Chapter 7 MR. FURNITURE'S PRESENT.

"And show me any courtly gem more beautiful than these."

-SONG OF THE STRAWBERRY GIRL.

"Your little girl is very pretty, unusually pretty," Mr. Furnivale was saying to Rosy's mother, as he sat beside her on the sofa during the few minutes they were waiting for luncheon, "and she looks so strong and well."

"Yes," said Mrs. Vincent, "she is very strong. I am glad you think her pretty," she went on. "It is always difficult to judge of one's own children, I think, or indeed of any face you see constantly. I thought Rosy very pretty, I must confess, when I first saw her again after our three years' separation, but now I don't think I could judge."

Mrs. Vincent gave a little sigh as she spoke, which made Mr. Furnivale wonder what she was troubled about. The truth was that she was thinking to herself how little she would care whether Rosy was pretty or not, if only she could feel more happy about her really trying to be a good little girl.

"Your little girl was with Miss Vincent while you were away, was she not?" said Mr. Furnivale.

"Yes," said Rosy's mother, "her aunt is very fond of her. She gave herself immense trouble for Rosy's sake."

"By-the-bye, she is coming to see you soon, is she not?" said Mr. Furnivale. "She is, as of course you know, an old friend of ours, and she writes often to ask how Cecy is. And in her last letter she said she hoped to come to see you soon."

"I have not heard anything decided about it," replied Mrs. Vincent. "I had begun to think she would not come this year-she was speaking of going to some seaside place."

"Ah, but I rather think she has changed her mind, then," said Mr. Furnivale, and then he went on to talk of something else to him of more importance. But poor Mrs. Vincent was really troubled.

"I should not mind Edith herself coming," she said to herself. "She is really good and kind, and I think I could make her understand how cruel it is to spoil Rosy. But it is the maid-that Nelson-I cannot like or trust her, and I believe she did Rosy more harm than all her aunt's over-indulgence. And Edith is so fond of her; I cannot say anything against her," for Miss Vincent was an invalid, and very dependent on this maid.

Little Beata noticed that during luncheon Rosy's mother looked troubled, and it made her feel sorry. Rosy perhaps would have noticed it too, had she not been so very much taken up with her own fancied troubles. She was running full-speed into one of her cross jealous moods, and everything that was said or done, she took the wrong way. Her father helped Bee before her-that, she could not but allow was right, as Bee was a guest-but now it seemed to her that he chose the nicest bits for Bee, with a care he never showed in helping her. Rosy was not the least greedy-she would have been ready and pleased to give away anything, so long as she got the credit of it, and was praised and thanked, but to be treated second-best in the way in which she chose to imagine she was being treated-that, she could not and would not stand. She sat through luncheon with a black look on her pretty face; so that Mr. Furnivale, whom she was beside, found her much less pleasant to talk to than Bee opposite, though Bee herself was less bright and merry than usual.

Mrs. Vincent felt glad that no more was said about Aunt Edith's coming. She felt that she did not wish Rosy to hear of it, and yet she did not like to ask Mr. Furnivale not to mention it, as it seemed ungrateful to think or speak of a visit from Miss Vincent except with pleasure. After luncheon, when they were again in the drawing-room, Mr. Furnivale came up to her with a small parcel in his hand.

"I am so sorry," he began, with a little hesitation, "I am so sorry that I did not know Beata Warwick was with you. Cecy had no idea of it, and she begged me to give your little girl this present we bought for her in Venice, and now I don't half like giving it to the one little woman when I have nothing for the other."

He opened the parcel as he spoke; it contained a quaint-looking little box, which in its turn, when opened, showed a necklace of glass beads of every imaginable colour. They were not very large-each bead perhaps about the size of a pea-of a large pea, that is to say. And some of them were long, not thicker, but twice as long as the others. I can scarcely tell you how pretty they were. Every one was different, and they were beautifully arranged so that the colours came together in the prettiest possible way. One was pale blue with little tiny flowers, pink or rose-coloured raised upon it; one was white with a sort of rainbow glistening of every colour through it; two or three were black, but with a different tracery, gold or red or bright green, on each; and some were a kind of mixture of colours and patterns which seemed to change as you looked at them, so that you could fancy you saw flowers, or figures, or tiny landscapes even, which again disappeared-and no two the same.

"Oh how lovely," exclaimed Rosy's mother, "how very, very pretty."

"Yes," said Mr. Furnivale, "they are pretty. And they are now rare. These are really old, and the imitation ones, which they make in plenty, are not half so curious. Cecy thought they would take a child's fancy."

"More than a child's," said Mrs. Vincent, smiling. "I think they are lovely-and what a pretty ornament they will be-fancy them on a white dress!"

"I am only sorry I have not two of them," said Mr. Furnivale, "or at least something else for the other little girl. You would not wish me, I suppose, to give the necklace to Beata instead of to Rosy?" he added.

