The only sounds that reached him were the droning of bees in a
border of spring flowers, the pawing of a horse in the stables, the
pipe of young voices in the orchard; and all three sounds were
pleasant to his ear. How could they be otherwise; since they spoke of
three such pleasant things as awakening life, rewarded toil, and
contented fatherhood?
When presently he went up-stairs to change his coat, he stood by a
window and looked down at the peaceful little realm that fate had
given to him. The sunlight was glittering on the red tiles of the
clustered roofs, the brown thatch of the ricks, and the white
cobblestones of a corner of the yard; and the blossom of pears and
apples was pink and white, as if a light shower of colored snow had
just fallen on the still leafless trees. Beneath the orchard branches
he could see his children and Norah playing among the daffodils that
grew wild in the grass; the light all about them was faintly blue and
unceasingly tremulous and he stood watching, listening, smiling,
thinking.
He observed the gracefulness and slimness of his daughter's stockinged
legs, and thought what a real little man his son seemed already, so
sturdy on his pins. In his blue overalls he looked like a miniature
ploughman in a smock-frock.
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