"O, pretty well," said nurse laughing, "but you may be fatter yet, and I like fat little girls."
They had not to walk far before they came to the place where the milk was sold. It was called a farm; and nurse took Rosy in, and said she should see the dairy if the good woman would let her.
Rosy did not know what a dairy meant; but she supposed that it was something curious, and tripped merrily along, wondering what she should see, till they came to a room which had a floor made of red tiles, on which stood at least ten or twelve large open bowls full of new milk.
Now Rosy happened to be very fond of milk; and as she was just then quite ready for her breakfast, she was very pleased to have her mug filled,—the mug which she had brought on purpose, as nurse told her,—and then take a good drink.
"Ah, nurse, how good it is!" she cried; "but what is all this sticking to my lips? It is not white like our milk. See, there is something on the top of it!" and she held out her mug to show her.
"Ah, that's cream, good cream. We did not get milk like this in Paris," said nurse; "and I'm sure we don't in London. There's no water here, is there, madame?"
But madame did not understand English; so nurse was obliged, by looking very pleased, to make her see that she thought her milk very good.
"But it's very bad of the other people to put water in my milk," said Rosy, frowning. "I shall ask my papa to scold them when we go home; and I shall take a great mugful of this nice milk to show my grandmamma."
"Well, now say good by prettily in French, as your papa teaches you," said nurse, "and then we'll go home, and I dare say we shall find some more milk there."