For some weeks things went on very happily. Of course there were
little troubles among the children sometimes, but compared with a
while 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 improvement, 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
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's 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 quite 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 daresay it would be just like it used to be again.