MR. FURNITURE'S PRESENT.
"And show me any courtly gem more beautiful than these."
--SONG OF THE STRAWBERRY GIRL.
"Your little girl is very pretty, unusually pretty," Mr. Furnivale was
saying to Rosy's mother, as he sat beside her on the sofa during the
few minutes they were waiting for luncheon, "and she looks so strong
and well."
"Yes," said Mrs. Vincent, "she is very strong. I am glad you think her
pretty," she went on. "It is always difficult to judge of one's own
children, I think, or indeed of any face you see constantly. I thought
Rosy very pretty, I must confess, when I first saw her again after our
three years' separation, but now I don't think I could judge."
Mrs. Vincent gave a little sigh as she spoke, which made Mr. Furnivale
wonder what she was troubled about. The truth was that she was
thinking to herself how little she would care whether Rosy was pretty
or not, if only she could feel more happy about her really trying to
be a good little girl.
"Your little girl was with Miss Vincent while you were away, was she
not?" said Mr. Furnivale.
"Yes," said Rosy's mother, "her aunt is very fond of her. She gave
herself immense trouble for Rosy's sake."
"By-the-bye, she is coming to see you soon, is she not?" said Mr.
Furnivale. "She is, as of course you know, an old friend of ours, and
she writes often to ask how Cecy is. And in her last letter she said
she hoped to come to see you soon."
"I have not heard anything decided about it," replied Mrs. Vincent. "I
had begun to think she would not come this year--she was speaking of
going to some seaside place."
"Ah, but I rather think she has changed her mind, then," said Mr.
Furnivale, and then he went on to talk of something else to him of
more importance. But poor Mrs. Vincent was really troubled.
"I should not mind Edith herself coming," she said to herself. "She is
_really_ good and kind, and I think I could make her understand
how cruel it is to spoil Rosy. But it is the maid--that Nelson--I
cannot like or trust her, and I believe she did Rosy more harm than
all her aunt's over-indulgence. And Edith is so fond of her; I cannot
say anything against her," for Miss Vincent was an invalid, and very
dependent on this maid.
Little Beata noticed that during luncheon Rosy's mother looked
troubled, and it made her feel sorry. Rosy perhaps would have noticed
it too, had she not been so very much taken up with her own fancied
troubles. She was running full-speed into one of her cross jealous
moods, and everything that was said or done, she took the wrong way.
Her father helped Bee before her--that, she could not but allow was
right, as Bee was a guest--but now it seemed to her that he chose the
nicest bits for Bee, with a care he never showed in helping her. Rosy
was not the least greedy--she would have been ready and pleased to
give away anything, _so long_ as she got the credit of it, and
was praised and thanked, but to be treated second-best in the way in
which she chose to imagine she was being treated--_that_, she
could not and would not stand. She sat through luncheon with a black
look on her pretty face; so that Mr. Furnivale, whom she was beside,
found her much less pleasant to talk to than Bee opposite, though Bee
herself was less bright and merry than usual.
Mrs. Vincent felt glad that no more was said about Aunt Edith's
coming. She felt that she did not wish Rosy to hear of it, and yet she
did not like to ask Mr. Furnivale not to mention it, as it seemed
ungrateful to think or speak of a visit from Miss Vincent except with
pleasure. After luncheon, when they were again in the drawing-room,
Mr. Furnivale came up to her with a small parcel in his hand.
"I am so sorry," he began, with a little hesitation, "I am so sorry
that I did not know Beata Warwick was with you. Cecy had no idea of
it, and she begged me to give _your_ little girl this present we
bought for her in Venice, and now I don't half like giving it to the
one little woman when I have nothing for the other."
He opened the parcel as he spoke; it contained a quaint-looking little
box, which in its turn, when opened, showed a necklace of glass beads
of every imaginable colour. They were not very large--each bead
perhaps about the size of a pea--of a large pea, that is to say. And
some of them were long, not thicker, but twice as long as the others.
I can scarcely tell you how pretty they were. Every one was different,
and they were beautifully arranged so that the colours came together
in the prettiest possible way. One was pale blue with little tiny
flowers, pink or rose-coloured raised upon it; one was white with a
sort of rainbow glistening of every colour through it; two or three
were black, but with a different tracery, gold or red or bright green,
on each; and some were a kind of mixture of colours and patterns which
seemed to change as you looked at them, so that you could _fancy_
you saw flowers, or figures, or tiny landscapes even, which again
disappeared--and no two the same.
"Oh how lovely," exclaimed Rosy's mother, "how very, very pretty."
"Yes," said Mr. Furnivale, "they _are_ pretty. And they are now
rare. These are really old, and the imitation ones, which they make in
plenty, are not half so curious. Cecy thought they would take a
child's fancy."
"More than a _child's_," said Mrs. Vincent, smiling. "I think
they are lovely--and what a pretty ornament they will be--fancy them
on a white dress!"
"I am only sorry I have not two of them," said Mr. Furnivale, "or at
least _something_ else for the other little girl. You would not
wish me, I suppose, to give the necklace to Beata instead of to Rosy?"
he added.
