"Let me put away your hat, Miss Rosy," said Martha, "it's getting all crushed and it's your best one."
"Oh, bother," said Rosy, and the tone was like the Rosy of some months ago. "What does it matter? You won't have to pay for a new one."
Martha said nothing, but quietly put away the hat, which had fallen on the floor. Bee, too, said nothing, but her heart was full. She had been alone, except for poor little Fixie, all the afternoon; and the last hour or so she had been patiently waiting for Rosy to come to the nursery to tell her, as she had promised, all her adventures.
"I'm going to bed," repeated Rosy.
"Won't you stay and talk a little?" said Bee; "you said you would tell me about Summerlands."
"I'm too tired," said Rosy. Then suddenly she added, sharply, "What were you doing in my drawers this afternoon?"
"In your drawers?" repeated Bee, half stupidly, as it were. She was not, as I have told you, very quick in catching up a meaning; she was thoughtful and clear-headed but rather slow, and when any one spoke sharply it made her still slower. "In your drawers, Rosy?" she said again, for, for a moment, she forgot about having fetched the necklace.
"Yes," said Rosy, "you were in my drawers, for Nelson told me. She said I wasn't to tell you she'd told me, but I told her I would. I don't like mean ways. But I'd just like to know what you were doing among my things."
It all came back to Bee now.
"I only went to fetch the beads for Fixie," she said, her voice trembling. "You said I might."