ROSY. 237
aunt who lived with them, and a big brother
of thirteen and two sisters of ten and twelve.
So a great deal of petting fell to their share.
One spring — I think it was in May- -the two
little maidens were sent away on a visit to an-
other aunt. This aunt was married, and
though she had no children of her owrn she
was very fond indeed of her small nieces, and
she and their uncle were so kind, and made
Flora and Mab so happy, that they had no time
to feel homesick or strange, though it would
not have been much wonder if they had felt so,
as they were really very tiny to pay a visit
away from home without even their own
nurse.
When they had been about a week with
their aunt, she got a letter one morning
which seemed to please her very much, and she
called the little girls in from the garden where
they were playing.
" I have something very nice to tell you,"
she said.
And this was what she had to tell. A dear
little baby sister had been born at their home
238
— such a little sweet, wrote the .young aunt
who lived there. " Tell Florrie and Mab that
we are quite in a hurry for them to corne back
to see her."
The two children were delighted. They
could talk of nothing else, and they would
have liked to set off for home that very minute.
But their aunt told them it would be better to
wait a little. Baby would grow nicer every
day, and when they went back, very likely
they would be allowed to nurse her a little if
they were very careful. And she lent them a
very big doll that she had had when she was a
child, so that they could practice how to hold
a baby properly.
The next two or three weeks passed very
happily. They often got letters telling how
nicely the baby was growing, and how pretty
she was. And one day at last aunty told them
that " to-morrow " they were to go home. Their
mother was going to send some one to fetch
them.
It was not very far — only a drive to the
• station and about half an hour in the railway-
ROSY. 239
and then another drive and they would be at
home. But the day began with a disappoint-
ment. When they ran downstairs to meet the
messenger who had come to fetch them, it was
not the person they had hoped for — their own
nurse. It was only Emma, the under-house-
maid.
" Why hasn't nursie come for us ?" asked
Flora.
" Oh, Miss Flora, of course nurse is far too
busy with the new baby," said Emma, who was
perhaps rather vexed by their not being glad to
see her.
Mab looked very solemn.
" Yes, indeed," said Emma, " you will have
to be very good young ladies, and do without
all the petting and spoiling now that you've
had for so long. You'd best make up your
minds to it," and she laughed in a teasing
way.
" Won't baby lub us ?" said Mab.
Emma laughed still more, and so did auntie's
maid who was standing by.
" Miss Baby will be far too taken up with
240 ROSY.
herself for a long time to love anybody," said
Emma. " Things are turned the other way
now, Miss Mab. It's for you and Miss Flora
to pet her and give way to her. It's always
like that when there's a new baby. When you
get home you will find your noses out of joint,
I can tell you."
Flora and Mab put up their little hands to
feel their noses — they didn't know what " out
of joint " meant, but it sounded very dreadful.
It was some comfort to find the two noses were
so far all right, but Emma and Brown laughed
still more loudly.
" Wait till you get home and then you'll see,"
said Emma.
Then they were hurried downstairs to say
goad-by to their aunt, as there was not too
much time in which to catch the train. Their
aunt noticed that they were looking very grave,
but she thought they were sorry to leave her,
and was rather pleased at it. Of course if
she had understood what was really troubling
them she would have explained to them how
foolishly Emma had been speaking, and all
would have been right.
HOST. 241
Emma saw that they were very quiet and
dull.
" Are you so sorry to leave your aunty ?" she
said.
" Yes, but we wanted to go home," said
Flora. " We did want to see baby."
" Zes," said Mab, " us did."
" Well, you'll see her very soon," said Emma,
who was beginning to feel a little uncomfort-
able, " and I'm sure there's no denying she's a
very nice, pretty baby."
" And us wanted nurse," said Mab.
" Oh, well, you'll have to do without nurse
now," said Emma. " Next time you pay a visit
to your aunty, if nurse comes Miss Baby will
have to come too."
" Us won't come never again to aunty," said
Mab, who had a strange feeling that everything
would have been right if they had stayed at
home, " will us, Florrie ?"
