The sunbeams came dancing into the little room where Rosina lay asleep. They shone on her dark curly head, and kissed her round flushed cheek, and tried so persistently to peep under her closed eyelids that at last she awoke.
“Oh dear!” she grumbled; “I wish it
wasn’t time to get up.” But it was. The
sunbeams said that quite decidedly, and so did her mother’s voice from the
kitchen. “Come, be quick!” The voice cried. “There is the water to be fetched, and
breakfast to set and the baby is just waking.”
Now Rosina had rather a pretty face
when it was clean and smiling. She had
brown eyes and a mop of curly brown hair with threads of gold in it, and there
was a delicate rose pink on her cheeks where the sun had kissed her, and when
she smiled she showed a row of even white teeth like little pearls.
But that was only when she was
clean and smiling. This morning she was
neither. She had only washed a little
circle round her nose, because the water was so cold, and her mouth was so
cross that both corners turned downwards, and her eyes could scarcely be seen
under the black frown that puckered her forehead.
She slipped on her patched
petticoat and old camicetta, and looked crossly at her bare brown toes. “I wish I had shoes and stockings,” she said,
“and beautiful clothes, and no work to do.”
Her mother looked up as Rosina came
slowly into the kitchen and most unwillingly lifted the copper pot which was
waiting to be filled at the well. “I am
always being scolded,” muttered Rosina to herself. It did not improve her temper to have that
heavy water-pot to carry, and by the time she had carried it back with aching
arms the frown on her face was blacker than ever.
“Here, take the bambino,” said her
mother, “while I make the breakfast.”
The fat baby had been gurgling and
smiling, but, meeting Rosina’s black looks, he changed his mind, and began to
roar and to cling tightly to his mother.
Even when his sister had seized him firmly, and held him tight on her
knee, he continued to roar with anger, and to beat her with his little clenched
fists.
“Cattivo!” she said, slapping his
fat hands, “I am sure I did not want to hold thee, ungrateful one!”
At breakfast she was sure her cup
of milk was the smallest, and her piece of bread the hardest; and while she
looked discontentedly at it, Tomaso snatched at it and tried to break off a
piece. She flew at him angrily, and in
her rage knocked over her mild and broke the cup.
The busy mother did not stop to ask
who was to blame, but she cuffed Tomaso and shook Rosina, and bade them both be
off to school if they could not behave peaceably at home.
“Crosspatch,” said Tomaso, “thou
canst walk by thyself.” And he ran off,
leaving her alone.
Rosina wondered along in sullen
silence. She never lifted her eyes from
the gray dusty pathway, so all the world looked gray and dusty to her. Overhead was the blue sky, and the olive
trees spread their branches to make a silver lacework to screen her from the
sun. Knots of pink roses, her namesakes,
nodded to her from the hedges, but all she saw was a gray dusty pathway and
rough stones.
“Every one is hard and cruel to
me,” she sighed. “Nobody loves me. Mammina scolds and says I am ugly, the
bambino screams when I go near him, and Tomaso steals my bread and calls me names.”
She was so very sorry for herself
that she actually managed to squeeze out two big tears, which rolled down her
cheeks and made a clean pathway on either side.
It was cruel, unfair world. Some
day all this unkindness would kill her, and she would lie with crossed hands
under a wreath of white flowers; and then they would all be sorry and beg to be
forgiven, but that would all be sorry and beg to be forgiven, but that would be
too late. She was just planning out the
sad scene, and refusing to come to life again in spite of all their prayers,
when the school bell sounded in the distance, and she was obliged to take up
the burden of life once more.
Rosina was not a greater favourite
at school than she was at home. She was
always looking out for unkindness, and somehow she always found it. Even the good Sister, who smiled so
cheerfully on every one else, and who was so patient and kind and so unwilling
to punish any one, was on her- hard and unjust, Rosina was sure. So what was the use of trying to please her?
