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.
"How very, very pretty," she repeated, touching the beads softly with
her little fingers. And then with a sudden change she turned to her
mother.
"Is there a necklace for Bee, too?" she said.
Mrs. Vincent's first feeling was of pleasure that Rosy should think of
her little friend, but there was in the child's face a look that made
her not sure that the question _was_ quite out of kindness to
Bee, and the mother's voice was a little grave and sad, as she
answered.
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