Blueskin, however, was not unattended. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. org. ” Sir John breathed a long deep sigh. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service.
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