This morning, as she hurried in,
she saw that one of the children had laid a bunch of sweet violets on the
Sister’s chair, and that did not please her either.
“I’m not a favorite,” she said out loud with a sniff, as she
sat down- “but then I don’t bring flowers!”
The giver
of the flowers turned round and glared resentfully at Rosina. She had got up early to gather the violets,
and had thought only of giving the Sister pleasure, and she had not tried to
make herself a favourite.
Rosina saw
the unfriendly look and sighed deeply.
“There!” she said, “no one ever looks kindly at
me. No one cares for me.”
And she was so busy being sorry for her self that she could
not learn her lesson, and had nothing to say when her turn came and she stood
before the Sister. All the rest of the
children had done their lessons so well that they were to have a story now as a
reward, but Rosaina was told to sit apart from the rest on a distant bench and
learn her lesson all over again.
It was only
on very special occasions that the Sister would tell them one of her stories,
and Rosina thought it cruelly hard that she, who loved stories better than
anything else, should be set to learn a stupid lesson while all the others were
enjoying themselves.
It was a
beautiful story, she was sure. She
listened with all her might, and heard something about a magic mirror, which
made her long to hear more, and as no one seemed to notice her she crept closer
and closer to listen with the rest.
“Of course,” the Sister was saying, “every one wanted to
look into the Magic Mirror, because, you see, it held in its silver heart the
gift of happiness for those who looked aright and who knew the magic
secret. But for those who dimmed the
shining surface with cross or unkind looks, the mirror held only sorrow and
tears. The gift was ready for each one,
however timidly they looked in, and those who had learned the secret found
something so wonderful in the shining silver depths that for them the whole
world was full of sunshine, and they were as happy as the day was long.”
“But where
can we find the Magic Mirror?” asked Rosina eagerly. She had quite forgotten she was in disgrace.
“The story is not for thee to-day,” said the Sister
quietly. “Take thy book and learn thy
lesson outside.”
Rosina
turned sullenly away, dragged her feet as slowly as possible across the room,
and then banged the door.
“No one is every kind to me,” she said gloomily. “I wish there was really a Magic Mirror. I expect it would be easy enough to learn the
secret, and then I would be happy all day long, and no one would bed horrid and
unkind and unfair to me any more.”
The longer
Rosina thought about it, the more she wondered if there was really such a thing
as the Magic Mirror, and if so, where she could find it. The good Sister’s stories were always true
ones, or at least had a true meaning in them.
She never told just make-believe stories.
Now, where
could that mirror be found? Was it in
some grand palace? No, that could not be, for the Sister had said every one had
a chance of looking in. She was sure it
was not in church- that was a place for saint-pictures, not for mirrors. Well, she would learn her lesson quickly, and
perhaps, if she asked very politely, the Sister might tell her.
The other
children were all gone when Rosina stood beside the Sister’s chair and said her
lesson, and after she had finished she still stood there, threading her brown
fingers in and out together, and trying to pluck up courage to ask her
question. She lifted her eyes and looked
up timidly into the kind face, and a tiny smile turned up the corners of her
mouth that made the sullen frown disappear like magic. And, strangely enough, a smile came into the
Sister’s eyes too, which before had only looked sad and vexed.
“What is
it?” she asked kindly.
“Wilt thou
tell me where to look for the Magic Mirror?” said Rosina eagerly.“It is much more important to learn the secret first,” said the Sister. “The mirror is so easily dimmed that it is wiser to bring to it only a shining face. Try first of all how to keep a shining face, and then the rest will follow.”
Rosina
walked home slowly, thinking deeply, and she arrived so late that a scolding
was awaiting her instead of her dinner.
“Late again!” said her mother. “I am tired of waiting for thee. Be quick and fetch the water. Afterwards I will find thee something to
eat.”
