Uncle John's little garden Is full of bright flowers And the fairies play tag Through all the bright hours.
"Dear me," said the Yellow Dog Tramp, to himself, peeping out of the garage, where we left him in the last story, "they seem to be having a fine time! " And he sighed, for he was thinking of another garden up in Vermont and the old farm where he was a boy, long ago, before he had run away from home.
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