It was neat and clean , just as she had left it three years ago . But it was small and dark ; the ceiling was discoloured , the furniture old-fashioned and shabby ; she would think it a poor , mean place . Even the orchard over the hill brought him no comfort now . Blossom would not care for orchards . She would be ashamed of her stupid old father and the barren farm . She would hate White Sands , and chafe at the dull existence , and look down on everything that went to make up his uneventful life . Old Man Shaw was unhappy enough that night to have satisfied even Mrs. Blewett had she known . He saw himself as he thought White Sands folk must see him -- a poor , shiftless , foolish old man , who had only one thing in the world worthwhile , his little girl , and had not been of enough account to keep her . `` Oh , Blossom , Blossom ! '' he said , and when he spoke her name it sounded as if he spoke the name of one dead . After a little the worst sting passed away . He refused to believe long that Blossom would be ashamed of him ; he knew she would not . Three years could not so alter her loyal nature -- no , nor ten times three years . But she would be changed -- she would have grown away from him in those three busy , brilliant years . His companionship could no longer satisfy her . How simple and childish he had been to expect it ! She would be sweet and kind -- Blossom could never be anything else . She would not show open discontent or dissatisfaction ; she would not be like Lauretta Bradley ; but it would be there , and he would divine it , and it would break his heart . Mrs. Blewett was right . When he had given Blossom up he should not have made a half-hearted thing of his sacrifice -- he should not have bound her to come back to him .
He walked about in his little garden until late XXXXX night , under the stars , with the sea crooning and calling to him down the slope .
After as at for in like on over to up