There was a step behind him. A heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.
His father's deep, fine voice boomed, "What are you saying, my little cabbage?"
"Poor rose is dead!" answered Philippe sadly.
"What!" exclaimed Papa Pomme. "Why, Baby Rose is born!"
"Baby Rose?" questioned Philippe.
"Yes, my son," Papa Pomme said. "Your little sister came to us last night—your little sister Rose."
Philippe leaped up and threw his arms about his father's neck in a burst of joy. At last his little sister was here! Then he looked at the dead rose, and from it, to the live and healthy cabbages. He smiled knowingly.
"Papa Pomme," he said, "it was not from the cabbage that Baby came. So, you see, she shall not be our Cauliflower. It was the rose that opened to give her to us. That is why she is our Baby Rose."