Rosy

Perhaps so, ma'am. I wasn’t thinking so much of her healthfulness. With the care that was taken of her, she couldn’t but be a fine child. But it’s her feelin’s, ma'am, that seems to be so changed. All her spirits, her lovely high spirits, gone! Why, this evening, that Martha–or whatever they call her–a’ upsetting thing I call her–spoke to her that short about having left the nursery door open because Master Fixie chose to fancy he was cold, that I wonder any young lady would take it. And Miss Rosy, bless her, up she got and shut it as meek as meek, and ‘I’m very sorry, Martha–I forgot, ’ she said. I couldn’t believe my ears. I could have cried to see her so kept down like. And she’s so quiet and so grave.