" I don't know," said Florrie. She was not
as quick at taking up things as Mab, and she
still thought it would be nice to see mother
and the new baby and everybody at home.
242 MOST.
All the same, she stroked her nose every now
and then, and kept looking at Mab's too. She
did so wonder what Emma had meant by say-
ing they would find their noses out of joint
when they got home. It was some comfort to
find that so far they were just as usual.
And nothing happened to them all the way
in the train nor during the drive from the sta-
tion to the house. Even when they were lifted
out of the carriage and were standing in the
hall, Flora saw that Mab's nose was quite right,
and a pat on her own told her that no harm
had come to hers either.
No one had been at the station to meet them.
The butler told them that Miss Alma, that was
their aunt, and the two young ladies had all
gone to a tennis party. They were very sorry,
but they would not be late. Flora and Mab
were sorry too, but still the feeling of being
really at home again was very nice, and their
unhappiness began to melt away. They began
to chatter quite merrily to Girton, the butler,
who certainly seemed pleased to see them again.
" And such a fine little lady the new baby
243
is," lie said. " You will be pleased to see her,
won't you ? Why, she'll be ready to fight Miss
Mab in no time — she's such a size."
And Mab, as to her body, was very tiny,
though as to her inind, it was not a baby one
at all.
" Coine up to the nursery, Mab," said Flora,
and of? they set, stumping upstairs and making
a good deal of clatter with their boots on the
polished staircase, while they called out as loud
as they could :
" Nursey, nursey, where are you, and where's
mamma ?"
It was rather unlucky. Baby had just fallen
asleep and mamma had a bad headache, and
somehow nurse had not expected the children
back quite so soon.
" Hush, hush ! my dears," she said, hurrying
out of the nursery, " you mustn't wake your
little sister, and mamma's resting too. Come
in very softly and I'll let you peep at the pre-
cious beauty — see here, Miss Flora."
Florrie went forward readily enough, but
Mab turned her back on nurse and the cradle.
244 MOST.
" No,1' she said, " I doesn't want to peep at
nugly baby," and in spite of nurse's shocked
exclamation :
" Oh, Miss Mab, my dear, how can you ?" she
would not give in.
"Nursey nebber kissed us — she doesn't lub
us no more, Nugly baby," she said to Flora
when their hats and jackets were taken off and
they were seated at tea. And Flora, in her
heart, felt much the same, though it puzzled her
exceedingly that though other things seemed so
changed and uncomfortable, nothing as yet had
happened to their noses.
MOST. 245
PART II.
THAT nursery tea was not the cheerful meal
the little girls were accustomed to. Baby
awoke just as they were beginning and set to
work to cry lustily ; nurse jumped up and took
her out of her bassinette and tried to quiet her.
But Miss Baby did not intend to be quieted so
quickly, and nurse had to give up hopes of a
peaceful tea and attend to the little tyrant.
It was not very comfortable certainly — in-
stead of nurse sitting at the table and giving
Flora and Mab everything they wanted, with
" Miss Flora, my dear," or " Miss Mab, my pet,"
at every other word, it was " You must just
wait for another cup of tea, Miss Flora, till I've
got the darling hushed a little," or " Can't you
wait a moment, Miss Mab, or just get down
and fetch the bread-and-butter for yourself ?
The sweet baby seems upset."
Flora and Mab said very little, but they
246 ROST.
thought the more, and when nurse told them
o
that things would be all right once the new
nursemaid came, in a day or two, and then she'd
be free to give all her time to the precious baby,
as the stranger was to attend to them, poor
little Mab was on the point of bursting into
tears. But pride — though she didn't under-
stand this herself- -kept back her tears, though
her little face grew white and set and almost
hard-looking.
After tea Emma made her appearance. She
was to help in the nursery till the new maid
came, and she was very curious to see how
things were going, and perhaps a very little un-
comfortable. For her conscience told her that
if things were not going well, she had certainly
had a hand in it.
It did not look as if things were going very
well. Nurse was sitting by the fire in the rock
ingchair, entirely taken up with Miss Baby,
who was still " upset" for some reason or other.
