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 come as a gift. And as for not taking things you haven’t earned, you’d better stop breathing, you’d better stop soaking in sunshine, you’d better stop eating the fruits of the earth. They are all gifts that you have accepted, and were mighty glad to accept!”

“A gift from God is one thing,” said Jamie. “A gift from a man I have known such a short time is something different.”

“There is no difference in the gifts,” said the Doctor. “They are both gifts, and I reiterate, you are a fool if you don’t accept them with a thankful heart!”

Jamie shook his head and, turning from the office, went down to the street and then back to the house and to the blue garden that the love of flowers and the love of beauty in the heart of a sentimentalist had built around a home. He stepped softly as he entered the door. He carried his hat in his hand and looked around for some place not too intimately connected with the Bee Master where he might lay it.

What was it that amazing document had said? One acre of valuable soil crowded to the limit with wonderful planting, a row of white hives running the length of it, something in the bank, plenty of comfortable clothing that fitted him, a bed whereon to sleep, and they were his if he cared to stretch forth his hand and take them? Jamie suddenly discovered that he was not so strong as he had thought he was because he was shaking until his teeth chattered and the tears were rolling down his cheeks until he was exhausted. So he got up and went down the back