Horace was at his lessons, but Rosebud, or Rosie as she had gradually come to be called, soon followed her parents. She was a bright, merry little girl of six, very different from what her sister had been at that age; full of fun and frolicsome as a kitten, very fond of her father, liking to climb upon his knee to be petted and caressed, but clinging still more to her sweet, gentle mamma.
Mr. Travilla and she were the best of friends; she was devotedly attached to her sister, and considered it "very nice and funny," that she was aunt to wee Elsie and baby Eddie.
"Oh," she cried, the moment she came into the room, "what is wee Elsie doing? Mamma, may I, too?"
"May you what?" asked Rose.
"Why, what is the child doing? playing with your jewels, Elsie?" asked Mr. Dinsmore in a tone of surprise, noticing for the first time what was the employment of his little granddaughter.
"Yes, papa; but she is very careful, and I am watching her."
"I should not allow it, if she were my child. No, Rosie, you may not; you are not a careful little girl."
Rosie was beginning to pout, but catching the stern look in her father's eye, quickly gave it up, her face clearing as if by magic.
"Papa," Elsie asked in a low tone, "do you wish me to take away those costly playthings from my little girl?"
"My dear daughter," he said, smiling tenderly upon her, "I have neither the right nor the wish to interfere with you and your children; especially when your husband approves of your management. I only fear you may suffer loss. How easy a valuable ring may slip through the little fingers and roll away into some crevice where it would never be found."