Yet, although not one
whit afraid, they whispered. Perhaps the wonder of it choked their
utterance a little.
The Tramp smiled at them. All four smiled. The way he had emerged from
among the rose trees made them smile. It was as natural as though he
had been there all the time, growing out of the earth, waving in the
morning air and sunlight. There was something simple and very
beautiful about him, perhaps, that made them smile like this. Then
Uncle Felix, whom the first shock of surprise had apparently deprived
of speech, found his voice and observed, "Good-morning to you, good-
morning." The little familiar phrase said everything in a quite
astonishing way. It was like a song.
"_Good_-morning," replied the Tramp. "It is. I was wondering how long
it would be before you saw me."
"Ah!" said Judy and Tim in the same breath, "of course."
"The fact is," stammered Uncle Felix, "you're so like the rest of the
garden--so like a bit of the garden, I mean--that we didn't notice you
at first. But we heard--" he broke off in the middle of the sentence--
"That _was_ you singing, wasn't it?" he asked with a note of hushed
admiration in his voice.
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