And even Aunt Edith's prejudice seemed to have melted away, for she kissed Bee as she said goodnight, and called her a brave, good child.
So it was with a thankful little heart that Beata went to bed. Her hand was sore—it had got badly scorched in pressing down the blankets—but she did not think it bad enough to say anything about it except to the cook, who was a kind old woman, and wrapped it up in cotton wool, after well dredging it with flour, and making her promise that if it hurt her in the night she would call her.
It did not hurt her, and she slept soundly; but when she woke in the morning her head ached, and she wished she could stay in bed! Rosy was still sleeping—the housemaid, who came to draw the curtains, told her—and she was not to be wakened.
"After the fright she had, it is better to sleep it off," the servant said, "though, for some things, it's to be hoped she won't forget it. It should be a lesson to her. But you don't look well, Miss Bee," she went on; "is your head aching, my dear?"
"Yes," Bee allowed, "and I can't think why, for I slept very well. What day is it, Phoebe? Isn't it Sunday?"
"Yes, Miss Bee. It's Sunday."
"I don't think I can go to church. The organ would make my head worse," said Bee, sitting up in bed.
"Shall I tell any one that you're not well, Miss Bee?" asked Phoebe.
"Oh no, thank you," said Bee, "I daresay it will get better when I'm up."
It did seem a little better, but she was looking pale when Mrs. Vincent came to the nursery to see her and Rosy, who had wakened up, none the worse for her fright, but anxious to do all she could for poor Bee when she found out about her sore hand and headache,