And nurse was not inclined to be very indul-
gent or kind to Flora or Mab. She was not
pleased with them for being so surly to baby,
ROSY. 247
Mab especially, and decided in her own mind
that they had been " spoiled" at their aunty's,
and must be treated rather sharply to get them
into proper ways again.
The two little things were standing by the
window looking out at the evening sky, and
wishing- -perhaps they did not quite know
what they were wishing — possibly it was that
they were back at aunty's again, or that baby
had stayed up in the stork's nest or among the
gooseberry bushes — anyway, that she hadn't
chosen their house to come to. And when
nurse told them to go off with Emma to be made
tidy for a visit to their mother, whose headache
had got better, Flora and Mab did not seem
very pleased, even though they had not seen
their own dear mamma for nearly a month.
And though Emma felt rather sorry for
them, she could not resist teasing them when
she got them away by themselves in the night
nursery out of nurse's hearing.
u How's your nose, Miss Flora ?" she said as
she was brushing the little girl's hair.
Flora stared at her, then she stroked her
nose gravely.
248 ROSY.
" It's quite well, Emma," she said, " and so
is Mab's. I don't know what you mean. I
think you're joking."
"Ah- -wait a bit," said the girl, shaking her
head. " Noses being out of joint don't show all
at once, you see."
But she was interrupted by a cry from Mab.
" Where's my bed gone ?" said she. " Tan't
see my bed."
" Yes, that's your bed, Miss Mab," said Em-
ma. "It's moved into the other corner where
Miss Flora's used to be, and Miss Flora's is in
the little room across the passage where she's
to sleep with the new nursery-maid. And till
she comes, I'm to sleep there. You can't ex-
pect things to be the same now there's a new
baby."
Children — most children, I think — dislike
changes, unless they have been told something
about them and had the reasons explained a
little. Flora and Mab said nothing, but they
felt as if all their homo world was turned up-
side down — almost as if they were dreaming.
And no smiles of love and pleasure lighted up
HOST. 249
their little faces when Emma took them down
to the drawing-room door, which she opened,
telling them they must be very good and not
tire their mamma.
Why should they tire her ? She had never
told them they did- -why was everybody and
everything so different ? It was all that new
baby- -thought Mab.
Mamma was lying on a sofa near the fire.
She smiled at them and said very kindly, " I
am so glad to have my dear little girls back
again," and kissed them fondly.
And just for half a second they felt as if
things were all coming right and getting back
into their proper ways. It was so nice to be
with their own mamma, and hear her kind
voice speaking to them.
But the next thing she said was about the
baby.
" Isn't she a darling ? Don't you feel proud
of her ? Why, Mab, you must feel quite a big
girl to have a sister three years younger than
you are ! Have you had her in your arms yet,
either of you ?"
250
" No," said Mab, " I don't want her in my
arms/
And Flora stroked her nose softly.
Mamma looked very surprised, and I am not
sure what she would have said- -perhaps she
would have found out all that the two little
women were making themselves unhappy about,
and would have explained it and set it all right,
but just at that moment the door opened, and
in came the two big sisters, Georgie and
Christine, and the young aunt who lived with
them. They were full of the fun they'd had
and were all talking at once, but of course they
were very pleased to see Flora and Mab. Only
again, immediately after their sisters had kissed
them and said how well they were looking,
came the usual question — " Have you seen the
sweet baby- -isn't she lovely ? You'll have to
be quite big grown-up girls now, with such a
dear little pet to take care of '
" You're not going to sleep in the nursery
any more, Flori, did you know ?" said Georgie.
" And there's a new nurse-maid coming — her
name's Cross, but they say she isn't really cross.
ROSY. 251
At least we'll hope not," said Christine, who
was rather a tease.
No answer from either of the little girls.
" Chrissie, don't talk nonsense," said Aunt
Alma. " You'll make them believe she is cross.
Her name's Martha, and we can't call her
that because of Martha the upper housemaid,
but I'm sure she won't be cross."
