The first day Rose did try as much as she could; but it was all she could do not to cry when Mark told her to do things: "You tell me, Mark!—why should I do what you tell me?" and then she would think of the cause of that why, and she would hang down her head and blush.
The last of the three days was come, and on this day Rose felt light of heart. Once she went to the place where the box had been put; she took it up and said, "This box is mine—I shall not lose this." She took off the lid, and just then she heard some one at the door. In great haste to put back the box, her foot slipt, and down she fell. In the fall the glass lid broke, and a piece of the glass stuck in her lip. The blood came in streams. Her cries were loud, and Mrs. Wood, who heard them, ran in great fear to know the cause.
It was a sad deep gash, and poor Rose was faint with pain and fright.
So deep was the wound, that for ten days Rose could not put food in her mouth; what food she took came through the spout of a tea-pot. Rose could not speak nor laugh: she had a great deal of pain to bear, and she did all she could to bear it well.
Mark would sit near her, and watch her, and read to her; and he would look so sad at times! When he was sad, Rose would do what she could to make her pain seem less than it was; but Rose's mouth could not prove the kind smile that was in her heart.
It was a long time ere Rose was quite well. Years are now flown in the stream of time since the day when Rose cut her lip.
The mark left by the cut is on her lip still. There it will be as long as she lives; and when she has a wish for that which she knows she ought not to have, that mark tells her to take care.
THE END.
CAMDEN PRESS, LONDON.