Читать книгу Pemrose Lorry, Radio Amateur онлайн

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“Good morning, dear Una! Good morning, dear Day!

The gloom of the night clouds has all flown away,

We kick off our blankets of mist, soft and white,

And dress ourselves up in the lovely gold light,

From rock, bed and border we’re smiling at you,

Good morning! Good morning! Now, you say it too!”

“Good morning! Good morning!” threw back the caroling sprite, her dark eyes dressing themselves up in light, too, as she impersonated her flowers. “Now! what was it I wanted especially to do this morning,” thus she silently questioned the dewy beds, “besides watching the sleepy flowers open in my flower clock, my sundial bed—that’s the clock which really gets me up early,” with a merry nod, “to study their waking time, as the shadow of the dial hand, beginning to move with sunrise, points to one after the other? Oh-h! I know; I wanted to do some transplanting, ‘housemove’ my little Quaker Ladies, before—before old Sods gets around. Now! did any of you ever hear of such a thing as a crusty old gardener whose ‘really truly’ name is—Jacob Sods?”