Nothing that had ever happened to him as Reuben
Merryweather would he care to live over; but he was glad at the end that
he had been a part of the spring and had not missed seeing the little
green leaves break out in the orchard.
And then while he sat there, half dreaming and half awake, the stillness
grew suddenly full of the singing of blue birds. Spring blossomed
radiantly beneath his eyes, and the faint green and gold of the meadows
blazed forth in a pageant of colour.
"I'm glad I didn't miss it," he thought. "That's the most that can be
said, I reckon--I'm glad I didn't miss it."
The old hound, dreaming of flies, flapped his long ears in the sunshine,
and a robin, hopping warily toward a plate of seed-cakes on the arm of
Reuben's chair, winged back for a minute before he alighted suspiciously
on the railing. Then, being an old and a wise bird, he advanced again,
holding his head slightly sideways and regarding the sleeping man with
a pair of bright, inquisitive eyes. Reassured at last by the silence, he
uttered a soft, throaty note, and flew straight to the arm of the chair
in which Reuben was sitting.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293