'I am afraid they'll be dead before the flower-pot comes, Rosamond,' said her mother to her, as she came in with the flowers in her lap.
'No, indeed, mother; it will come home very soon, I dare say. I shall be very happy putting them into the blue flower-pot.'
'I hope so, my dear.'
The servant was much longer returning home than Rosamond had expected; but at length he came, and brought with him the long-wished-for jar. The moment it was set down upon the table, Rosamond ran up to it with an exclamation of joy. 'I may have it now, mother?'
'Yes, my dear! it is yours.'
Rosamond poured the flowers from her lap upon the carpet, and seized the blue flower-pot.
'Oh, dear mother,' cried she, as soon as she had taken off the top, 'but there's something dark in it which smells very disagreeably. What is it? I didn't want this black stuff.'
'Nor I, my dear.'
'But what shall I do with it, mother?'
'That I cannot tell.'