" Not if you're very good," said Christine.
'• But you really will have to be very good now,
both of you, because of setting a nice example
to baby. What are you both looking so solemn
about ? I don't think being at aunty's has
agreed with you."
" And Flora, what a funny habit you have got
of stroking your nose. It's not at all pretty,
and you've been doing it ever since we came in.
Where did you learn it ?" said Georgie.
It was a very little thing — a very little thing
indeed. At another time Flora would only
have laughed and said she didn't know how
she'd learned it. But now it was too much for
her. She and Mab wrere both over-tired and
over-strained, and the confused idea that some-
252
how the new nurse-maid might perhaps be really
cross, and then the remark about her nose,
which she was still far from happy about — all
these things together were too much for poor
Flora, who was a gentle little girl, much gentler
and less determined than her younger sister.
So the corners of her mouth went down — then
she opened it wide and burst into a loud
nervous fit of sobbing and crying.
" Flora, how can you ! You silly child. No,
no, that will never do — you will make mamma's
head ache," exclaimed the big sisters and Auut
Alma all together. " I must take you both up
to the nursery," Aunt Alma went on ; " perhaps
you'll be more pleasant after a night's rest.
Say good-night to mamma and your sisters,
Mab."
" No," said Mab, " I won't. I don't lub no-
body, and I won't kiss nobody, 'cept Florrie.
And I'll not nebber lub that nugly naughty
baby."
MOST. 253
PART III.
MAB stood in the middle of them all as she
said these words, her little hands clinched, her
face red with anger, but without the sign of a
tear. Her mother and sisters and aunt were
really startled, and for a moment no one spoke,
and Flora left off crying in her astonishment.
Then Aunt Alma quietly took the little girl
by one hand and Flora by the other, and led
them both out of the room, without speaking.
" What a little spitfire," said Christine. " She
positively frightened me."
" You shouldn't have teased her about the
new nurse-maid," said her mother. " But I'm
afraid they have been rather spoiled at Aunt
Edith's, poor little things."
" I'm afraid they've been spoiled at home by
all of us," said Georgie. %
And unluckily, as the drawing-room was a
long room and the two children dragged back
254
a little from their aunt's firm hold, as chil-
dren in disgrace generally do, their progress to
the door was slow, and they had time to over-
hear these remarks.
Late that night when everybody was fast
asleep Mab woke up and opened her eyes. All
at first seemed quite dark, and for a moment
or two she fancied she was still at her Aunt
Edith's. She put out her hand to feel for
Flora, whose little bed had stood close beside
hers, but instead of touching Flora's soft pillow
she felt the cold hard wood of a chest of
drawers, and then she began to remember.
Flora was not beside her, but across the pas-
sage in a strange room, sleeping beside Emma
-they were not at Aunt Edith's, but back at
home again- -home which seemed home no
longer, since the new baby had come and no
one cared for them any more. Mab's heart felt
quite bursting — she felt as if she should never
be able to sleep without Flora ; she felt as if
all the changes were more than she could
bear.
She sat up in bed and listened. She heard
ROSY. 255
nurse breathing softly, and Mab knew that a
very, very little noise was enough to wake
nurse at any time. But just now she did seem
quite fast asleep — and by degrees, as the child's
eyes got used to the dark, she could see a little
about the room. There was the window, and
there, quite close to her cot, the door. And
after waiting a moment or two longer, she crept
out of bed and made her way to it very softly.
It was not quite closed, so she pushed it open
without any noise and stepped out.
It was lighter in the passage, for there was a
large window without a blind at one end and
some moonlight was peeping in. Mab knew
the room where Flora was, and though the door
was shut, she managed to turn the handle with
only a little squeak and soon found herself in-
side. Flora's cot was on the other side of Em-
ma's larger bed, but Mab felt her way round
to it. And Emma was a heavy sleeper.
" Flora," whispered Mab, as close as she
could get to her sister, " Florrie, is you awake ?
It's me — Mab. Won't you let me get in aside
you ? I want to talk,"
.
