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."

"Adieu, madame," said the little girl, and off she trotted again, as ready to go as she had been to come.

They say "madame" to every one in France, you know, and not to rich ladies only.

Now there are beautiful hills all round the back of Cannes, and a little way up one of these was the house where Rosy was going to live. She did so like running up and down hills! and there were two or three little ones between the farm and this house, which was called a villa.

When she got on to the top of one, she cried out,—

"Ah, there's the sea, I do declare! and there's a boat on it with a white sail! Shall we go in a boat some day?"

"I don't know," said nurse, "you must ask your mamma; but you don't want to be sick, do you?"

"I won't be sick," cried the little girl. "Rosy is never sick in a beau'ful boat like that. I'll ask my mamma," and she bustled on.

"Stay, stay!" cried nurse, "you're going too far, my pet; this is the way; look, who stands up there?"

Rosy looked up, and there was the villa with its green blinds high up over her head; and some one stood outside the door calling her by name.

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