"I wish you wouldn't always quarrel with Nelson," said Rosy crossly.
"She always gets on with _me_ quite well. I shall have to go and
get her into a good humour again, for I want her to finish my apron."
Rosy ran off, but Bee stayed alone, her eyes filled with tears.
"It _isn't_ my fault," she said to herself. "I don't know what to
do. Nothing is the same since they came. I'll write to mother and ask
her not to leave me here any longer. I'd rather be at school or
anywhere than stay here when they're all so unkind to me now."
But then wiser thoughts came into her mind. They weren't "all" unkind,
and she knew that Mrs. Vincent herself had troubles to bear.
Besides--what was it her mother had always said to her?--that it was
at such times that one's real wish to be good was tried; when all is
smooth and pleasant and every one kind and loving, what is easier than
to be kind and pleasant in return? It is when others are _not_
kind, but sharp and suspicious and selfish, that one _has_ to
"try" to return good for evil, gentleness for harshness, kind thoughts
and ways for the cold looks or angry words which one cannot help
feeling sadly, but which lose half their sting when not treasured up
and exaggerated by dwelling upon them.
And feeling happier again, Bee went back to what she was busy
at--making a little toy scrap-book for Fixie which she meant to send
in to him the next morning as if it had come by post.
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