AT last July came, and Rose went to grandpapa’s to stay a week.

She loved to go to the farm, because grandmamma let her work.

Rose could shell peas and sweep the floor with a pretty little broom. She took up the dust on a bright new dust-pan.

The first day she went out in the field with grandpapa and raked hay.

Then she took a little watering-pot and wet the flowers.

By and by Grandmamma put the kettle on to boil.

“Now we will get supper,” she said.

She spread a white cloth on the table, and Rose put on the cups and plates and spoons and knives and forks.

They had apples and cream for supper.

When the clock struck eight Grandmamma lighted a candle and went upstairs with Rose to put her to bed.

Grandpapa said, “Good-night, dear Rosy Posy.”

Rose lay still as a mouse, and soon she was fast asleep.

In the morning when Rose opened her eyes the sun was shining in at the window. There was a big fly buzzing about trying to warm himself in the sunlight. Rose liked to watch him.

And then a funny voice cried out: “Get up, Rosy Posy.”

It was Poll. Grandpapa had taught her to say it.

Mrs. C. M. Livingston.