"Mother," said Colin.

"Well, my boy," said his mother.

"I wish she hadn't such a stupid name. It's so hard to say."

"I think they sometimes have called her Bee," said his mother; "I
daresay you can call her so."

"Yes, that would be much better," said Colin, in a more contented
tone.

"Only," said his mother again, and she couldn't help smiling a little
when she said it, "if you call her 'Bee,' don't make it the beginning
of any new teasing by calling Rosy 'Wasp.'"

"Mother!" said Colin. "I daresay I would never have thought of it. But
I promise you I won't."

This was what had upset Rosy so terribly--the coming of little Beata.
She--Beata--was the child of friends of Rosy's parents. They had been
much together in India, and had returned to England at the same time.
So Beata was already well known to Rosy's mother, and Fixie, too, had
learnt to look upon her almost as a sister. Beata's father and mother
were obliged to go back to India, and it had been settled that their
little girl was to be left at home with her grandmother. But just a
short time before they were to leave, her grandmother had a bad
illness, and it was found she would not be well enough to take charge
of the child. And in the puzzle about what they should do with her, it