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With each hand she held a child close to her. "Bige! Where is little Bige?" she was crying as Code came up. "Tom and Mary are here, but I've lost Bige. Oh, Nat! Where is Bige?" "Bless me if I know," stammered Burns weakly. "Last I saw of him he was under that cherry-tree where you told him to stay until you got the others. It wa'n't more'n five minutes ago I seen him there.
The boy slowly and reluctantly detached himself from the window-sill, and set the lawnmower on another zigzag journey. His hat, his coat, and his trousers hung limper than ever. He moved wearily, and at the end of the garden he sat down under a cherry-tree to muse on the strange, sad fact that his new employer promised to be not one whit more companionable than old Doc. Williams.
The book-keeper had a half-right in a little green backyard, wherein flourished with considerable energy an aged cherry-tree, from which the tenants always fondly hoped for cherries. The cherries never materialized, but the hope was something.
To hear the students jubilate, one would suppose that the question of whether Tell shot the apple or didn't was an important matter; whereas it ranks in importance exactly with the question of whether Washington chopped down the cherry-tree or didn't. The deeds of Washington, the patriot, are the essential thing; the cherry-tree incident is of no consequence.
I have watched the small singing-bird, trolling its sweet song on the bough of some wild cherry-tree, and a man, whose hair was combed over his brow, whose step was slow, whose eyes appeared to seek commune with Heaven, killed that bird, and then devoured all the cherries.
He sent her to do his bidding as he would have sent a boy, because he recognised in her that zeal and fervent fidelity to a trust of which he was not sure in others. Although she was a slender brown thing, like a nightingale, she was strong, elastic, untiring; nothing seemed to fatigue her; she always looked as fresh as the dew, as vigorous as a young cherry-tree.
And beyond the last rise lay the land of wonders, George's country. "Hark!" Honoria reined up. "Isn't that the cuckoo?" Taffy listened. Yes, somewhere among the hillocks seaward its note was dinning. "Count!" "Cuckoo, cherry-tree, Be a good bird and tell to me How many years before I die?" "Ninety-six!" Taffy announced. "Ninety-two," said Honoria, "but we won't quarrel about it.
It is so beautiful, so glorious, to be able to say everything to each other in love!" The garden. It is morning! the larks sing, the jonquils fill the air with odour; the bird's cherry-tree waves in the morning breeze; the cherry blossoms open themselves to the bees which hum about in their bosom. The sun shines on all its children.
"Yes, she deserves it to-day particularly," said Annette, eagerly; "because she was not angry with Babet, when she did what was enough to put any body in a passion. Sister Frances, you know this cherry-tree which you grafted for Victoire last year, and that was yesterday so full of blossoms now you see, there is not a blossom left! Babet plucked them all this morning to make a nosegay."
"Well, ma'am, I had an artist here last summer and he had these two rooms, and he said as he was leaving: 'Mrs. Jevons, you can't ask too much for these rooms. The view from that window and the cherry-tree alone is worth all the money." We glanced through the window as she spoke. It was certainly very lovely.
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