AND THE ROSEBUDS.
'Shall I give her some bread and milk, ma'am?' asked Sally.
'Certainly,' said the mistress; 'and after breakfast I shall consider what is to be done with her.'
So the little thing had a good breakfast: and all the morning the mistress sat considering; but at dinnertime it appeared that she had not considered to much purpose, for when Sally came into the parlor to lay the cloth, and asked, 'Am I to give the little dear some dinner, ma'am?' she answered again, 'Certainly, Sally, and I must consider what is to be done; I've not been able to make up my mind. How has she behaved?'
'Been as good as gold,' answered Sally, with a somewhat silly smile; 'she saw me dusting about, and I gave her a duster, and she dusted too, and then stood on the stool and see me making the pie, and never touched a thing. O, she's a toward little thing.'
After dinner it began to rain, and then the wind got up, and the rosebuds rattled and knocked again at the casement. A little before tea-time the mistress felt so lonely that she came into the kitchen for company, and there she saw Sally sitting before the fire, making toast, and the child on a chair beside her, with a small piece of bread on a fork.
'She's toasting herself a bit of bread for her tea,' said Sally, 'leastways, if you mean to give her her tea, ma'am.'
'Certainly,' said the mistress once more. 'Dear me, how cheerful it looks!—doesn't it, Sally? a child seems always to make a place cheerful. Yes, I shall give her her tea, if she is good.'