Now Mrs. Vincent's own feeling was almost that she would better like it to be given to Beata. She was very unselfish, and her natural thought was that in anything of the kind, Bee, the little stranger, the child in her care, whose mother was so far away, should come first. But there was more to think of than this feeling of hers-

"It would be doing no real kindness to Bee," she said to herself, "to let Mr. Furnivale give it to her. It would certainly rouse that terrible jealousy of Rosy's, and it might grow beyond my power to undo the harm it would do. As it is, seeing, as I know she will, how simply and sweetly Beata behaves about it may do her lasting good, and draw the children still more together."

So she looked up at Mr. Furnivale with her pretty honest eyes-Rosy's eyes were honest too-and like her mother's when she was sweet and good-and said frankly,

"You won't think me selfish I am sure-I think you will believe that I do it from good motives-when I ask you not to change, but still to give it to Rosy. I will take care that little Bee does not suffer for it in the end."

"And I too," said Mr. Furnivale, "If I can find another necklace when I go back to Venice. I shall not forget to send it-indeed, I might write to the dealer beforehand to look out for one. I am sure you are right, and on the whole I am glad, for Cecy did buy it for your own little girl."

"Would you like to give it her now?" said Mrs. Vincent, and as Mr. Furnivale said "Yes," she went to the window opening out on to the lawn where the three children were now playing, and called Rosy.

"I wonder what mamma wants," thought Rosy to herself, as she walked towards the drawing-room rather slowly and sulkily, leaving Bee and Fixie to go on running races (for when I said "the children" were playing, I should have said Beata and Felix-not Rosy). "I daresay she will be going to scold me, now luncheon's over. I wish that ugly old Mr. Furniture would go away," for all the cross, angry, jealous thoughts had come back to poor Rosy since she had taken it into her head again about Bee being put before her, and all her good wishes and plans, which had grown stronger through her mother's gentleness, had again flown away, like a flock of frightened white doves, looking back at her with sad eyes as they flew.

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.

"No, Rosy. There is not one for Bee. Mr. Furnivale brought it for you only."

Then Rosy's face was a curious study. There was a sort of pleasure in it-and this, I must truly say, was not pleasure that Bee had not a present also, for Rosy was not greedy or even selfish in the common way, but it was pleasure at being put first, and joined to this pleasure was a nice honest sorrow that Bee was left out. Now that Rosy was satisfied that she herself was properly treated she found time to think of Bee. And though the necklace had been six times as pretty, though it had been all pearls or diamonds, it would not have given Mrs. Vincent half the pleasure that this look of real unselfish sorrow in Rosy's face sent through her heart. More still, when the little girl, bending to her mother, whispered softly,

"Mamma, would it be right of me to give it to Bee? I wouldn't mind very much."

"No, darling, no; but I am very glad you thought of it. We will do something to make up for it to Bee." And she added aloud,

"Mr. Furnivale may perhaps be able to get one something like it for Bee, when he goes back to Italy."

"Then I may show it to her. It won't be unkind to show it her?" asked Rosy. And when her mother said "No, it would not be unkind," feeling sure, with her faith in Bee's goodness that Rosy's pleasure would be met with the heartiest sympathy-for "sympathy," dears, can be shown to those about us in their joys as well as in their sorrows-Rosy ran off in the highest spirits. Mr. Furnivale smiled as he saw her delight, and Mrs. Vincent was, oh so pleased to be able to tell him, that Rosy, of herself, had offered to give it to Bee, that that was what she had been whispering about.

"Not that Beata would have been willing to take it," she added, "she is the most unselfish child possible."

[Illustration: 'DID YOU EVER SEE ANYTHING SO PRETTY, BEE?' ROSY REPEATED.]

"And unselfishness is sometimes, catching, luckily for poor human nature," said the old gentleman, laughing. And Mrs. Vincent laughed too-the whole world seemed to have grown brighter to her since the little gleam she believed she had had of true gold at the bottom of Rosy's wayward little heart.

And Rosy ran gleefully off to her friend.

"Bee, Bee," she cried, "stop playing, do. I have something to show you. And you too, Fixie, you may come and see it if you like. See," as the two children ran up to her breathlessly, and she opened the box, "see," and she held up the lovely necklace, lovelier than ever as it glittered in the sunshine, every colour seeming to mix in with the others and yet to stand out separate in the most beautiful way. "Did you ever see anything so pretty, Bee?" Rosy repeated.

"Never," said Beata, with her whole heart in her voice.

"Nebber," echoed Fixie, his blue eyes opened twice as wide as usual.

"And is it yours, Rosy?" asked Bee.

"Yes mine, my very own. Mr. Furniture brought it me from-from somewhere. I don't remember the name of the place, but I know it's somewhere in the country that's the shape of a boot."

