Chapter 4

"Rose," he said, and the tone of his voice was a cross tone; "Rose, how is this? where can you have been, and how is it that I see you thus?"

"O Sir," said Mark, "do not scold Rose, do not scold Rose; it is all my fault, and all the blame must be mine." Mark then told Mr. Wood how Rose had sold her self to him for six pence, and what he had made her do when he had bought her.

"Go in the house, Rose," said Mr. Wood; "go to bed at once; what I have to say to you must not be said now."

Rose did not dare to hold up her head as she went through the hall. She felt much shame when the maid came to take off her clothes and to wash her. Rose saw the maid laugh, and _that_ she did think was hard to bear, but she did not say a word.

Now Mr. Wood was a man who had a great deal of good sense, and when his boy or girl had done what was wrong, it was his wish that the cure should be wrought by their own sense of right and wrong. He thought that the shame they felt from the sense of wrong would be the best cure they could have. He did all he could to make them _feel_ in what they had done wrong, and when he was sure they felt this he was sure they would do so no more.

Now Mark was wrong to have let Rose have the six pence; and what made it the more wrong was that he knew Mrs. Wood had once told Rose she did not wish her to buy the box she had so great a wish to buy, for she thought the glass at the top would soon break, and that Rose might be cut by it. Mr. Wood did not say much to Mark, for he saw that he felt a great deal. But he told Mark it was his wish that the pond scene should be felt by Rose, and that it should be made the means to cure her of her worst fault.

This fault was, that when Rose had a strong wish to have a thing she thought she should like to have, she would not hear _no_.

The more _no_ was said, the more did she wish to have the thing to which it was said. This had just been the case with the box. Mrs. Wood had said no two, three, and four times, and each time that the _no_ was said, the wish for _yes_ had been more strong.

The next day, when Rose came down stairs, she did not raise up her eyes. Mr. Wood told her that as she had sold her self to Mark, he should leave her to his charge for three days, and in that time she must do all that Mark told her, and that she would have to do much she would not like.

"Oh, Sir," said Rose, "buy me back! do buy me back!"

"Not yet," said Mr. Wood, "but if you do all that Mark bids you do for three days, and if you do your best to try to put a check on the fault which has been the cause of all this, why, then I _will_ buy you back."

The first day Rose did try as much as she could; but it was all she could do not to cry when Mark told her to do things: "_You_ tell me, Mark!--why should I do what you tell me?" and then she would think of the _cause_ of that why, and she would hang down her head and blush.

The last of the three days was come, and on this day Rose felt light of heart. Once she went to the place where the box had been put; she took it up and said, "This box is mine--I shall not lose this." She took off the lid, and just then she heard some one at the door. In great haste to put back the box, her foot slipt, and down she fell. In the fall the glass lid broke, and a piece of the glass stuck in her lip. The blood came in streams. Her cries were loud, and Mrs. Wood, who heard them, ran in great fear to know the cause.

It was a sad deep gash, and poor Rose was faint with pain and fright.

So deep was the wound, that for ten days Rose could not put food in her mouth; what food she took came through the spout of a tea-pot. Rose could not speak nor laugh: she had a great deal of pain to bear, and she did all she could to bear it well.

Mark would sit near her, and watch her, and read to her; and he would look so sad at times! When he was sad, Rose would do what she could to make her pain seem less than it was; but Rose's mouth could not prove the kind smile that was in her heart.

It was a long time ere Rose was quite well. Years are now flown in the stream of time since the day when Rose cut her lip.

The mark left by the cut is on her lip still. There it will be as long as she lives; and when she has a wish for that which she knows she ought not to have, that mark tells her to TAKE CARE.

THE END.

CAMDEN PRESS, LONDON.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Book of One Syllable, by Esther Bakewell