“Oh your turn comes now,” Maida declared. “You boys have got to weed and water the vegetable garden; gather vegetables whenever they are needed; run errands; take care of the tennis court.” “For my part,” Laura declared, “I wish we did _all_ the cooking. I love it.” “You wouldn’t love it if you did it for sixteen people,” Maida commented in a scandalized tone. “It’s just as though we were all alone by ourselves,” Rosie declared jubilantly. “We are,” Maida stated. “We’re three miles from the Big House. We shan’t see any of father’s company. Father has closed one of the roads that leads to the Little House and the other is a secret one that nobody but he and Botkins and I know. Your parents are invited to visit you whenever they wish. Of course father will come to see us occasionally. And let me tell you he will come when we least expect it. And if everything isn’t in apple-pie-order--Of course there’s the telephone if we should need help--or anything happened--But otherwise we’re almost all alone in the world.” “It’s like a story book,” Dicky commented. “Maida!” Rosie said, “you speak of a flower garden and a vegetable garden but I don’t remember that you showed them to us last night.” “No, I didn’t,” Maida explained. “We were all getting so tired. But I’ll show them to you now. Come!” She led the way through the living room; through the dining room to the back door of the house. Then she turned north. “This room is the laundry,” she said. “And here,” pointing to an enclosure, set off by a high vine-grown lattice, “is the drying yard.” They were now walking on a path which ran between the house and a file of cypresses, standing trim and tall and so close that they made a hedge. Maida led the way to the corner where there was an opening. There a great rectangle surrounded by cypresses was a garden--all roses. The bushes were already in rich bloom, great creamy white ones and great pinky white ones. Others were deep pink, golden yellow, a rich dark crimson. “This is the rose garden,” Maida explained. “Beyond,” she led the way into still another cypress-guarded square, “is the old-fashioned garden. There are nasturtiums here and phlox and pansies and peonies and lots of other things I can’t remember, and in the fall there’ll be dahlias and asters.” Rosie shook herself with joy. “I shall love working in this garden,” she declared. “This afternoon let’s fill all the vases in the house with roses.” “All right,” Maida agreed absently. “Now I’m going to show you the vegetable garden.” “I know where that is,” Arthur boasted. “I got up early and explored.” Maida led the way past the croquet ground, past the tennis court to another cypress-bordered square. Here, in parallel lines, were rows of green sprouts. The earth must have been turned over in the spring, indeed it might have been turned over in the previous fall, rich loam and cultivator added. It looked like freshly-grated chocolate.