Miss Fosbrook looked kindly at her, and she turned wistful eyes on the young governess.
“Miss Fosbrook, will you keep a secret?”
“That I will.”
“I want my money to buy some card-board—and some ribbon—and some real true paints. I’ve got some vermilion, but I want some real good blue. And then I want to make some beautiful bands with ties—like what Papa has for his letters—for all Mamma’s letters in her desk. There’s a bundle of Papa’s when he was gone out to the Crimean War, and that’s to have a frigate on it, because of the Calliope—his ship, you know; and there’s one bundle of dear Aunt Sarah’s—that’s to have a rose, because I always think her memory is like the rose in my hymn, you know; and Grandmamma, she’s to have—I think perhaps I could copy a bit of the tower of Westminster Abbey out of the print, because one sees it out of her window; and, oh! I thought of so many more, but you see I can’t do it without a real good paint-box, and that costs three and sixpence. Now, Miss Fosbrook, is it stingy to wish to do that?”
“Not at all, my dear; but you could not expect the others to understand what they never were told.”
“I’d have said something if they had not called me stingy,” said Bessie.
“It certainly was rude and hasty; but if we bear such things good-naturedly, they become better; and they were very eager about their own plan.”
“Such a disagreeable thing as a pig!” continued Bessie. “If it had been anything nice, I should not have minded so much.”
“Yes; but, my dear, you must remember that the pig will be a more useful present than even your pretty contrivances. You cannot call them doing good, as the other will be.”
“Then you are like them! You think I ought to spend all my money on a great horrid pig, when Mamma—” and the tears were in the little girl’s eyes.