Poor Rosy! She would have herself been shocked had she seen written down in plain words all the feelings her jealous temper caused her. But almost the worst of jealousy is that it hides itself in so many dresses, and gives itself so many names, sometimes making itself seem quite a right and proper feeling; often, very often making one think oneself a poor, ill-treated martyr, when in reality, the martyrs are the unfortunate people that have to live with the foolish person who has allowed jealousy to become his master.
Beata's uncle left that evening, but before he went away he had the pleasure of seeing his little niece quite herself again.
"That's right," he said, as he bade her good-bye, "I don't know what came over you this afternoon."
Beata did not say anything, but she just kissed her uncle, and whispered, "Give my love to dear grandmother, and tell her I am going to try to be very good."
CHAPTER IV.
UPS AND DOWNS.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary."—NURSERY RHYME.
That night when Bee was in her little bed, though not yet asleep, for the strangeness of everything, and all she had to think over of what had happened in the day, had kept her awake longer than usual, she heard some one softly open the door and look in.
"Are you awake still, dear?" said a voice which Bee knew in a moment was that of Rosy's mother.