Rosina
lifted the copper pot and with a very clouded face went down to the well. She was in no hurry, and she leaned idly over
the side and looked down into the clear water below before she began to turn
the handle. She had often looked into
that shining well, but to-day she stared back, and then peered down again in
great excitement. Could it be the Magic
Mirror that was gleaming down there? Oh,
if only she could see into it! If only she could win the golden gift! She
almost overbalanced herself as she leaned over to see down more distinctly, her
heels in the air.
Yes, it was
certainly a clear, shining, silver mirror!
And what was that looking up at her from its depths? A very cross, sullen little face, with a
tangled mop of curly hair.
“Why, it’s
just me!” said Rosina, bitterly disappointed.
That could be no Magic Mirror; and she began gloomily to fill her
water-pot and to carry it in.
“It’s very
heavy,” she said with a frown as she set it down.
“A burden is always heavy to those who carry it
unwillingly,” said her mother. “Thou
hast not yet learned the secret of making thy burdens light.”
“It’s
always my fault,” muttered Rosina crossly.
“There! Run away and play,” said her mother; “but take thy
dinner first. I do not want to work thee
too hard.”
There was
much that Rosina could have done, for the baby was fretting in his cradle and
wanted to be amused, the plates were unwashed and the floor unswept, but she
was too busy thinking of her own troubles to notice how tired her mother
looked.
“I’ll go
and see Nonna,” she said to herself.
“She knows all about everything, and will be able to tell me where to
find the Magic Mirror.”
Her
grandmother was sitting plaiting straw near the doorway of her little house
when Rosina came closely up and stood by her side. The old woman laid the straw aside and put
her shriveled, toil-worn hand under Rosina’s chin and looked searchingly into
her face.
“Let me see,”
she said. “Thou hast found the world an
unpleasant place to-day. No one had
smiled on thee. Work has been terribly
hard, and thou hast had nothing but unhappiness.”
“Why,
Nonna, how didst thou guess?” said
Rosina, opening her eyes very wide. “It
sounds like magic.”
“I can read
it all here,” said her grandmother, still looking into her face, “because I
know many secrets.”
“O Nonna!
Dost thou know the secret of the Magic Mirror?” said Rosina, clasping her hands
together in great excitement. “Canst
thou teach it to me?”
“Gently,
gently!” said the old woman. “Tell to serve thee in good stead. As soon as thou canst see a pleasant, shining
face looking up at thee from below, come back and tell me, and perhaps I may
tell thee the secret, and help thee to find the Magic Mirror.”
Rosina’s
face clouded.
“Oh, but”
she began in a very discontented voice, when her grandmother help up a warning
finger.
“That face
would never do for the Magic Mirror now,” she said. “Quick! Put on a smile at once and try to
brighten it up.”
It was rather a crooked smile which Rosina managed to call
up, but it was better than nothing, and her grandmother nodded approval.
“Now run
away home and see if there is nothing thou canst do to help thy mother,” she
said, “It is the idle people who find it most difficult to smile.”
And it
really seemed as if her grandmother was right; for when Rosina had run home,
and had swept up the floor and washed the plates, it did not seem nearly so
difficult to smile at the baby, and he actually held out his arms to her, and
patted her cheek with his little fat hand.
It was really wonderful how much happier she felt, too. When her mother left the wash-tub and came
wearily in, it was to find a tidy kitchen and laughing children, and her face
brightened as she entered.
“Thou art a
good child,” she said to Rosina. “Give the bambino to me now, and I will fetch
the water to-night. After all it is hard
work for thy little arms.”
“Oh no!”
Said Rosina cheerfully, “I want to go to the well." And she set off quite blithely. She put down the water-pot at the edge, and
hung cautiously over and looked down into the shining depth beneath.
“It’s a
little pleasanter,” she said, “but it’s not very bright yet. I shall have to practice more.” She was staggering back with the heavy pot,
when Tomaso crept from behind the door and thrust out a bare leg to trip her
up. She did not fall, but at least half
the water was spilt over the newly-swept floor, and she felt shaken and very
angry. She put down the water-pot and
flew to punish the evil-doer, but he was too quick for her and slipped out of
the open door. Then as soon as he had
put a safe distance between them, he turned and grinned at her in his most
aggravating manner.
