She was a sedate little
maiden, and wonderfully wise for her years. Already, in some ways she
seemed older than her erratic little mother, of whom, in a droll fashion,
she assumed a sort of charge. She was a born housewife.
"Mamma, you have fordotten your wings," Clover would hear her saying.
"Mamma, you has a wip in your seeve, you must mend it," or "Mamma, don't
fordet dat your teys is in the top dwawer,"--all these reminders and
advices being made particularly comical by the baby pronunciation. Rose's
theory was that little Rose was a messenger from heaven sent to buffet her
and correct her mistakes.
"The bane and the antidote," she would say. "Think of my having a child
with powers of ratiocination!"
Rose came down the night of her arrival after a long, freshening nap,
looking rested and bonny in a pretty blue dress, and saying that as
little Rose too had taken a good sleep, she might sit up to tea if the
family liked. The family were only too pleased to have her do so. After
tea Rose carried her off, ostensibly to go to bed, but Clover heard a
great deal of confabulating and giggling in the hall and on the stairs,
and soon after, Rose returned, the door-bell rang loudly, and there
entered an astonishing vision,--little Rose, costumed as a Cupid or a
carrier-pigeon, no one knew exactly which, with a pair of large white
wings fastened on her shoulders, and dragging behind her by a loop of
ribbon a sizeable basket quite full of parcels.
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