“I wish I had ’spepsia,” was the abrupt remark of the small person as her plate of drum-sticks was removed and the pudding appeared, accompanied by the cherries.

“Why, dear?” asked Miss Henny, busily arranging the small dish of delicate tidbits, which left little but the skeleton of the roast fowl for the kitchen.

“Then I could have the nicest bits of chicken, and heaps of sauce on my pudding, and the butteryest slices of toast, and all the cream for my tea, as you do.  It isn’t a very bad pain, is it?” asked Rosy, in such perfect good faith that Miss Henny’s sudden flush and Roxy’s hasty dive into the closet never suggested to her that this innocent speech was bringing the old lady’s besetting sin to light in the most open manner.

“Yes, child, it is very bad, and you may thank your stars that I try to keep you from it by feeding you on plain food.  At my age, and suffering as I do, the best of everything is needed to keep up my strength,” said Miss Henny, tartly.  But the largest plate of pudding, with “heaps of sauce,” went to the child this day, and when the fruit was served, an unusually small portion was put away for the invalid, who was obliged to sustain nature with frequent lunches through the day and evening.

“I’m s’prised that you suffer much, Cousin Henny.  How brave you must be, not to cry about it, and go round in horrid pain, as you do, and dress so nicely, and see people, and work ’broidering, and make calls!  I hope I shall be brave if I ever do have ’spepsia; but I guess I shan’t, you take such care to give me small pieces every time.”

With which cheerful remark Rosy closed that part of the conversation and returned to the delights of her new friend’s garden.  But from that day, among other changes which began about this time, the child’s cup and plate were well filled, and the dread of adding to her own sufferings seemed to curb the dyspeptic’s voracious appetite.  “A cheild was amang them takin’ notes,” and every one involuntarily dreaded those clear eyes and that frank tongue, so innocently observing and criticising all that went on.  Cicely had already been reminded of a neglected duty by Rosy’s reading to Miss Penny, and tried to be more faithful in that, as in other services which she owed the old lady.  So the little missionary was evidently getting on, though quite unconscious of her work at home, so absorbed was she in her foreign mission; for, like many another missionary, the savage over the way was more interesting than the selfish, slothful, or neglected souls at home.

Miss Penny was charmed with her flowers and the friendly message sent her, and to Rosy’s great delight went next day, in best bonnet and gown, to make a call upon the old lady “who was poorly,” for that appeal could not be resisted.  Rosy also, in honor of the great occasion, wore her best hat, and a white frock so stiff that she looked like a little opera dancer as the long black legs skipped along the street; for it was far too grand a visit to be paid through a hole in the wall.