256 ROSY.
Flora was only half-asleep. She had kept
waking over and over again ever since she came
to bed- -and she had been crying a little almost
without knowing it. She seemed to understand
in a moment that it was Mab, and she squeezed
herself up as small as she could, to make room
for her little sister.
" What is it you want to say, Mabbie ?" she
whispered. "I hope Emma won't wake."
" I don't think her will," said Mab. u Her's
breeving so hard. Florrie, I can't bear it. I
can't sleep w^ifout you, and I'm sure the cross
nurse will 'cold us and beat us. Florrie, no-
body lubs us no more, and us had better run
away."
Flora did not speak.
" Don't you fink so ?" asked Mab.
" Where to — to Aunty Edith's ?" said
Flora.
Mab shook her head — if one can shake one's
head when it's scrunched up on a very tiny bit
of pillow !
" No," she said. " They'd find us. No, us
must go anoder way — us'll find anoder way at
the train-station."
ROSY. 257
Flora did not make any objection. Her own
woes, too, she felt to be grievous.
" Shall we take pebbles, like the boy in the
story ?" she inquired eagerly. " White pebbles
to throw after us along the road to see the way
back ?"
" No," said Mab, " us doesn't want to turn
back. Mab will know where to go. Florrie,
and you'll turn too, and us1!! always sleep to-
gether. We'll go after bekfast — no, p'raps
after dinner. Don't tell nobody, Florrie —
p'omise."
" I promise," said Flora.
Then they put their arms round each
other.
" I must go back to the noder room, 'fore
Emma wakes, or nurse," said Mab.
But somehow it felt very cozy and warm in
there beside Florrie, and before either little
sister quite knew what she was about, both had
fallen fast asleep — much faster asleep than they
had been in the first part of the night.
And thus they were found in the morning,
when nurse in a fright burst into the room to
258 ROSY.
ask Emma if she knew what had become of
Miss Mab.
Getting a fright often makes people cross,
and for once nurse was very cross. She scolded
Emma for not having wakened up and found
out that Mab had left her own quarters, she
scolded Flora for having allowed Mab to get
into her bed, and Mab worst of all for having
been " such a naughty troublesome child."
Emma scolded back again, and said she didn't
see where she was to blame — if it had been the
other way, and Miss Flora had been found in
Miss Mab's bed, there might have been some-
thing to blame her for, which made nurse still
more annoyed.
Never had there been such an upset in the
usually peaceful nursery- -though the two little
girls said nothing at all. But they looked at
each other and thought the more, and when
Emma flounced downstairs to fetch the break-
fast and flounced up again, muttering to herself
that she only wished a Cross " was coming that
very day, and that whether the name suited her
or not, there were some no great distance off
KOSY. 259
tliat it would suit arid no mistake- -Flora and
Mab, though they did not quite understand
her, felt that there was no time to lose. Things
at home were getting worse than ever.
The morning passed quietly, but the children
felt dull and strange. Yesterday, only yester-
day, how happy they had been, looking for-
ward to the coming home — Flora could scarcely
believe it was only yesterday. She would have
begun to feel interested in the baby, if Mab
would have allowed her, but with Mab's eyes
upon her she dared not. And baby was still
rather fretful, and nurse had made up her mind
that she would use no coaxing to make the
little girls take to the new-comer. So she kept
baby by the nursery fire, and Flora and Mab
amused themselves at the other end of the
room.
About eleven o'clock she told them she was
going to take the baby to its mamma, but they
must not come as mamma had a headache still.
They would see her in the afternoon. But they
might go out and play in the garden if they
would promise to stay within sight of the
window.
260 ROSY.
This was an old rule — Flora was such a
steady little person that she had often been
trusted to take care of Mab. So the children
went down to the garden readily enough.
If they had been in better spirits they would
have found plenty to amuse them- -there Avere
all their old pet places to go to see, and they
could have chattered to the gardeners and
heard how all the flowers were coming on.
But they were too unhappy for any of their
old pleasures.
