“It is trying,” Evelyn admitted.  “But you know, Lu,” she went on, “that we must expect troubles and trials in this world; that they are sent or permitted for our good; for strength grows by exercise, and if there is nothing to try our patience, how can it grow?”

“I have none to begin with,” said Lulu.

“Oh, that’s a mistake,” said Evelyn; “you have great patience with your work yonder, and deserve a great deal of credit for it.  I do think you have much more of that kind of patience than Rosie has.  But let us talk of something else.”

They talked of Viamede, each telling the other what she had heard of its beauties; of Magnolia Hall, too; of Molly, Isa, and the other relatives of the Dinsmores who were living in that region of country.

It so happened that Rosie’s mother, passing through the hall below at the moment, overheard her mocking words to Lulu.

“Rosie,” she called, and the little girl perceived a grieved tone in the sweet voice, “come here, daughter.”

“Yes, mamma, dear, what is it?” Rosie asked lightly, descending the stair.

“Come into my dressing-room; I want to talk to you.”  Then, when they were seated, “What was that I overheard you saying to Lulu just now?”

Rosie repeated her words in a careless tone.

“I desire an explanation,” her mother said gently, but very gravely.  “What was the debt, and who owes it?”

“I, mamma, if anybody.  Lulu had just said that I owed her an apology; and I had answered that if so, I was quite able to owe it.”

“What had you done or said that she should think herself entitled to an apology?”

Rosie replied with a truthful account of the scene of the day before in the boy’s work-room, excusing her part of it by an allusion to “Lulu’s fearful temper.”

“Are you quite sure, Rosie, that when you rouse it by exasperating remarks you do not share the sin?” asked her mother with a grieved, troubled look.

“No, mamma, I’m afraid I do,” acknowledged Rosie, frankly.

“Satan is called the tempter,” Elsie went on, “and I fear that you are doing his work when you wilfully tempt another to sin.”

“Oh, mamma,” cried Rosie, looking shocked, “I never thought of that.  I don’t want to be his servant, doing his work; I will try never to tempt any one to wrong-doing again.”

“I am glad to hear you say that,” said her mother.  “And now that you are conscious of having harmed Lulu, are you not willing to do what lies in your power to repair the mischief—­to pay the debt she thinks you owe her?”

Rosie’s head drooped and her cheeks crimsoned.  “Mamma, you are asking a hard thing of me,” she said in a low, unwilling tone.  “If you order me, of course I know I must obey; but I’d rather do almost anything else than apologize to Lulu.”

“I wish you to do it of your own free will and from sense of duty, not because my commands are laid upon you,” Elsie answered.  “Is it not the noblest course of action I am urging upon you?  Is it any less mean to refuse to meet such an obligation than a moneyed one?—­a thing of which I am sure you would be heartily ashamed to be guilty.”