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