He was still sitting broodingly there when a girl came up the lane.
She was tall and straight, and walked with a kind of uplift
in her motion, as if it would be rather easier to fly than not.
She was dark, with a rich dusky sort of darkness, suggestive of the bloom
on purple plums, or the glow of deep red apples among bronze leaves.
Her big brown eyes lingered on everything in sight, and little
gurgles of sound now and again came through her parted lips,
as if inarticulate joy were thus expressing itself.
At the garden gate she saw the bent figure on the old bench,
and the next minute she was flying along the rose walk.
"Daddy!" she called, "daddy!"
Old Man Shaw stood up in hasty bewilderment; then a pair of girlish
arms were about his neck, and a pair of warm red lips were on his;
girlish eyes, full of love, were looking up into his, and a
never-forgotten voice, tingling with laughter and tears blended
into one delicious chord, was crying,
"Oh, daddy, is it really you? Oh, I can't tell you how good it
is to see you again!"
Old Man Shaw held her tightly in a silence of amazement
and joy too deep for wonder. Why, this was his Blossom--
the very Blossom who had gone away three years ago!
A little taller, a little more womanly, but his own dear Blossom,
and no stranger.
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