"
"Then why don't you leave off doing naughty things, Rosy?" said her
mother.
"Oh, I can't," Rosy replied, coolly. "I suppose I was spoilt 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
spoilt before you came home, but auntie wouldn't let him. _She_
thought 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.
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