12 Tom Seven Years Old.

 

parrots and cockatoos, but they were very
pretty all the same. And it was delightful
to see each one going his own way, and talk-
ing his own language.

When at last Tom and his papa turned to
go home through the field, the sun was setting
—the same great sun that shines on all
countries, hot and cold, far and near. Instead
of orange-trees or palm-trees before them,
there was a nice green hazel wood full of nuts,
and two oaks covered with dear little acorns
from head to foot. And instead of tall, strange
plants, with bright faces and difficult names,
there were daisies and buttercups and dande-
lions and red sorrel growing in the grass,
Tom jumped about in the sunlight. He did
not feel in such a dreadful hurry to have his
ship built and sail away in it. The sun was
very nice here—it could not be nicer any-
where else—and the daisies and buttercups
that he knew so well, and that knew him so
well, and all friendly cows and sheep, who let
him pat them as he passed, were very nice
also.