Now Mrs. Vincent's own feeling was almost that she _would_ better
like it to be given to Beata. She was very unselfish, and her natural
thought was that in anything of the kind, Bee, the little stranger,
the child in her care, whose mother was so far away, should come
first. But there was more to think of than this feeling of hers--
"It would be doing no real kindness to Bee," she said to herself, "to
let Mr. Furnivale give it to her. It would certainly rouse that
terrible jealousy of Rosy's, and it might grow beyond my power to undo
the harm it would do. As it is, seeing, as I know she will, how simply
and sweetly Beata behaves about it may do her lasting good, and draw
the children still more together."
So she looked up at Mr. Furnivale with her pretty honest eyes--Rosy's
eyes were honest too--and like her mother's when she was sweet and
good--and said frankly,
"You won't think me selfish I am sure--I think you will believe that I
do it from good motives--when I ask you not to change, but still to
give it to Rosy. I will take care that little Bee does not suffer for
it in the end."
"And I too," said Mr. Furnivale, "If I _can_ find another
necklace when I go back to Venice. I shall not forget to send
it--indeed, I might write to the dealer beforehand to look out for
one. I am sure you are right, and on the whole I am glad, for Cecy did
buy it for your own little girl."
"Would you like to give it her now?" said Mrs. Vincent, and as Mr.
Furnivale said "Yes," she went to the window opening out on to the
lawn where the three children were now playing, and called Rosy.
"I wonder what mamma wants," thought Rosy to herself, as she walked
towards the drawing-room rather slowly and sulkily, leaving Bee and
Fixie to go on running races (for when I said "the children" were
playing, I should have said Beata and Felix--not Rosy). "I daresay she
will be going to scold me, now luncheon's over. I wish that ugly old
Mr. Furniture would go away," for all the cross, angry, jealous
thoughts had come back to poor Rosy since she had taken it into her
head again about Bee being put before her, and all her good wishes and
plans, which had grown stronger through her mother's gentleness, had
again flown away, like a flock of frightened white doves, looking back
at her with sad eyes as they flew.
Rosy's good angel, however, was very patient with her that day. Again
she was to be tried with _kindness_ instead of harshness; surely
this time it would succeed.
"Rosy dear," said her mother, quite brightly, for she had not noticed
Rosy's cross looks at dinner, and she felt a natural pleasure in the
thought of her child's pleasure, "Mr. Furnivale--or perhaps I should
say _Miss_ Furnivale--whom we all speak of as "Cecy," you know,
has sent you such a pretty present. See, dear--you have never, I
think, had anything so pretty," and she held up the lovely beads
before Rosy's dazzled eyes.
"Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed the little girl, her whole face lighting
up, "O mamma, how very pretty! And they are for _me_. Oh, how
very kind of Miss Furni--of Miss Cecy," she went on, turning to the
old gentleman, "Will you please thank her for me _very_ much?"
No one could look prettier or sweeter than Rosy at this moment, and
Mr. Furnivale began to think he had been mistaken in thinking the
little Vincent girl a much less lovable child than his old friend
Beata Warwick.
"How very, very pretty," she repeated, touching the beads softly with
her little fingers. And then with a sudden change she turned to her
mother.
"Is there a necklace for Bee, too?" she said.
Mrs. Vincent's first feeling was of pleasure that Rosy should think of
her little friend, but there was in the child's face a look that made
her not sure that the question _was_ quite out of kindness to
Bee, and the mother's voice was a little grave and sad, as she
answered.
"No, Rosy. There is not one for Bee. Mr. Furnivale brought it for you
only."
Then Rosy's face was a curious study. There was a sort of pleasure in
it--and this, I must truly say, was not pleasure that Bee had
_not_ a present also, for Rosy was not greedy or even selfish in
the common way, but it was pleasure at being put first, and joined to
this pleasure was a nice honest sorrow that Bee was left out. Now that
Rosy was satisfied that she herself was properly treated she found
time to think of Bee. And though the necklace had been six times as
pretty, though it had been all pearls or diamonds, it would not have
given Mrs. Vincent half the pleasure that this look of real unselfish
sorrow in Rosy's face sent through her heart. More still, when the
little girl, bending to her mother, whispered softly,
"Mamma, would it be right of me to give it to Bee? I wouldn't mind
very much."
"No, darling, no; but I am _very_ glad you thought of it. We will
do something to make up for it to Bee." And she added aloud,
"Mr. Furnivale may _perhaps_ be able to get one something like it
for Bee, when he goes back to Italy."
"Then I may show it to her. It won't be unkind to show it her?" asked
Rosy. And when her mother said "No, it would not be unkind," feeling
sure, with her faith in Bee's goodness that Rosy's pleasure would be
met with the heartiest sympathy--for "sympathy," dears, can be shown
to those about us in their joys as well as in their sorrows--Rosy ran
off in the highest spirits. Mr. Furnivale smiled as he saw her
delight, and Mrs. Vincent was, oh so pleased to be able to tell him,
that Rosy, of herself, had offered to give it to Bee, that that was
what she had been whispering about.
