Thus enveloped in large white aprons, they followed Mr. Duffy, looking like a jolly fat comic opera pastry cook in that costume, to the entrance of the orange grove.
“Jason must have felt like this when he found the Golden Fleece,” whispered Mary, while they stood in a group waiting for Mr. Duffy’s man to unlock the small door in the wall.
As for their jolly host himself, he smiled mysteriously and beckoned them to follow.
CHAPTER XI.—THE ORANGE GROVE.
As they passed through the door they gasped with amazement and wonder. Nothing on the outside of the whitewashed fence could have given them an idea of what it concealed.
Mr. and Mrs. Duffy stood arm in arm, smiling with proud pleasure, as rotund as their own round oranges. It was a thing to be proud of certainly to possess this noble grove.
Imagine rows and rows of orange trees all exactly the same size and each cut in the shape of a beautiful dark green ball. And, as if nature could not be lavish enough with gifts to one of her favorite children, each tree was a bouquet of flowers, ripe fruit and green fruit. Through the polished cool green leaves gleamed the brilliant golden balls, and the clusters of white flowers sent out a fragrance that was sweeter and more delicate than the most delicious perfume ever distilled.
“Perhaps the Garden of Eden was an orange grove,” said Mary, pinching herself to see if this really were a dream.
“Only this fruit is not forbidden, my sweet child,” answered Mrs. Duffy, “and you shall have all you can eat of it this minute. Mr. Duffy, did you tell James to bring the knives?”
“Certainly, my dear. I couldn’t forget them because they are in the pocket of this garment, and I’ve been afraid of sitting on them inadvertently.”