what mamma says, and I don't care for all the peoples in the world, I
_won't_ like her;" and then, without considering that there was
no one near to see or to hear except Manchon, Rosy stamped her little
feet hard, and repeated in a louder voice, "No, I won't, I
_won't_ like her."

But some one had heard her after all. A little figure, smaller than
Rosy even, was standing in the doorway, looking at her with a troubled
face, but not seeming very surprised.

"Losy," it said, "tea's seady. Fix is comed for you."

"Then Fix may go away again. Rosy doesn't want any tea. Rosy's too
bovvered and vexed. Go away, Fix."

But "Fix," as she called him, and as he called himself, didn't move.
Only the trouble in his delicate little face grew greater.

"_Is_ you bovvered, Losy?" he said. "Fix is welly solly," and he
came farther into the room. "Losy," he said again, still more gently
than before, "_do_ come to tea. Fix doesn't like having his tea
when Losy isn't there, and Fix is tired to-day."

Rosy looked at him a moment. Then a sudden change came over her. She
stooped down and threw her arms round the little boy's neck and hugged
him.

"Poor Fixie, dear Fixie," she said. "Rosy will come if _you_ want
her. Fixie never bovvers Rosy. Fixie loves Rosy, doesn't he?"