He sniffed the
sweet, rich odour of it, and scratched his head in the same spot as
before--just beneath the peak of his speckled cap. His nose wrinkled
up. Then he looked again into the faces, turning his single eye slowly
upon each in turn. The Tramp's remark had reached his cautious brain.
"There's no sayin' where anybody sich as you describe him to be might
hide hisself a day like this," he observed deliberately, his optic
ranging the sunny landscape with approval. "I never saw sich a
beautiful day before--not like to-day. It's endless sort of. Seems to
me as if I'd been at this 'ole for weeks."
He paused. The others waited. WEEDEN was going to say something real
any moment now, they felt.
"No hurry," the Tramp reminded him. "Everything's light and careless,
and so are we. There is no longer any Time--to lose."
His voice half sang, half chanted in the slow, windy way he had, and
the Gardener looked up as if a falling apple had struck him on the
head. He shifted from one leg to the other; he seemed excited, moved.
His single eye was opened--to the sun. He looked as if his body was
full of light.
"_You_ was the singer, was you?" he asked wonderingly, the tone low
and quiet.
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