of the garden, facing on a clean bricked alley, was the
garage, big enough to hold four automobiles. The garage was covered with
vines. Otherwise, it would have been a queer looking building, with its
one door opening into the garden, and on that side not another door or
window either upstairs or down. The upstairs part was a really lovely
little apartment for the chauffeur to live in, but all the windows had
been put on the side or in front because old Mrs. Horton, Rosanna's
grandmother, did not think that chauffeurs' families were _ever_ the
sort who ought to look down into the garden where Rosanna played and
where she herself sat in state and had tea served of an afternoon.

At one side of the garden where the roses were wildest and the flowers
grew thickest was a little cottage, built to fit Rosanna. Grown people
had to stoop to get in and their heads almost scraped the ceilings. The
furniture all fitted Rosanna too, even to the tiny piano. This was
Rosanna's playhouse. She kept her dolls here, and there was a desk with
all sorts of writing paper that a maid sorted and put in order every
morning before Rosanna came out.

This doesn't sound as though Rosanna was such a poor little girl, does
it? But just you wait.

A good ways back of this playhouse was another small building that
looked like a little stable. It was a stable--a really truly stable
built to fit Rosanna's tiny pony. He had a little box stall, and at one
side there was space for the shiniest, prettiest cart.

Rosanna did not go to school. There was a schoolroom in the house, but I
will tell you about that some other time. Rosanna disliked it very much:
a schoolroom with just one little girl in it! _You_ wouldn't like it
yourself, would you?

Rosanna's clothes were the prettiest ever; much prettier then than they
are now. And such stacks of them! There was a whole dresser full of
ribbons and trinkets and jewelry besides. (Poor little Rosanna!)

She danced like a fairy, and every day she had a music lesson which was
given her, like a bad pill, by a severe lady in spectacles who ought
never to have tried to smile because it made her face look cracked all
over and you felt so much better when the smile was over. Oh, poor,
poor, _poor_ little Rosanna!

Do you begin to guess why?

You have not heard me say a word about her dear loving mother and her
big joky father, have you? They were both dead! This is such a pitiful
thing to have come to any litt