“Then you can buy another with that,” said Laura, dropping the half-guinea into her hand; and she shut the window before the child could find words to thank her, but not before she saw a look of joy and gratitude, which gave Laura more pleasure probably than all the praise which could have been bestowed upon her generosity. Late on the morning of her cousin’s birthday, Rosamond finished her work-basket. The carriage was at the door—Laura came running to call her; her father’s voice was heard at the same instant; so she was obliged to go down with her basket but half wrapped up in silver paper—a circumstance at which she was a good deal disconcerted; for the pleasure of surprising Bell would be utterly lost if one bit of the filigree should peep out before the proper time. As the carriage went on, Rosamond pulled the paper to one side and to the other, and by each of the four corners. “It will never do, my dear,” said her father, who had been watching her operations. “I am afraid you will never make a sheet of paper cover a box which is twice as large as itself.” “It is not a box, father,” said Rosamond, a little peevishly; “it’s a basket.” “Let us look at this basket,” said he, taking it out of her unwilling hands, for she knew of what frail materials it was made, and she dreaded its coming to pieces under her father’s examination. He took hold of the handle rather roughly; when, starting off the coach seat, she cried, “Oh, sir! father! sir! you will spoil it indeed!” said she, with increased vehemence, when, after drawing aside the veil of silver paper, she saw him grasp the myrtle wreathed handle. “Indeed, sir, you will spoil the poor handle.” “But what is the use of _the poor handle_,” said her father, “if we are not to take hold of it? And pray,” continued he, turning the basket round with his finger and thumb, rather in a disrespectful manner, “pray, is this the thing you have been about all this week? I have seen you all this week dabbling with paste and rags; I could not conceive what you were about. Is this the thing?” “Yes, sir. You think, then, that I have wasted my time, because the basket is of no use; but then it is a present for my Cousin Bell.” “Your Cousin Bell will be very much obliged to you for a present that is of no use. You had better have given her the purple jar.” “Oh, father! I thought you had forgotten that—it was two years ago; I’m not so silly now. But Bell will like the basket, I know, though it is of no use.” “Then you think Bell is sillier now than you were two years ago,—well, perhaps that is true; but how comes it, Rosamond, now that you are so wise, that you are fond of such a silly person?” “_I_, father?” said Rosamond, hesitating, “I don’t think I am _very_ fond of her.” “I did not say _very_ fond.” “Well, but I don’t think I am at all fond of her.” “But you have spent a whole week in making this thing for her.” “Yes, and all my half guinea besides.”