It seems far too good to be true that I'm to have Blossom again.
And everything is ready. Yes, I think everything is ready,
except a bit of cooking. And won't this orchard be a surprise to her!
I'm just going to bring her out here as soon as I can,
never saying a word. I'll fetch her through the spruce lane,
and when we come to the end of the path I'll step back casual-like,
and let her go out from under the trees alone, never suspecting.
It'll be worth ten times the trouble to see her big, brown eyes
open wide and hear her say, 'Oh, daddy! Why, daddy!'"
He rubbed his hands again and laughed softly to himself.
He was a tall, bent old man, whose hair was snow white, but whose face
was fresh and rosy. His eyes were a boy's eyes, large, blue and merry,
and his mouth had never got over a youthful trick of smiling at
any provocation--and, oft-times, at no provocation at all.
To be sure, White Sands people would not have given you the most
favourable opinion in the world of Old Man Shaw. First and foremost,
they would have told you that he was "shiftless," and had let
his bit of a farm run out while he pottered with flowers and bugs,
or rambled aimlessly about in the woods, or read books along
the shore.
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