Almost every day he has beside the
mallows in the boxes a white mug with flowers in it,--nasturtiums,
perhaps, or a few pinks. This he sets carefully in shade of the thickest
mallows; and this I have often seen him hold down tenderly, for the little
ones to see and to smell.
When I come home in the evenings, between eight and nine o'clock, Anton
is always sifting in front of the door, resting his head against the wall.
This is his recreation, his one blessed hour of out-door air and rest. He
stands with his cap in his hand while I pass, and his face shines as if
all the concentrated enjoyment of my walk in the woods had descended upon
him in my first look. If I give him a bunch of ferns to add to his
nasturtiums and pinks, he is so grateful and delighted that I have to go
into the house quickly for fear I shall cry. Whenever I am coming back
from a drive, I begin to think, long before I reach the house, how glad
Anton will look when he sees the carriage stop. I am as sure as if I had
omniscient sight into the depths of his good heart that he has distinct
and unenvious joy in every pleasure that he sees other people taking.
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