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, and in a moment Mrs. Vincent came
in, carrying 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 earnestly, 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