" You see, Florrie, nunbody lubs us," Mab
repeated. " Mamma won't have us, and Georgie
and Kissie doesn't come to see us."
She did not know, nor did Flora, that their
sisters had set off with Aunt Alma soon after
eight o'clock that morning in the pony-carriage,
to drive to the town, three miles away, where
they went twice a week for music and French
lessons.
HOST. 261
PART IV.
IT was a hot sunny afternoon. Mrs. Cross'
cottage stood a little off the high-road, a few
yards down a lane, about a mile on the other
side of a small railway station, known as
Comble Fields. This was not the station at
which Flora and Mab had arrived on their way
home from Aunt Edith's — Comble Fields was
much nearer their father's house, but it was
not on the main line, and it was very seldom
that any one from " the hall " — that was what
the people about called their home — came or
went by this little station.
Mrs. Cross stood at the open door, enjoying
the sunshine while standing in the shade. Her
baby was in her arms — quite a little baby, only
two or three months old. Inside the cottage
all looked peat and tidy and cool, for the busy
time of the day was over, and Mrs. Cross and
her daughters were active and managing. She
262 HOST.
had two big daughters, sixteen and thirteen
years old, two boys of twelve or so, and two
little ones, both girls, and then number seven,
the new baby. They were all very fond of
each other, and lately they had all joined to-
gether in making a very great pet of the new
baby.
To-morrow was to be rather a great day, and
in some ways rather a sad one. Martha, the
eldest girl, was going to her first place, as
nursery maid at the hall, and Mrs. Cross' eyes
had had the tears in them two or three times,
even though she was proud of Martha's
going too.
Just now she was blinking some of these
tears away- -perhaps that was why she was
standing at the door with her back turned
to Martha, who was giving some finishing
touches to one or two of the neat caps she had
got ready to take with her.
Suddenly the garden gate was pushed open,
and a small figure peeped in. For the first
moment Mrs. Cross thought it was Tossy, her
own little girl of five, but no, it was too small
HOST. 263
for Tossy, and a second glance showed her
another little figure. There were two of them-
two very tiny girls, with hot, tear-stained faces,
hesitating at the gate — one moment peeping
in and the next drawing back again.
Mrs. Cross' motherly heart was touched.
She wrent down the path, still of course with
the baby in her arms.
" What is it, my dears ?" she said, opening
the gate wide and smiling down at the two
dusty, tired little creatures. " Have you hurt
yourselves ?"
" We've losted our way — we's going to the
train-station," answered, rather to the good
woman's surprise, the smaller of the children —
a very little girl indeed, a good deal smaller
than the other, who stood there silent, only
crying, and scrubbing her eyes and nose with a
very grimy little handkerchief- -"and us is so
welly tired."
" Lost your way - - a-going to the station.
But, bless you, you're never going a journey by
yourselves, two little atomies like you ?" she
exclaimed.
264: HOST.
Mab did not answer.
" Come in and rest a bit," said Mrs. Cross,
" and maybe you'd like a drink of milk." She
began to have an idea that something was
wrong, for it was easy to see that the little
girls were "gentry," though their frocks were
torn and soiled, and their faces and hands far
from clean.
They followed the kind woman gladly, and
half down the path they were met by rosy-
cheeked Martha, hurrying out to see what was
happening.
Mab stood still and looked at her.
" Who is you ?" she said.
u I'm Martha. Martha Cross, miss," she said,
" and that's my mother and my baby sister,
and this is our cottage. And we'll be very
pleased if you'll step in and take a rest."
" I like you," said Mab, when they were
fairly inside the cottage. " Why is you called
C'oss ?"
4< That's the name of our new nursery-maid,"
said Flora, speaking for the first time, " and we
thought she'd scold us and whip us, and that
was why-
ROSY. 265
" No," interrupted Mab, " it was 'cos of the
new baby we've runned away. Is your baby
good ? Ours is nugly--it sc'eams, and nunbody
lubs us since it's corned. And Florrie and me
mayn't sleep togever, and it's all spoiled at
home, and so we runned awav."