“Crosspatch!”
he cried. “If thou couldst see thy own
face, it would frighten thee.”
Rosina
stood still, and the angry look faded away.
Oh dear! She had just begun to
look pleasant, and now it was all rubbed out and she must begin again. She turned sorrowfully back and went indoors,
and began to mop up the water and make the room tidy.
Presently
Tomaso’s wicked little grinning face peeped in at the doorway. He looked in very warily, ready to disappear
at once if the enemy was likely to attack.
But, wonder of wonders! Rosina
looked up, and there was actually a queer sort of smile on her face! Tomaso ceased to grin and looked at her
doubtfully.
“Come in!”
she said; “I shan’t touch thee.”
Tomaso kept a wary eye upon her, fearful of some hidden
trap; but as she still had that queer smile on her face, and went on mopping up
the water, he began to feel just a little ashamed of himself, and by-and-by he
offered to help. Then they set to work
together, and it became almost like a game, and they both enjoyed it.
All that
evening Tomaso cast doubtful looks at his sister now and then, and instead of
making faces at her, as was his usual custom when he caught her eye, he looked
away.
“I’ll fetch
the water for thee in the morning,” he mumbled as he went off to bed, and
Rosina was surprised that it was quite easy to smile on him. “He is not really such a horrid boy as I
thought,” she said.
But she
would allow no one else to fetch the water now, and each day as she went to the
well she anxiously looked down to see if her face was growing fit yet for the
Magic Mirror.
Of course
there were many times when the clouds came down and hid all the sunshine, and
her face looked as gloomy as ever; but each time she chased the clouds away it
was easier for the sun to break out again.
Her mother’s smile was pleasant to meet now, and, strangely enough, the
work did not seem half so hard, and the water-pot was certainly not half so
heavy as it used to be. School, too, was
quite a different place. It was a nice,
sunshiny world; every one was kind to her, and she was very happy.
A sudden
thought struck her one day as she sat on the edge of the well. Could it be that after all it was the Magic
Mirror she had seen down there? Where
else had all this happiness come from?
Might it not be the golden gift which the Magic Mirror held in its
shining heart for those who looked into it?
She would go that very afternoon and ask her grandmother if it could be
so.
The sun was
shining through the silver leaves of the olive trees, and flecking with tiny
rings of gold the bowed figure of the old woman as she sat busily plaiting her
straw, her thoughts far away and a smile upon her face. She started and looked up as Rosina came
running along and stood before her.
Again she held the child’s face between her hands and looked at it
intently.
“The world
is full of sunshine for thee to-day,” she said.
“Every one smiles on thee, work is easy, and thou art as happy as the
day is long.”
“It is the
magic secret again,” said Rosina, nodding and smiling. “And, oh, Nonna, I have come to ask thee to
tell me what that secret is, and if it is really the Magic Mirror that I have
seen inside the old well.”
The old
woman sat silent for a few minutes, and she gently stroked Rosina’s curly
head. “I will try to ell thee the
secret,” she said, “and thou must try to understand. The name of the Magic Mirror is Life, and it
does indeed hold in its shining heart the gift of happiness or sorrow for each of
us. And its secret is not far to
seek. Whatever we bring to the Magic Mirror,
that is the thing which it reflects and gives back to us. If we bring smiles, we are met by smiles; if
we hold out kindly, helpful hands, kindly, helpful hands will be held out to
clasp ours. If we bring love, we shall receive
love, which is the greatest gift of all.
But if, instead, we bring cross looks and unkind, selfish actions to
face our daily life, there will be no golden gift to meet us then, for the mirror
gives back to us only what we bring to it.”
Rosina
puckered up her brows in thoughtful silence.
“I see,” she said at length.
“It’s not really magic at all, but just ourselves.”
