“Then could I look at your pretty things if I don't touch 'em?” asked the child, longing to peep into the interesting boxes scattered on the table. “No, you can't! I'm busy, and don't want you asking questions and meddling. Go away and let me alone.” Cicely spoke crossly, and waved her hand with a warning gesture, thereby upsetting the tray which held the beads of the necklace she had decided to wear for want of something better. “There, now see what you've done! Pick up every one, and be quick, for I'm in a hurry.” “But I didn't touch 'em,” began poor Button, as she crept about hunting for the black and white beads that looked like very ugly marbles. “Don't talk; pick them up and then scamper; you are always in mischief!” scolded Cis, vexed with herself, and the heat, and the accident, and the whole world just then. Rosy said no more, but several great tears dropped on the carpet as she groped in corners, under the bed, and behind the chairs for the run-aways; and when the last was found she put it in her tyrant's hand, saying, with a wistful look,-- “I'm very sorry I troubled you. Seems to me if _I_ had a little cousin, I'd love to have her play with my things, and I wouldn't be cross to her. Now I'll go and try to AMOOSE myself with Bella; SHE is always good to me.” “Run along then. Thank goodness that doll came when it did, for I'm tired of 'amoosing' small girls as well as old ladies,” said Cis, busy with her beads, yet sorry she had been so petulant with patient little Button, who seldom reproached her, being a cheery child, and blessed with a sweet temper. Rosy felt too languid to play; so when she had told Bella, the London doll, her trials, and comforted herself with some kisses on the waxen cheeks, she roamed away to the summer-house, which was cool and quiet, longing for some one to caress her; for the little heart was homesick and the little head ached badly. The “button-hole” had been made, the alley swept out, to the great dismay of the spiders, earwigs, and toads, who had fled to quieter quarters, and Rosy had leave to go and come when she liked if Mr. Dover did not object. He never did; and it was her greatest delight to walk in the pretty garden at her own sweet will, always with the hope of meeting its kindly owner, for now they were firm friends. She had been too busy for a run there that day; and now, as she peeped in, it looked so shady and inviting, and it seemed so natural to turn to her dear “missionary man” for entertainment, that she went straight up to his study window and peeped in. He too seemed out of sorts that hot afternoon, for he sat leaning his head on both hands at the desk strewn with piles of old letters. Button-Rose's tender heart yearned over him at once, and stepping quietly in at the long open window she went to him, saying in her tenderest tone,-- “Does your head ache, sir? Let me soft it as I do Papa's; he says that always makes it more better. Please let me? I'd love to dearly.”