"And give her my bestest love," said Fixie.
"Yes, indeed, my little man," said Mr. Furnivale, "and I'll tell her too that she would scarcely know you again—so fat and rosy!"
"And my love, please," said Beata, "I would so like to see her again."
"And mine," added Rosy. "And please tell her how dreadfully pleased I am with the beads."
And then the kind old gentleman drove away.
For some time after this it really seemed as if Rosy's mother's half fanciful idea was coming true. There was such a great improvement in Rosy—she seemed so much happier in herself, and to care so much more about making other people happy too.
"I really think the necklace is a talisman," said Mrs. Vincent, laughing, to Rosy's father one day.
Not that Rosy always wore it. It was kept for dress occasions, but to her great delight her mother let her take care of it herself, instead of putting it away with the gold chain and locket her aunt had given her on her last birthday, and the pearl ring her other godmother had sent her, which was much too large for her small fingers at present, and her ivory-bound prayer-book, and various other treasures to be enjoyed by her when she should be "a big girl." And many an hour the children amused themselves with the lovely beads, examining them till they knew every one separately. They even, I believe, had a name for each, and Fixie had a firm belief that inside each crystal ball a little fairy dwelt, and that every moonlight night all these fairies came out and danced about Rosy's room, though he never could manage to keep awake to see them.
Altogether, there was no end to the pretty fancies and amusement which the children got from "Mr. Furniture's present."