When the car reached the great white steps of Rosanna's house, the two little girls said good-night.
"I never had such a nice, lovely, beautiful day in all my life, Rosanna," she said. "And all because you were so good and kind."
"You would have thought of it just the same," said Rosanna, blushing. "But oh, Helen and Minnie, wasn't it lucky that we took such a lot of lunch?"
"Well, it did turn out so," said Minnie.
The car rolled away, and Rosanna and Minnie went into the big, cool hall.
On the table was a letter addressed to Rosanna in her grandmother's stiff, precise handwriting. Rosanna took it up with a sort of groan.
"That's to tell when she is coming home, of course," she said. "I won't read it until I am all undressed. Everything is going so beautifully and I am learning such a lot and having such a lovely time that it doesn't seem as though I could bear to have it come to an end."
"I think you ought to read your letter, Rosanna," Minnie said. "I don't believe in leaving things. You expect bad news in that letter and you are having a horrid time all the time you are getting ready for bed. You couldn't feel any worse if you opened it. And suppose there was good news in it? Then you would wish you had found it out before, wouldn't you?"
"I suppose so," said Rosanna listlessly.
She sighed and, taking the letter, tore off the end of the envelope and commenced to read. The second sentence caused her to cry out. She turned to Minnie, hugged her, and cried, "Oh, Minnie, you are so wise! Just listen to this!" The letter read: