" What did he give you?' I asked Rosie.
'A birthday present,' Rosie replied. 'He said not to open it until December 8.'
'You're not going to listen to him, are you?' I asked.
'Of course I am,' Rosie said. 'What would be the point of opening it today?'
I could not imagine such willpower ... 'Don't be disappointed,' I said, 'if there's something less than a diamond ring in that box.'
'Oh, I *know* what's in the box,' Rosie replied. 'I told him what I wanted.'
'Oh, my God, Rosie,' I exclaimed. 'You're impossible.' But my curiosity triumphed over my disapproval. 'What is it?'
'It's not a diamond ring,' she said smugly. 'It's a turquoise ring. Turquoise is my birthstone.'
'You're a con artist, Rosie,' I said, feeling equal parts of admiration and dismay. 'Do you think it's very nice of you to wheedle Mr. Jensen into buying you a turquoise ring?'
'He asked me what I wanted and I told him,' Rosie replied. 'I really don't see what's wrong with that. He didn't have to buy it if he didn't want to.'
'Maybe it isn't a turquoise ring at all,' I said. 'Maybe it's two pumpkin seeds.'
'Maybe it is,' Rosie agreed. 'We won't know until my birthday.' She ran off then to Mrs. Dunleigh and Buster, kneeling down beside the poor asthmatic creature and petting him as passionately as if he were the prize dog in the Westminster Kennel Club show. "

― Barbara Cohen , The Innkeeper's Daughter