Rosy | Page 4

lay on the floor crying for a good long while. Her fits of temper tired her out, though she was a very strong little girl. There is nothing more tiring than bad temper, and it is such a stupid kind of tiredness; nothing but a waste of time and strength. Not like the rather nice tiredness one feels when one has been working hard either at one's own business, or, still nicer, at helping other people--the sort of pleasant fatigue with which one lays one's head on the pillow, feeling that all the lessons are learnt, and well learnt, for to-morrow morning, or that the bit of garden is quite, quite clear of weeds, and father or mother will be so pleased to see it! But to fall half asleep on the floor, or on your bed, with wearied, swollen eyes, and panting breath and aching head, feeling or fancying that no one loves you--that the world is all wrong, and there is nothing sweet or bright or pretty in it, no place for you, and no use in being alive--all these miserable feelings that are the natural and the right punishment of yielding to evil tempers, forgetting selfishly all the pain and trouble you cause--what can be more wretched? Indeed, I often think no punishment that can be given can be half so bad as the punishment that comes of itself--that is joined to the sin by ties that can never be undone. And the shame of it all! Rosy was not quite what she had been when she first came home to her mother--she was beginning to feel ashamed when she had yielded to her temper--and even this, though a small improvement, was always something--one little step in the right way, one little sign of better things.
She was not asleep--scarcely half asleep, only stupid and dazed with crying--when the door opened softly, and some one peeped in. It was Fixie. He came creeping in very quietly--when was Fixie anything but quiet?--and with a very distressed look on his tiny, white face. Something came over Rosy--a mixture of shame and sorrow, and also some curiosity to see what her little brother would do; and these feelings mixed together made her shut her eyes tighter and pretend to be asleep.
Fixie came close up to her, peeped almost into her face, so that if she had been really asleep I rather think it would have awakened her, except that all he did was so very gentle and like a little mouse; and then, quite satisfied that she was fast asleep, he slowly settled himself down on the floor by her side.
"Poor Losy," he said softly. "Fixie are so solly for you. Poor Losy--why can't her be good? Why doesn't God make Losy good all in a minute? Fixie always akses God to make her good"--he stopped in his whispered talk, suddenly--he had fancied for a moment that Rosy was waking, and it was true that she had moved. She had given a sort of wriggle, for, sweet and gentle as Fixie was, she did not at all like being spoken of as not good. She didn't see why he need pray to God to make her good, more than other people, she said to herself, and for half a second she was inclined to jump up and tell Pix to go away; it wasn't his business whether she was good or naughty, and she wouldn't have him in her room. But she did not do so,--she lay still again, and she was glad she had, for poor Fixie stopped in his talking to pat her softly.
"Don't wake, poor Losy," he said. "Go on sleeping, Losy, if you are so tired, and Fix will watch aside you and take care of you."
He seemed to have forgotten all about her being naughty--he sat beside her, patting her softly, and murmuring a sort of cooing "Hush, hush, Losy," as if she were a baby, that was very touching, like the murmur of a sad little dove. And by and by, with going on repeating it so often, his own head began to feel confused and drowsy--it dropped lower and lower, and at last found a resting-place on Rosy's knees. Rosy, who had really been getting sleepy, half woke up when she felt the weight of her little brother's head and shoulder upon her--she moved him a little so that he should lie more comfortably, and put one arm round him.
"Dear Fixie," she said to herself, "I do love him, and I'm sure he loves me," and her face grew soft and gentle--and when Rosy's face looked like that it was very pretty and sweet. But it quickly grew dark and gloomy again as another thought struck her. "If Fixie loves that nasty little girl