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

Mrs. Vincent smiled.

"I daresay 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 fete, 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, 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.