"Not that Beata would have been willing to take it," she added, "she
is the most unselfish child possible."
[Illustration: 'DID YOU EVER SEE ANYTHING SO PRETTY, BEE?' ROSY
REPEATED.]
"And unselfishness is sometimes, catching, luckily for poor human
nature," said the old gentleman, laughing. And Mrs. Vincent laughed
too--the whole world seemed to have grown brighter to her since the
little gleam she believed she had had of true gold at the bottom of
Rosy's wayward little heart.
And Rosy ran gleefully off to her friend.
"Bee, Bee," she cried, "stop playing, do. I have something to show
you. And you too, Fixie, you may come and see it if you like. See," as
the two children ran up to her breathlessly, and she opened the box,
"see," and she held up the lovely necklace, lovelier than ever as it
glittered in the sunshine, every colour seeming to mix in with the
others and yet to stand out separate in the most beautiful way. "Did
you _ever_ see anything so pretty, Bee?" Rosy repeated.
"_Never_," said Beata, with her whole heart in her voice.
"Nebber," echoed Fixie, his blue eyes opened twice as wide as usual.
"And is it _yours_, Rosy?" asked Bee.
"Yes mine, my very own. Mr. Furniture brought it me from--from
somewhere. I don't remember the name of the place, but I know it's
somewhere in the country that's the shape of a boot."
"Italy," said Bee, whose geography was not quite so hazy as Rosy's.
"Yes, I suppose it's Italy, but I don't care where it came from as
long as I've got it. Oh, isn't it lovely? I may wear it for best.
Won't it be pretty with a quite white frock? And, Bee, they said
something, but perhaps I shouldn't tell."
"Don't tell it then," said Bee, whose whole attention was given to the
necklace. "O Rosy, I _am_ so glad you've got such a pretty thing.
Don't you feel happy?" and she looked up with such pleasure in her
eyes that Rosy's heart was touched.
"Bee," she said quickly, "I do think you're very good. Are you not the
least bit vexed, Bee, that _you_ haven't got it, or at least that
you haven't got one like it?"
Beata looked up with real surprise.
"Vexed that I haven't got one too," she repeated, "of course not, Rosy
dear. People can't always have everything the same. I never thought of
such a thing. And besides it is a pleasure to me even though it's not
my necklace. It will be nice to see you wearing it, and I know you'll
let me look at it in my hand sometimes, won't you?" touching the beads
gently as she spoke. "See, Fixie," she went on, "what lovely colours!
Aren't they like fairy beads, Fixie?"
"Yes," said Fixie, "they is welly _pitty_. I could fancy I saw
fairies looking out of some of them. I think if we was to listen welly
kietly p'raps we'd hear fairy stories coming out of them."
"Rubbish, Fixie," said Rosy, rather sharply. She was too fond of
calling other people's fancies "rubbish." Fixie's face grew red, and
the corners of his mouth went down.
"Rosy's only in fun, Fixie," said Bee. "You shouldn't mind. We'll try
some day and see if we can hear any stories--any way we could fancy
them, couldn't we? Are you going to put on the beads now, Rosy? I
think I can fasten the clasp, if you'll turn round. Yes, that's right.
Now don't they look lovely? Shall we run back to the house to let your
mother see it on? O Rosy, you can't _think_ how pretty it looks."
Off ran the three children, and Mrs. Vincent, as she saw them coming,
was pleased to see, as she expected, the brightness of Rosy's face
reflected in Beata's.
"Mother," whispered Rosy, "I didn't say anything to Bee about her
perhaps getting one too. It was better not, wasn't it? It would be
nicer to be a surprise."
"Yes, I think it would. Any way it is better to say nothing about it
just yet, as we are not at all _sure_ of it, you know. Does Bee
think the beads very pretty, Rosy?"
"_Very_," said Rosy, "but she isn't the least _bit_ vexed
for me to have them and not her. She's _quite_ happy, mamma."
"She's a dear child," said Mrs. Vincent, "and so are you, my Rosy,
when you let yourself _be_ your best self. Rosy," she went on, "I
have a sort of feeling that this pretty necklace will be a kind of
_talisman_ to you--perhaps it is silly of me to say it, but the
idea came into my mind--I was so glad that you offered to give it up
to Bee, and I am so glad for you really to see for yourself how sweet
and unselfish Bee is about it. Do you know what a talisman is?"
"Yes, mamma," said Rosy, with great satisfaction. "Papa explained it
to me one day when I read it in a book. It is a kind of charm, isn't
it, mamma?--a kind of nice fairy charm. You mean that I should be so
pleased with the necklace, mamma, that it should make me feel happy
and good whenever I see it, and that I should remember, too, how nice
Bee has been about it."
"Yes, dear," said her mother. "If it makes you feel like that, it
_will_ be a talisman."
And feeling remarkably pleased with herself and everybody else, Rosy
ran off.
Mr. Furnivale left the next day, but not without promises of another
visit before very long.
"When Cecy will come with you," said Mrs. Vincent.
"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."