John Culver brought them home and as they left the car Mrs. Horton
enquired, "Is your apartment comfortable, John?"
"Perfectly comfortable, thank you," said Culver.
"You are married?" Mrs. Horton continued.
"Yes," replied Culver.
"Any children?"
"One little girl," said Culver, glancing at Rosanna with a smile.
Mrs. Horton saw the look. She said nothing, but when Rosanna sat before
her at the great round table, eating her luncheon, Mrs. Horton remarked,
"Of course, Rosanna, you will make no effort whatever to meet the child
living over the garage. Unless you make the opportunity, she will never
see you, thanks to the arrangement of the windows. She is a child that
it would be impossible for you to know."
Rosanna did not reply.
"Rosanna?" said her grandmother sharply.
"Yes, grandmother," sighed poor Rosanna.
After luncheon Mrs. Horton dressed and was driven away to a bridge
party. Rosanna practiced scales for half an hour, talked French with her
governess for another long half, and then wandered out into the garden
and commenced to wonder about the child over the garage. How old was
she? What was she like? Rosanna wished she could see her. There was a
rustic seat near the garage and Rosanna went over and curled up on its
rough lap. She stared and stared at the garage, but the blank brick
walls with their curtains of vines gave her no hint.
It seemed as though she had been sitting there for hours when she
fancied a small voice called, "Hello, Rosanna!"
Rosanna sat perfectly still, staring at the brick wall.
"Hello, Rosanna!" said the voice again softly. It was a strangely sweet,
gentle voice and seemed to come from the air. Rosanna cast a startled
glance above her.
There was a little laugh. "Look in the tree," said the pleasant voice.
Rosanna, mouth open, eyes popping, looked up.
A big tree growing in the alley, close outside the brick wall, leaned
its biggest bough in a friendly fashion over Rosanna's garden. High up
something blue fluttered among the thick leaves. Then the branches
parted, and a face appeared. Rosanna continued to stare.
The little girl in the tree waved her hand.
"You don't know me, do you, Rosanna?" she teased. "But I know you. You
are Rosanna Horton, and you live in that lovely, lovely house and this
is your garden. Is that your playhouse over there? And oh, _is_ there an
honest-for-truly pony in that little barn? Dad says there really is. Is
there?" She stopped for breath, and beamed down on Rosanna.
"How did you get up there?" said Rosanna. _She_ was not allowed to climb
trees.
"Father made a little ladder and fastened it to the trunk with wires so
it won't hurt the wood. If Mrs. Horton doesn't mind, he is going to fix
a little platform up here. There is a splendid place for it. Then I can
study up here where it is all cool and breezy and whispery. Don't you
like to hear the leaves whisper? He is going to put a rail around it so
we won't fall off."
"Who is _we_?" asked Rosanna. "Have you brothers and sisters?"
"No, I haven't," said the little girl. "Mother says it is my greatest
misfortune. She says that I shall have to make a great many friends to
make up for it, and that if I don't I will grow selfish. Wouldn't you
hate to be selfish? I 'spect you have dozens and _dozens_ of little
girls to play with. How happy you must make everybody with your lovely
garden and things! My mother says that is what things are for: to share
with people. She says it is just like having two big red apples. If you
eat them both, why, you don't feel good in your tummy; but if you give
one to some one, you feel good everywhere, and you have a good time
while you are eating them and get better acquainted, and it just does
you good. Do little girls come to see you every day?"
"No," said Rosanna, "I don't know any little girls. My grandmother won't
let me."
"Won't _let_ you?" said the girl in the tree in a shocked tone. "Why
won't she let you?"
"She says I would learn to speak bad grammar and use slang, and grow up
to be vulgar."
"Goodness me!" said the stranger. She sat rocking on her bough for a few
minutes. Then: "Why would you have to learn bad things of other girls?"
she demanded. "I wouldn't let _anybody_ teach me anything I didn't want
to know. I should think it would be nice to have you teach _them_ good
grammar if you know it, and not to use slang, and all that. She must
think you are soft! My mother says if you are made of putty, you will
get dented all over and never be more than an unshapely lump, but if you
are made of good stone, you can be carved into something lovely and
lasting. But that is just your grandmother," said the girl. "Where is
your mother? Is she off visiting?"
"She is dead," said Rosanna. A wave of unspeakable longing for the lost
young mother swept over her and her lip trembled as she spoke.
"Oh, poor, poor Rosanna!" said the little tree girl softly. "Oh,
Rosanna, I feel so sorry! If you ever want to borrow mine, I wish you
would. I wish you would! My mother says that when a woman has even just
one child in her heart, it grows so big that it can hold and love all
the children in the world. You borrow her any time you need her,
Rosanna!" Then feeling that perhaps the conversation ought to take a
livelier strain, she did not wait for Rosanna to answer, but continued,
"I wish somebody hadn't built this apartment over your garage so that
none of the windows look out on your garden. We are going to hate that,
aren't we?"
"Grandmother had it built that way so we would not see the people living
there," Rosanna explained.
"Oh!" said the tree girl. "Well, of course you know that _I_ live there
now. We came two days ago, and my name is Helen Culver. We would love to
play together, wouldn't we?"
"Oh, indeed we would!" said Rosanna.
"Well, then we will," said Helen joyfully. "I must go now. I think it is
practice time. I will see you after luncheon. Good-bye!" and she slid
down the tree and disappeared.
Rosanna went skipping to the house. She was so happy. It was not her
practice time, but she was going to practice because Helen was so
engaged. Her mind was full of Helen as she sat doing finger exercises
and scales. How lovely and clean and bright she looked with her big,
blue eyes and blond docked hair! Her teeth were so white and pretty and
her voice was so soft and low. And she had a dimple! It was Rosanna's
dream to have a dimple in her thin little cheek.
Rosanna commenced to play scales. She took the C scale--it was so easy
that she could think. She was so happy that she played it in a very
prancy way, up and down, up and down. Then it commenced to stumble and
go ve-ry, v-e-r-y slowly. Rosanna had had an awful thought. The same
thought had really been there all the time, but her heart was making
such a happy noise that she wouldn't let herself hear it. Now, however,
it made such a racket she just had to listen. Over and over with the
scales it said loudly and harshly, "Will your grandmother let you play
with that little girl who lives over the garage? Will your grandmother
even let you _know_ that little girl who lives over the garage? Will
she? Will she?"
Rosanna Horton knew the answer perfectly well.