"O Rosy, poor Rosy," she said to herself. "You do know what is right and sweet. When will you learn to keep down that unhappy temper?"
* * * * *
The next morning was bright and sunny, the garden with its beautiful trees and flowers, which Beata had only had a glimpse of the night before, looked perfectly delicious in the early light when she drew up the window-blind to look out. And as soon as she was dressed she was only too delighted to join Rosy and Colin for a run before breakfast. Children are children all the world over—luckily for themselves and luckily for other people too—and even children who are sometimes ill-tempered and unkind are sometimes, too, bright and happy and lovable. Rosy was after all only a child, and by no means always a disagreeable spoilt child. And this morning seeing Bee so merry and happy, she forgot her foolish and unkind feelings about her, and for the time they were all as contented and joyous as children should be.
"Where is Fixie?" asked Beata. "May he not come out a little before breakfast too?"
"Martha won't let him," said Rosy. "Nasty cross old thing. She says it will make him ill, and I am sure it's much more likely to make him ill keeping him poking in there when he wanted so much to come out with us."
"I don't see how you can call Martha cross," said Colin. "And certainly she's never cross to Fixie."
"How do you know?" said Rosy, sharply. "You don't see her half as much as I do. And she can always pretend if she likes."
Beata looked rather anxiously at Colin. He was on the point of answering Rosy crossly in his turn, and again Bee felt that sort of nervous fear of quarrels or disagreeables which it was impossible to be long in Rosy's company without feeling. But Colin suddenly seemed to change his mind.
"Shall we run another race?" he said, without taking any notice of Rosy's last speech.
"Yes," said Bee, eagerly, "from here to the library window. But you must give me a little start—I can't run half so fast as you and Rosy."