"To give us good milk, such as you had yesterday, Rosy, and to make you and other little girls and boys fat and strong. Was not that very good of God!"
"Yes, papa," said Rosy, again.
"Then will you remember that, my little one, when you say, by and by, 'I thank God for my nice bread and milk'?"
Rosy said she would, and then she asked,—
"And do the pretty cows give us coffee, too, papa?"
"And do the pretty cows give us coffee, too, papa."
"No, no, my silly little Rosy; don't you recollect that we buy that at the grocer's shop? We must go some day and ask him to let you see it ground up to powder. The coffee comes from a long, long way off. It grows on a tree in a very hot country, and looks like little berries till they put it into a mill and turn a handle. Then the berries are ground up to powder, and we put some boiling water over the powder, and when it gets cool we drink it. Haven't you seen mamma pour it out into the cup and put some sugar and milk in for herself and papa?"
Rosy remembered now; but she had not taken much notice before, because she did not like coffee at all. She liked her nice milk much better; and so when she went away with her papa she called out,—