"Italy," said Bee, whose geography was not quite so hazy as Rosy's.

"Yes, I suppose it's Italy, but I don't care where it came from as long as I've got it. Oh, isn't it lovely? I may wear it for best. Won't it be pretty with a quite white frock? And, Bee, they said something, but perhaps I shouldn't tell."

"Don't tell it then," said Bee, whose whole attention was given to the necklace. "O Rosy, I am so glad you've got such a pretty thing. Don't you feel happy?" and she looked up with such pleasure in her eyes that Rosy's heart was touched.

"Bee," she said quickly, "I do think you're very good. Are you not the least bit vexed, Bee, that you haven't got it, or at least that you haven't got one like it?"

Beata looked up with real surprise.

"Vexed that I haven't got one too," she repeated, "of course not, Rosy dear. People can't always have everything the same. I never thought of such a thing. And besides it is a pleasure to me even though it's not my necklace. It will be nice to see you wearing it, and I know you'll let me look at it in my hand sometimes, won't you?" touching the beads gently as she spoke. "See, Fixie," she went on, "what lovely colours! Aren't they like fairy beads, Fixie?"

"Yes," said Fixie, "they is welly pitty. I could fancy I saw fairies looking out of some of them. I think if we was to listen welly kietly p'raps we'd hear fairy stories coming out of them."

"Rubbish, Fixie," said Rosy, rather sharply. She was too fond of calling other people's fancies "rubbish." Fixie's face grew red, and the corners of his mouth went down.

"Rosy's only in fun, Fixie," said Bee. "You shouldn't mind. We'll try some day and see if we can hear any stories-any way we could fancy them, couldn't we? Are you going to put on the beads now, Rosy? I think I can fasten the clasp, if you'll turn round. Yes, that's right. Now don't they look lovely? Shall we run back to the house to let your mother see it on? O Rosy, you can't think how pretty it looks."

Off ran the three children, and Mrs. Vincent, as she saw them coming, was pleased to see, as she expected, the brightness of Rosy's face reflected in Beata's.

"Mother," whispered Rosy, "I didn't say anything to Bee about her perhaps getting one too. It was better not, wasn't it? It would be nicer to be a surprise."

"Yes, I think it would. Any way it is better to say nothing about it just yet, as we are not at all sure of it, you know. Does Bee think the beads very pretty, Rosy?"

"Very," said Rosy, "but she isn't the least bit vexed for me to have them and not her. She's quite happy, mamma."

"She's a dear child," said Mrs. Vincent, "and so are you, my Rosy, when you let yourself be your best self. Rosy," she went on, "I have a sort of feeling that this pretty necklace will be a kind of talisman to you-perhaps it is silly of me to say it, but the idea came into my mind-I was so glad that you offered to give it up to Bee, and I am so glad for you really to see for yourself how sweet and unselfish Bee is about it. Do you know what a talisman is?"

"Yes, mamma," said Rosy, with great satisfaction. "Papa explained it to me one day when I read it in a book. It is a kind of charm, isn't it, mamma?-a kind of nice fairy charm. You mean that I should be so pleased with the necklace, mamma, that it should make me feel happy and good whenever I see it, and that I should remember, too, how nice Bee has been about it."

"Yes, dear," said her mother. "If it makes you feel like that, it will be a talisman."

And feeling remarkably pleased with herself and everybody else, Rosy ran off.

Mr. Furnivale left the next day, but not without promises of another visit before very long.

"When Cecy will come with you," said Mrs. Vincent.

"And give her my bestest love," said Fixie.

"Yes, indeed, my little man," said Mr. Furnivale, "and I'll tell her too that she would scarcely know you again-so fat and rosy!"

"And my love, please," said Beata, "I would so like to see her again."

"And mine," added Rosy. "And please tell her how dreadfully pleased I am with the beads."

And then the kind old gentleman drove away.

For some time after this it really seemed as if Rosy's mother's half fanciful idea was coming true. There was such a great improvement in Rosy-she seemed so much happier in herself, and to care so much more about making other people happy too.

"I really think the necklace is a talisman," said Mrs. Vincent, laughing, to Rosy's father one day.

Not that Rosy always wore it. It was kept for dress occasions, but to her great delight her mother let her take care of it herself, instead of putting it away with the gold chain and locket her aunt had given her on her last birthday, and the pearl ring her other godmother had sent her, which was much too large for her small fingers at present, and her ivory-bound prayer-book, and various other treasures to be enjoyed by her when she should be "a big girl." And many an hour the children amused themselves with the lovely beads, examining them till they knew every one separately. They even, I believe, had a name for each, and Fixie had a firm belief that inside each crystal ball a little fairy dwelt, and that every moonlight night all these fairies came out and danced about Rosy's room, though he never could manage to keep awake to see them.

Altogether, there was no end to the pretty fancies and amusement which the children got from "Mr. Furniture's present."