He spent every Sunday afternoon re-reading them , with her photograph before him . He lived alone , refusing to be pestered with kind help , but he kept the house in beautiful order . `` A better housekeeper than farmer , '' said White Sands people . He would have nothing altered . When Sara came back she was not to be hurt by changes . It never occurred to him that she might be changed herself . And now those three interminable years were gone , and Sara was coming home . She wrote him nothing of her aunt 's pleadings and reproaches and ready , futile tears ; she wrote only that she would graduate in June and start for home a week later . Thenceforth Old Man Shaw went about in a state of beatitude , making ready for her homecoming . As he sat on the bench in the sunshine , with the blue sea sparkling and crinkling down at the foot of the green slope , he reflected with satisfaction that all was in perfect order . There was nothing left to do save count the hours until that beautiful , longed-for day after to-morrow . He gave himself over to a reverie , as sweet as a day-dream in a haunted valley . The red roses were out in bloom . Sara had always loved those red roses -- they were as vivid as herself , with all her own fullness of life and joy of living . And , besides these , a miracle had happened in Old Man Shaw 's garden . In one corner was a rose-bush which had never bloomed , despite all the coaxing they had given it -- `` the sulky rose-bush , '' Sara had been wont to call it . Lo ! this summer had flung the hoarded sweetness of years into plentiful white blossoms , like shallow ivory cups with a haunting , spicy fragrance . It was in honour of Sara 's home-coming -- so Old Man Shaw liked to fancy . All things , even the sulky rose-bush , knew she was coming back , and were making glad because of it .
He was gloating over XXXXX 's letter when Mrs. Peter Blewett came .
Sands Sara afternoon beatitude day day-dream hours left pleadings years