“Oh, Baby Blossom!” he murmured, “Little Baby Blossom!”
Sara rubbed her cheek against the faded coat sleeve.
“Daddy darling, this moment makes up for everything, doesn’t it?”
“But—but—where did you come from?” he asked, his senses beginning to struggle out of their bewilderment of surprise. “I didn’t expect you till to-morrow. You didn’t have to walk from the station, did you? And your old daddy not there to welcome you!”
Sara laughed, swung herself back by the tips of her fingers and danced around him in the childish fashion of long ago.
“I found I could make an earlier connection with the C.P.A. yesterday and get to the Island last night. I was in such a fever to get home that I jumped at the chance. Of course I walked from the station—it’s only two miles and every step was a benediction. My trunks are over there. We’ll go after them to-morrow, daddy, but just now I want to go straight to every one of the dear old nooks and spots at once.”
“You must get something to eat first,” he urged fondly. “And there ain’t much in the house, I’m afraid. I was going to bake to-morrow morning. But I guess I can forage you out something, darling.”
He was sorely repenting having given Mrs. Blewett’s doughnuts to the pigs, but Sara brushed all such considerations aside with a wave of her hand.
“I don’t want anything to eat just now. By and by we’ll have a snack; just as we used to get up for ourselves whenever we felt hungry. Don’t you remember how scandalized White Sands folks used to be at our irregular hours? I’m hungry; but it’s soul hunger, for a glimpse of all the dear old rooms and places. Come—there are four hours yet before sunset, and I want to cram into them all I’ve missed out of these three years. Let us begin right here with the garden. Oh, daddy, by what witchcraft have you coaxed that sulky rose-bush into bloom?”
“No witchcraft at all—it just bloomed because you were coming home, baby,” said her father.