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Around the outside of the garden was a border of fragrant mignonette. Inside of this was another of white candytuft. This double wall encircled a splendid array of flowers. There were dwarf nasturtiums, red and yellow, a tangled mass of sweet peas clambering up a yard or two of chickenwire, bright marigolds and asters of various colors. Velvet pansies added their soft charms to the display. But most brilliant of all stood a few hollyhocks. Many of their kin had perished in a struggle against the fierce winds. “Our house isn’t big enough.” He was soon at the “lodge of ample size” made the week before, not of “strong logs” but of old fence-rails and willow twigs. He wondered if the girls would be able to imagine it a “lodge,” or if May Nell and Jean, who were to come a little later, could fix it according to the poem..

“It is this little gentleman who has given me my eyes again, friends. What a blessed miracle it is that I can see!”I tried logging in using my phone number and I was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call me instead" option twice but didn't get a call either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call me instead fails.There was Bob made his way back toward the dam slowly, his mind too busy with the situation in which he found himself to pay much attention to the beauties of the landscape. Before he had gone many miles he was surprised to hear the sounds of galloping hoofs coming behind him. His first thought was that Jerry had changed his mind and was going to accompany him back to camp. But the noise was more than[191] one horse could make, so he was prepared to see strangers ride past him. He turned in his saddle as the first horse came around the bend in the trail.

He had hardly recovered from his laugh when two little girls appeared at the gateway. “There’s Twinnies! Come in, Kiddies, and see my new sister,” he called, as they hesitated. “O mother, how can there be joy if life is all work and never any fun?” He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek. “Don’t Job look jist like Mariar Mifsud goin’ to meetin’,” gurgled Betty. It was Mrs. Wopp’s voice. From her remarks one would gather that the rarest perfumes wafted on the winds invoked by Solomon could never seem so sweet to Woppian nostrils as the mingled odor of hay and freshly dug carrots..