Rosamond was very sorry that her mother wanted nothing.  Presently, however, they came to a shop, which appeared to her far more beautiful than the rest.  It was a chemist’s shop, but she did not know that.

“Oh, mother, oh!” cried she, pulling her mother’s hand, “look, look! blue, green, red, yellow, and purple!  Oh, mamma, what beautiful things!  Won’t you buy some of these?”

Still her mother answered, as before, “Of what use would they be to me, Rosamond?”

“You might put flowers in them, mamma, and they would look so pretty on the chimney-piece.  I wish I had one of them.”

“You have a flower-pot,” said her mother, “and that is not a flower-pot.”

“But I could use it for a flower-pot, mamma, you know.”

“Perhaps if you were to see it nearer, if you were to examine it you might be disappointed.”

“No, indeed, I’m sure I should not; I should like it exceedingly.”

Rosamond kept her head turned to look at the purple vase, till she could see it no longer.

“Then, mother,” said she, after a pause, “perhaps you have no money.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Dear me, if I had money I would buy roses, and boxes, and buckles, and purple flower-pots, and everything.”  Rosamond was obliged to pause in the midst of her speech.

“Oh, mamma, would you stop a minute for me?  I have got a stone in my shoe; it hurts me very much.”

“How came there to be a stone in your shoe?”

“Because of this great hole, mamma,—­it comes in there; my shoes are quite worn out.  I wish you would be so very good as to give me another pair.”

“Nay, Rosamond, but I have not money enough to buy shoes, and flower-pots, and buckles, and boxes, and everything.”

Rosamond thought that was a great pity.  But now her foot, which had been hurt by the stone, began to give her so much pain that she was obliged to hop every other step, and she could think of nothing else.  They came to a shoemaker’s shop soon afterwards.

“There, there! mamma, there are shoes; there are little shoes that would just fit me, and you know shoes would be really of use to me.”

“Yes, so they would, Rosamond.  Come in.”

She followed her mother into the shop.

Mr. Sole the shoemaker, had a great many customers, and his shop was full, so they were obliged to wait.

“Well, Rosamond,” said her mother, “you don’t think this shop so pretty as the rest?”

“No, not nearly; it is black and dark, and there are nothing but shoes all round; and, besides, there’s a very disagreeable smell.”

“That smell is the smell of new leather.”

“Is it?  Oh!” said Rosamond, looking round, “there is a pair of little shoes; they’ll just fit me, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps they might; but you cannot be sure till you have tried them on, any more than you can be quite sure that you should like the purple vase exceedingly, till you have examined it more attentively.”