«/
" And where are you going to ?" asked
Martha, while her mother stood by, hardly-
knowing whether to laugh or cry at the two
poor, pitiful, silly little girls. "You're the
young ladies from the hall, I expect — aren't
you, missie?"
" Yes," said Flora. " We're going some-
where in the train, but I don't know where.
Only we losted our way and we're very tired.
I don't know how we can go on any more."
" We must go to the train-station," said Mab
very determinedly.
But at that moment in ran, home from school,
the two smallest Cross children- -the two next
to the baby, I mean- -Tossy and Lucy. They
flew up to their mother, without noticing the
strangers.
" Oh, mother, mother," they cried, " do let's
266 ROSY.
kiss the baby." u And mayn't I hold her in my
arms ?" said Lucy. " Tossy had her this morn-
ing. Dear baby."
" Sit down, dearie, and I'll put her on your
lap," said Mrs. Cross. " But first, don't you see
these little ladies ? They've come in for a rest
and a little drink of milk."
Tossy immediately drew out her own chair
and pushed it to Mab.
" Sit down, miss," she said. " And if you
like, I dare say mother will let you hold baby
a bit."
Mab sat down and looked on curiously,
while Mrs. Cross gave the baby into Lucy's
proud arms.
" Your baby's dood," she said. " Ours dess
sc'eams."
" Oh, but so does ours sometimes, bless her,"
said the mother. And then she went on to talk
about babies — what care they needed, how
sweet they were, how much little sisters could
do for them, for Mrs. Cross was a sensible
woman, till at last Mab looked at Flora and
Flora looked at Mab, and they began to think
ROSY. 267
" p'r'aps" it was rather a mistake to have run
away.
They felt better after the nice milk and a
good slice of bread-and-butter, but they were
still very tired.
u Do you think nurse'd be very angry if us
went home ?" said Flora at last.
" No, my dear, I expect they're all in a great
taking about you, and that they'd be only too
glad to see you again, safe and sound," said
Mrs. Cross.
" If only that c'oss maid wasn't coming,"
said Mab.
Martha's eyes sparkled.
" Maybe she won't be so bad," she said. " Do
vou think, mother, we should send word to
t>
the hall ?" she went on, " and maybe they'd
send-
But at that instant a dog-cart drove up very
fast and stopped at the gate, and a young lady
came running up the path. It was Aunt Alma,
in a great fright, poor thing, as all at home were
by this time, about the strayed children. Luck-
ily they had been seen on the road, and Aunt
268 HOST.
Alma had made the groom drive her down the
lane to ask the people at the cottage if they
could tell her anything.
You can fancy how delighted she was to find
them, and how the two little creatures ran into
her arms and told her all their troubles.
Five minutes after, they were all three in
the clog-cart driving home, and Aunt Alma was
telling them that they must never get such
fancies in their heads again about nobody loving
them, and she explained how all that silly — or
naughty — Emma had said about their noses was
only an old joke that sensible little girls would
just laugh at.
It was like a real coming home this time.
Everybody kissed and petted them, even
though it must be owned that their running
away had been rather naughty as well as very
silly. But they whispered that they would
never do anything like it again, and they'd try
to be very kind to their little baby sister,
" like Tossy and Lucy Cross were to theirs."
And fancy — when they went upstairs to go
to bed they found that the two little cots were
ROSY. 269
again side by side--Mab's had been moved into
the room across the passage, and Emma was to
sleep next door. Wasn't that nice ? Flora and
Mab felt very proud indeed of being trusted to
sleep alone.
Baby was in a good humor to-day — she seemed
quite pleased to see them, and the nurse allowed
them to hold her in their arms for quite three
minutes at a time.
There was only one cloud still in the sky.
That was the thought of the new nurse-maid.
But the nice girl with the rosy face had said,
" perhaps she won't be so bad." and, when the
new maid arrived, you can fancy how they felt
ready to dance with joy when they saw that she
was — what you know already — the girl with
the rosy face herself- -kind Martha from the
cottage. " Cross by name, but not by nature."
THE END,