Rose Wood was in want of six pence. She had seen a box that she had a great wish to buy; and she thought that if she had but six pence, which was the price of that box, she should not have a want for a long time.

Rose would stand close to the shop, near a pane of glass through which she could see this box, and each time she saw it the more strong was her wish to have it for her own.

So much did Rose think of it that it might be said she had not a wish but what was shut up in that box.

“What shall I do for six pence?” said Rose one day; “that box will cost but six pence, and if I had six pence it would be my own.”

“Why,” said Mark Wood, “if you will sell your self to me, I will give you six pence.”

“Sell my self! yes, that I will,” said Rose. “Give me six pence, and I will sell my self at once.”

“But,” said Mark, “do you know that when I have bought you, you will be my child, and that you must do all that I bid you do?”

“Oh! I will do all: I don’t care what you bid me do, if I may but have the six pence to buy that box.”

The six pence were hers, and the box was bought; but, poor Rose! you had to pay a great price for it.

With what joy she ran home box in hand!

“Look at it, look at it, Mark! This box is mine now; do just look at it. Do just look at this glass at the top: I can see my face in it, and I can see some of the things that are in the room. In the box I mean to keep small sweet cakes; and, Mark, I am sure I shall give you some, for you have been so kind to let me have the six pence. Oh, Mark, I do thank you so much.”

“Stop, Rose, stop!” said Mark, “and do not thank me for the six pence till you know what I mean you to do for it. The first thing I shall tell you to do is, ‘Put down the box.’”

“Put down the box!” said Rose: “not yet: why must I put down the box?”

“Why! I tell you to do so; you are my child now, and must do what I bid you.”

Poor Rose!

“But I may play with the box? I must and will play with my nice new box; that you will let me do.”

“No, Rose,” said Mark, “I can let you play with it no more. You must come with me; I mean to send you out to find some cress, and then you must go and try to sell it. Come, I shall put you on this hat of old Bet’s, and you must wear this old shawl, and you must tuck up your frock, and go out to find the cress.”

“Oh dear! oh dear!” said Rose; “you do not mean that I should do this?”

“But I do mean it, and you must go at once.”

Mark put on the hat and the shawl for her. She was quite still, and said not a word. Mark then took hold of her hand and led her to a field near the house, and told her she must not come back till she had got as much nice cress as would sell for two pence. He then shut the gate of the field, and left poor Rose by her self.

At first she did not move, so strange did it seem to her that she should be left thus.

Soon she sat down on a bank. When she had been there some time she got up.

“How queer this is!” said she; “but it is all fun:” yet the laugh with which she said this was soon a cry.

Rose was a girl not soon cast down; all that she had to do or to bear, she did her best to do and to bear it well. She took a walk up and down the field, and at last she thought, “Well, I might as well try and see if I can find some cress;” and then she ran up and down till she had got a great way from the house.

No cress could she find, so she thought she would turn back and go home. But just when she had thought this, she saw on a pond, at the foot of the long slope on which she stood, some bright green weed, that she thought was cress. Off she set down the slope as fast as she could run, and she ran so fast that she could not stop till she came to the end. When she did stop she could not move.

Rose was deep in the pond it came up as far as her throat! There she stuck quite fast, and there she might have stuck for hours, had not her cries been heard by Mark, who, though not seen, had not lost sight of her since the time she had left the house.

Mark, who was now in great fear, ran as fast as feet could run to the place where the head of Rose was to be seen on the pond, like a float on the top of green weeds. When Mark came to the slope, he went down it with care, lest the fate of Rose should be his.

The screams of Rose were loud: “I shall sink! I shall sink deep, deep down! Oh, help me! help me!” She then saw Mark: “Mark! Mark!” she said; “fast! fast! pray, pray come fast.” Mark was now at the edge of the pond. “Raise up your arms,” said he; “raise up your arms, and take fast hold of my hand.”

The mud and slime were so thick that poor Rose found it hard to raise up her arms. Yet she did so, and caught hold of Mark’s hand with such force that he, too, would have been in the pond had he not made a quick step back.

