Kirk pricked up his ears instantly. "Phil sings that," he said delightedly. "I'm glad you know it. But you would."
"Who'd have thought you would know it?" said the voice. "I am fond of Young Richard. Is Phil your brother?"
"She's my sister--but I have a brother. He's sixteen, and he's almost as high as the doorways at Applegate Farm."
"I seem not to know where Applegate Farm is," the old gentleman mused.
"It's quite next door to you," said Kirk.
"They call it the Baldwin place, really. But Ken happened to think that Baldwin's a kind of apple, and there is an orchard and a gate, so we called it that."
"The old farm-house across the meadow!" There was a shade of perplexity in the voice. "You live there?"
"It's the most beautiful place in the world," said Kirk, with conviction, "except your garden."
"Beautiful--to you! Why?"
"Oh, everything!" Kirk said, frowning, and trying to put into words what was really joy in life and spring and the love of his brother and sister. "Everything--the wind in the trees, and in the chimney at night, and the little toads that sing,--do you ever hear them?--and the fire, and, and--everything!"