playing, I should have said Beata and Felix--not Rosy). "I daresay 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 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, "O 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?"

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.