“Yet you think her silly, and you are not fond of her at all; and you say you know this thing will be of no use to her.” “But it is her birthday, sir; and I am sure she will _expect_ something, and everybody else will give her something.” “Then your reason for giving is because she expects you to give her something. And will you, or can you, or should you, always give, merely because others _expect_, or because somebody else gives?” “Always?—no, not always.” “Oh, only on birthdays.” Rosamond, laughing: “Now you are making a joke of me, papa, I see; but I thought you liked that people should be generous,—my godmother said that she did.” “So do I, full as well as your godmother; but we have not yet quite settled what it is to be generous.” “Why is it not generous to make presents?” said Rosamond. “That is the question which it would take up a great deal of time to answer. But, for instance, to make a present of a thing that you know can be of no use to a person you neither love nor esteem, because it is her birthday, and because everybody gives her something, and because she expects something, and because your godmother says she likes that people should be generous, seems to me, my dear Rosamond, to be, since I must say it, rather more like folly than generosity.” Rosamond looked down upon the basket, and was silent. “Then I am a fool, am I?” said she looking up at last. “Because you have made _one_ mistake? No. If you have sense enough to see your own mistakes, and can afterwards avoid them, you will never be a fool.” Here the carriage stopped, and Rosamond recollected that the basket was uncovered. Now we must observe, that Rosamond’s father had not been too severe upon Bell when he called her a silly girl. From her infancy she had been humoured; and at eight years old she had the misfortune to be a spoiled child. She was idle, fretful, and selfish; so that nothing could make her happy. On her birthday she expected, however, to be perfectly happy. Everybody in the house tried to please her, and they succeeded so well, that between breakfast and dinner she had only six fits of crying. The cause of five of these fits no one could discover: but the last, and most lamentable, was occasioned by a disappointment about a worked muslin frock; and accordingly, at dressing time, her maid brought it to her, exclaiming, “See here, miss, what your mamma has sent you on your birthday. Here’s a frock fit for a queen—if it had but lace round the cuffs.” “And why has not it lace around the cuffs? mamma said it should.” “Yes, but mistress was disappointed about the lace; it is not come home.” “Not come home, indeed! and didn’t they know it was my birthday? But then I say I won’t wear it without the lace—I can’t wear it without the lace, and I won’t.” The lace, however, could not be had; and Bell at length submitted to let the frock be put on.