"It is too pretty," said Rosy. "I must try it on."
And, quick as thought, she set to work—and nobody could be quicker or cleverer than Rosy when she chose—taking off the dress she had on, and rapidly attiring herself in the lovely costume. It all seemed to fit beautifully,—true, the pale blue shoes looked rather odd beside the sailor-blue stockings she was wearing, and she wondered what kind of stockings her mother intended her to wear at Summerlands—and she could not get the little lace kerchief arranged quite to her taste; but the cap went on charmingly, and so did the long mittens, which were beside the shoes.
"There must be stockings too," thought Rosy, "for there seems to be everything else; perhaps they are farther back in the shelf."
[Illustration: BY STRETCHING A GOOD DEAL SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD REACH THEM.]
She climbed up on the chair again, but she could not see farther into the shelf, so she got down and fetched one of the candles. Then up again—yes—there were two little balls, a pink and a blue, farther back-by stretching a good deal she thought she could reach them. Only the candle was in the way, as she was holding it in one hand. She stooped and set it down on the edge of the chair, and reached up again, and had just managed to touch the little balls she could no longer see, when—what was the matter? What was that rush of hot air up her left leg and side? She looked down, and, in her fright, fell—chair, Rosy, and candle, in a heap on the floor—for she had seen that her skirts were on fire! and, as she fell, she uttered a long piercing scream.
CHAPTER XII.
GOOD OUT OF EVIL.
"Sweet are the uses of adversity."—SHAKESPEARE.
A scream that would probably have reached the nursery, which was not very far from Mrs. Vincent's room, had there been any one there to hear it! But as it was, the person who had been there—little Bee—was much nearer than the nursery at the time of Rosy's accident. The house was very silent that evening, and Nelson had not thought of bringing a light; so when it got too dark to read, even with the book pressed close against the window-panes, Bee grew rather tired of waiting there by herself, with nothing to do.