When Rose had got a firm grasp, Mark, with all the strength he had, did what he could to drag her out. At length she was out: she stood at the edge of the pond, her clothes thick with mud and slime; and such a weight she was, that she could not move fast.

Poor Mark stood by her side, his face quite pale with the fright he had had. They went up the slope as well as they could. When they were near home, just at the gate which led out of the last field, they were met by Mr. Wood. What must Mr. Wood have thought to see Rose in that strange state, and with such a queer hat on her head?

“Rose,” he said, and the tone of his voice was a cross tone; “Rose, how is this? where can you have been, and how is it that I see you thus?”

“O Sir,” said Mark, “do not scold Rose, do not scold Rose; it is all my fault, and all the blame must be mine.” Mark then told Mr. Wood how Rose had sold her self to him for six pence, and what he had made her do when he had bought her.

“Go in the house, Rose,” said Mr. Wood; “go to bed at once; what I have to say to you must not be said now.”

Rose did not dare to hold up her head as she went through the hall. She felt much shame when the maid came to take off her clothes and to wash her. Rose saw the maid laugh, and that she did think was hard to bear, but she did not say a word.

Now Mr. Wood was a man who had a great deal of good sense, and when his boy or girl had done what was wrong, it was his wish that the cure should be wrought by their own sense of right and wrong. He thought that the shame they felt from the sense of wrong would be the best cure they could have. He did all he could to make them feel in what they had done wrong, and when he was sure they felt this he was sure they would do so no more.

Now Mark was wrong to have let Rose have the six pence; and what made it the more wrong was that he knew Mrs. Wood had once told Rose she did not wish her to buy the box she had so great a wish to buy, for she thought the glass at the top would soon break, and that Rose might be cut by it. Mr. Wood did not say much to Mark, for he saw that he felt a great deal. But he told Mark it was his wish that the pond scene should be felt by Rose, and that it should be made the means to cure her of her worst fault.

This fault was, that when Rose had a strong wish to have a thing she thought she should like to have, she would not hear no.

The more no was said, the more did she wish to have the thing to which it was said. This had just been the case with the box. Mrs. Wood had said no two, three, and four times, and each time that the no was said, the wish for yes had been more strong.

The next day, when Rose came down stairs, she did not raise up her eyes. Mr. Wood told her that as she had sold her self to Mark, he should leave her to his charge for three days, and in that time she must do all that Mark told her, and that she would have to do much she would not like.

“Oh, Sir,” said Rose, “buy me back! do buy me back!”

“Not yet,” said Mr. Wood, “but if you do all that Mark bids you do for three days, and if you do your best to try to put a check on the fault which has been the cause of all this, why, then I will buy you back.”

The first day Rose did try as much as she could; but it was all she could do not to cry when Mark told her to do things: “You tell me, Mark! why should I do what you tell me?” and then she would think of the cause of that why, and she would hang down her head and blush.

The last of the three days was come, and on this day Rose felt light of heart. Once she went to the place where the box had been put; she took it up and said, “This box is mine I shall not lose this.” She took off the lid, and just then she heard some one at the door. In great haste to put back the box, her foot slipt, and down she fell. In the fall the glass lid broke, and a piece of the glass stuck in her lip. The blood came in streams. Her cries were loud, and Mrs. Wood, who heard them, ran in great fear to know the cause.

It was a sad deep gash, and poor Rose was faint with pain and fright.

So deep was the wound, that for ten days Rose could not put food in her mouth; what food she took came through the spout of a tea-pot. Rose could not speak nor laugh: she had a great deal of pain to bear, and she did all she could to bear it well.

Mark would sit near her, and watch her, and read to her; and he would look so sad at times! When he was sad, Rose would do what she could to make her pain seem less than it was; but Rose’s mouth could not prove the kind smile that was in her heart.

It was a long time ere Rose was quite well. Years are now flown in the stream of time since the day when Rose cut her lip.

The mark left by the cut is on her lip still. There it will be as long as she lives; and when she has a wish for that which she knows she ought not to have, that mark tells her to TAKE CARE.