"P'raps she liked red hair," Rose said, "and Polly, did you ever see anything so cunning as that picture of a little girl with her hands full of roses?"
Polly thought the picture charming, and together they walked around the little room enjoying flower studies, sketches, and finished pictures of children, until Polly espied a small door.
"Oh, see that funny little door!" she whispered, "where does that lead to? Is it a closet door, do you suppose?"
"Oh, no, that's not a closet," Rose replied, "I've often seen it open. Just outside it is a wee little garden just big enough to hold some fine holly-hocks. I'll show you. 'Most always the door is open."
"Open it softly. He wouldn't like it if we made a noise," whispered
Polly.
Rose turned the latch very gently, and opened the door a few inches. A flood of golden sunlight swept in, and just outside the tall holly-hocks in gorgeous coloring swayed in the soft breeze.
"Hear them rustle just as if they were paper flowers," whispered Polly.
"Oh, it's lovely out there."
"Let's go out just a little way."
"All right," agreed Rose, "come out, and I'll shut the door," and Polly followed her out into the sunlight.
"Oh, you didn't latch the door," said Polly.