O, what a number of steps there were for those little legs to climb before she reached her papa!
They went up by the side of a garden, which was itself like a lot of wide steps, and on each step there was a row of vines, not trained against a wall as we train our vines in England, but growing on the ground like bean plants.
Rosy saw lots of such nice grapes that her little mouth quite watered, and she would have liked to have stopped to pick some; but then she knew that would be stealing, because they were not hers. And I hope that Rosy would not have stolen even if nurse had not been following her, or her papa watching her.
She got the grapes, too, without picking them; for when she had climbed up to the very top, there was papa waiting for her with a beautiful bunch in his hand. And he said,—
"Come in, Rosy; mamma wants her breakfast very badly. See, mamma, what a pair of roses your little girl has been getting already!"
Rosy knew very well what that meant, for she rubbed her cheeks with her little fat hands, and then tumbled her merry little head about her mamma's lap to "roll the roses off," as she said.
But that little head was too full of thoughts to stay there long.
There was so much to tell and to talk about, and that dairy took a long time to describe. Then when papa asked if she had seen the dear cows that gave the milk, she thought that that would be a capital little jaunt for to-morrow, and clapped her hands with glee.
"So you are going to find some new pets, Rosy," he said, "to do instead of Mr. Tommy and the kittens?"