“Why, I don’t know about the shoes, certainly, till I have tried; but, mamma, I am quite sure that I should like the flower-pot.”

“Well, which would you rather have, a jar or a pair of shoes?  I will buy either for you.”

“Dear mamma, thank you—­but if you could buy both?”

“No, not both.”

“Then the jar, if you please.”

“But I should tell you, that in that case I shall not give you another pair of shoes this month.”

“This month! that’s a very long time, indeed!  You can’t think how these hurt me; I believe I’d better have the new shoes.  Yet, that purple flower-pot.  Oh, indeed, mamma, these shoes are not so very, very bad!  I think I might wear them a little longer, and the month will soon be over.  I can make them last till the end of the month, can’t I?  Don’t you think so, mamma?”

“Nay, my dear, I want you to think for yourself; you will have time enough to consider the matter, while I speak to Mr. Sole about my clogs.”

Mr. Sole was by this time at leisure, and while her mother was speaking to him, Rosamond stood in profound meditation, with one shoe on, and the other in her hand.

“Well, my dear, have you decided?”

“Mamma!—­yes,—­I believe I have.  If you please, I should like to have the flower-pot; that is, if you won’t think me very silly, mamma.”

“Why, as to that, I can’t promise you, Rosamond; but when you have to judge for yourself you should choose what would make you happy, and then it would not signify who thought you silly.”

“Then, mamma, if that’s all, I’m sure the flower-pot would make me happy,” said she, putting on her old shoe again; “so I choose the flower-pot.”

“Very well, you shall have it; clasp your shoe and come home.”

Rosamond clasped her shoe and ran after her mother.  It was not long before the shoe came down at the heel, and many times she was obliged to stop to take the stones out of it, and she often limped with pain; but still the thoughts of the purple flower-pot prevailed, and she persisted in her choice.

When they came to the shop with the large window, Rosamond felt much pleasure upon hearing her mother desire the servant, who was with them, to buy the purple jar, and bring it home.  He had other commissions, so he did not return with them.  Rosamond, as soon as she got in, ran to gather all her own flowers, which she kept in a corner of her mother’s garden.

“I am afraid they’ll be dead before the flower-pot comes, Rosamond,” said her mother to her, as she came in with the flowers in her lap.

“No, indeed, mamma, it will come home very soon, I dare say.  I shall be very happy putting them into the purple flower-pot.”

“I hope so, my dear.”

The servant was much longer returning home than Rosamond had expected; but at length he came, and brought with him the long-wished-for jar.  The moment it was set down upon the table, Rosamond ran up to it with an exclamation of joy:  “I may have it now, mamma?”