"And did you put them back again? And did you not touch anything else?" Rosy went on.
"Of course I put them back, and—of course I didn't touch anything else," exclaimed Bee. "Rosy, how can you, how dare you speak to me like that? As if I would steal your things. You have no right to speak that way, and Nelson is a bad, horrible woman. I will tell your mother all about it to-morrow morning."
And bursting into tears, Beata ran out of the nursery to take refuge in her own room. Nor would she come out or speak to Rosy when she knocked at the door and begged her to do so. But she let Martha in to help her to undress, and listened gently to the good nurse's advice not to take Miss Rosy's unkindness to heart.
"She's sorry for it already," said Martha. "And, though perhaps I shouldn't say it, you can see for yourself, Miss Bee dear, that it's not herself, as one may say." And Martha gave a sigh. "I'm sorry for Miss Rosy's mamma," she added, as she bid Bee good-night. And the words went home to Bee's loving, grateful little heart. It was very seldom, very seldom indeed, that unkind or ungentle thoughts or feelings rested there. Never hardly in all her life had Beata given way to anger as she had done that afternoon.
CHAPTER X.
STINGS FOR BEE.
"And I will look up the chimney,
And into the cupboard to make quite sure."
—AUTHOR OF LILLIPUT LEVEE.
Fixie was not quite well the next morning, as Martha had hoped he would be. Still he did not seem ill enough to stay in bed, so she dressed him as usual. But at breakfast he rested his head on his hand, looking very doleful, "very sorry for himself," as Scotch people say. And Martha, though she tried to cheer him up, was evidently anxious.
Mother came up to see him after breakfast, and she looked less uneasy than Martha.